The Open Road. XI and XII

he Open Road BY JOHN HENRY EVANS, OF THE LATTER-DAY SAINTS UNIVERSITY "He was mighty sick. He rolled on the floor, groaning and calling for the doctor. His mother carried on as if he were dead. You know, he's the only one they've got. The doctor pumped his stomach, and he got well ; but he stayed in bed for three days to keep up the effect." "And what did his father say?" somebody wanted to know. "Just laughed — thought it was a good joke." "The mean thing!" Brocketts commented, in mock gravity. "And his brave son dying for lack of funds !" After that there was dancing. The young people all repaired to the kitchen, old Brother Dalton, who was staying at the Bