Romance of a Missionary, XIII: The Long-Sleeved Envelope and Letters from Home

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. >> ii. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF ADDED UPON/7 MARCUS KING, "THE CASTLE BUILDER," ETC. XIII. THE "LONG-SLEEVED ENVELOPE" AND LETTERS FROM HOME. When Elder Willard Dean heard from his conference president that his release was about to arrive, he went to him and said, "I want to stay three months longer. I feel as if I have lost about that much time by my friends breaking in upon my work. So, if it's all right, I want to stay and make up that time." "If that is your wish, I see no objection," replied the president. "We are glad to have you, of course; but I do not consider the time which you have devoted to helping your friends as wasted." And so Willard went to his work again with added strength and power. Never had he done so much good and reached so many people with the gospel. Elder Donaldson, with wife and sister, came back to London, tired with sight-seeing and eager to be homeward bound. They remained but a few days and were off. Grace Wells and Elsa Fernley sailed with them from Liverpool. They all sent him farewell greetings by cards mailed from the boat, and his were delivered to them at Queenstown. The summer passed, and the rains and fogs came back; but Willard paid no heed to the weather. There was "sunshine in his soul" continually, so what did he care for fog or rain. Whether he was preaching to the ever-shifting crowds on the streets, or

914 IMPROVEMENT ERA. delivering his tracts from door to door, or conversing on gospel principles to Saints or strangers or investigators, he did it in a. good-natured, happy way. Thus busy with his work, the time passed rapidly. The winter came, but Willard received no release; nor did he wish one now until spring. He learned in letters from home that Elsa Fernley was well and happy, and that she had been offered a school in his own county. She was staying with Grace, and they were fast friends. Grace frequently visited Brother and Sister Dean, and Willard knew by his mother's letters that Grace was interested in English missionaries. The girl sent him a letter once a month, with now and then a picture postcard. Among Willard' s best London friends were the Lorings and Dwight Thornton. When he was tired and a bit lonesome or discouraged, he dropped in to the "cleanest house in London," sat easy and contented by the fire, or played with the children. Mr. Loring always welcomed him, and often spoke of the young man's power over Dwight Thornton, when Mr. Loring and his church had failed to make an impression on him. But whenever this topic came up, Willard simply said, "You know, Mr. Loring, the gospel is the power of God unto salvation. That's all the secret. It is none of my doings. T am but the instrument — the gospel is what has done it." And in reply Mr. Loring smoked his pipe in silence. One evening Willard found Dwight Thornton and Nora Loring sitting by the fire in the small parlor. Little Nellie was playing on the floor, chattering first to one and then to the other. Willard would have retreated, but they called him back. "Come in, Elder Dean," said Brother Thornton, "we want to speak to you. We want your advice." Willard thought, "What now?" He was often called in to give counsel and to settle difficulties of all kinds, because a "Mormon" elder, though perhaps only a boy, is expected to be wise enough to counsel gray-haired men and women; but he felt to shrink from sitting in judgment in the matter between these two people. "Nora and I have decided to emigrate to Zion," said Brother Thornton. "I want her to marry me before we go, but she says we should wait until we get to Utah. What do you say?"

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 915 Willard looked at Nora, whose face shone in the firelight, and then at the man who was also looking with a pleased smile at the young woman. "I do not say," replied Willard. "I can't advise you on the matter, at least, not now. But I'll think it over." Then he sat down and talked with them. Brother Thorntori had, he himself thought, completely overcome his craving for drink. "If I can pass daily the gin shops of this city without going in, it will be easy for me in Zion where there isn't so much temptation ." "Do not be too sure," replied Willard. "There are plenty of temptations in Utah, and those who want drink can get it. The only safety lies in being proof against temptation from within as well as from without. ' ' "Yes," replied the other, "I am trying to bear in mind what you have told me about developing our true individuality, and I find it is a great help to me." Little Nellie fell asleep on the floor, and Nora picked her up. She placed the child on the sofa and carefully covered her with a shawl. Mrs. Loring came in and supper was announced. When Willard left that evening, D wight Thornton followed him to the door and said, "You'll be going home in the spring, shall you not?" "I suppose so; but I don't know when." "Well, when you go, we shall go with you, whether we aremarried or not." "Good for you," said Willard. On one of the last days in the month of March, Willard Dean: received two important letters. One of them came in the wellknown "long-sleeved envelope," as the elders called the letter which contained their release. He might make his arrangements to sail on the first boat in May, it stated. Willard looked at the expression "honorably released," and gratitude swelled up in his heart. The president had written, besides the usual release form, a short personal letter, commending him for his faithful labors, and bidding him God's blessing on his homeward journey. It seemed to him that here was reward enough for his many months of labor, of trial, and of sacrifice..

916 IMPROVEMENT ERA. The peace of God was in his heart, and filled his soul with joy inexpressible. The second letter was from home. It was uncommonly heavy, needing double postage on it. The first folded sheets from the envelope were from Grace, and among other things she wrote: Elsa Fernley is to be married next month. If you hurry home, you may be in time for the wedding. The happy man is your old-time friend, Jack Howard. Jack picked her up as soon as she arrived in town. He has made love fast and furious, and she has capitulated. The mountain air has brought back to Elsa's cheeks her English roses, and' she is a lovely girl. I nearly envy Jack, but you know he is a good boy, and altogether worthy of such a jewel as Elsa. She wanted to teach school and earn money to send for her mother and sister, but Jack wouldn't hear of it. He would take care of that, said he. He is able to, as his sheep have been doing well. And so next month sees the wedding. They are going to live in Brother Karlson's new house until they can build one of their own. Oh, by the way, Katie Smith was just over, and what do you think she said? Listen: "I think it's a shame!" she exclaimed, "there ought to be an import duty on English girls. Here are sixteen of us members of the U. T. C." — U. T. C, you must know, stands for our club motto, Usefulness, Truthfulness, Cheerfulness; although some spiteful people say that it means the Unclaimed Treasure Club — "and not one of us with a ghost of a prospect," said Katie; "while this English girl comes, and in three months captures the finest boy in town! Isn't it awful!" The second enclosure was from Elsa Fernley, and she wrote: Dear Elder Dean: — Grace has kindly allowed me to read her letter to you, and I may say, that with the exception of some of the personal expressions about me, I have no fault to find with it. It is true, as Grace says, that I am to be married next month. I can hardly realize it. The Lord has been exceedingly good to me. When I look back on the experiences of the past year, and what has now come to me, I appear to be in dreamland. I can't understand what Jack sees in me. He says it's the English dialect, but that's a fib; because, as you know, I do not speak the Yorkshire. Well, now, I wish to say something else to you — and I am going to let Grace read this letter — let me say, that I know where your heart is — and it is in safe keeping, too. I want you to forgive and forget, as far as I am concerned. If have annoyed you by word or act of mine, I ask your pardon. I am indeed sorry if I have caused you pain, and I fear I have. It's a good thing, after all, that we live in a world of change. It's a good thing, also, that sometimes the Lord does not give us what we first cry out for. His ways are not always our ways, and if we are but patient, and say, "Thy will be done," everything will come out right in the end. I feel as though this is especially true in my case, and I am sure it will be in yours.

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 917 Jack says he knows you well, and he never tires of speaking good of you — and I add my mite; so you see we are agreed on one point, at least. I hope I shall always have the privilege of calling you my friend and brother. Be sure and call on the folks at Stonedale before you leave England. We hope to have both mother and Bessie with us soon. * * * Here comes Jack. He is such a tease, and so I shall have to close. There was one more letter in the envelope, and it proved to be from Jack. Pinned to it was a money order for twenty-five dollars. Jack wrote: Dear Will. — The order for twenty-five dollars which you will find enclosed is for you. It is a partial payment on my debt of gratitude which I owe you. I am heartily ashamed of myself for not writing to you before, and this letter is written on the principle that it is better late than never. We are a selfish lot, anyway. I suppose I never should have written you, had not Elsa come from England to our town. You see, it takes a personal touch to awaken us. I moralize thus in a general way, blaming the race instead of lazy Jack Howard. With the twenty-five have a good time while you are yet in England. See some sights, and feed up on beef-steak and Yorkshire pudding. The pudding is all right— I speak from knowledge; Elsa is a dandy cook, for a school teacher. I know a lot about England and its ways, and to hear my instructor praise the country, one would think that it is the finest land in the world. The other day I made the jocular remark that if the English country is prettier than the English girls, I should like to see it. The bishop overheard my remark, and stepping up to me and placing his arm around my shoulder, he said, ' 'All right, brother ; I shall see that your wish is gratified." Shivers ran up and down my spine, and the folks said I turned pale. I think he was only jeking, — but one can't tell. What would I do on a mission? I don't need to go to England, for England has come to me #* * * * * I have just come back from visiting the girls, so I must finish this letter and send it off. Elsa was out when I called,, but I found Grace in the parlor. I went up the walk unnoticed and stood by the open door for a few moments before she knew of my presence. Let me tell you what I saw: Grace was standing by the piano looking at a photograph. Presently, she lifted the picture from the easel, examining it at close range. Then she replaced it, seated herself on the stool, and, still looking at the photograph, began playing your favorite selection, "Meditation." I stepped in, and one glance told me that the portrait was of one Willard Dean, a missionary in England. Now, what do you think of that? "Hurry home, Will, and be the best man at the wedding, and then I shall happily perform a like service for you. Willard Dean sat alone in his lodgings and read his letters, and then he re-read them. Evening came on, yet he did not light the gas. A small fire in the grate sent its glow into the

918 IMPROVEMENT ERA. room. He leaned back in his chair and gazed into the red coals ; but he did not see much or hear much with his natural senses. The big city of sights and sounds lay all around him, yet for Willard its enchantment was gone. The home-call had come, and his soul reached out in eager response. Home, home! He wm going home! In the spirit he flies over sea and land, and as quick as thought he is in his native town. How high the mountains are, but how small the houses! Yet this is home, and he feels as if he has been away for but a day. The long rows of trees are covered with the dust of the dry, dusty street; but there is a big, 1 awn in front of his father's house, with lilac bushes on one side of the path and roses on the other. The barn is full of hay, with half of the last load sticking out of the gable window. Behind the pole bars to the corral, the horses and the cows are stretching their necks to eat from the nearby stack of wheat. Willard pauses at the gate and plays with the latch, a wooden one made by his grandfather, but good yet. He gets a full view of the house. It appears a little small and weatherbeaten, but it is home, the home of his childhood and boyhood. His bedroom was up in the attic, and before the window there now hangs a white curtain. In the big box-elder near the window are still to be seen the remains of a "nest" which he built when a boy. The front room window is open, and the curtains swell out by the breeze. There comes to him the faint odor of mignonette, his mother's planting, he knows. What is that? The organ? Yes; they have no piano. But who is playing? Can his brothers have learned? Not likely, besides, the touch is that of fingers accustomed to the piano. Grace Wells must be visiting — but she would never play on their poor instrument. He will tread lightly and surprise her, and she shall be the first to meet him. He steps quietly along the path, tiptoes across the porch, softly opens the door and slips into the hall. Yes; it is Grace, by the organ, erect as if she is looking into space, her head haloed by the light from the opposite window. Her fingers are running softly over the keys. Then she turns and sees him, and they meet in the middle of the room. Although Willard Dean sat in his humble, London lodgings with the shadows of the night deepening around him, he being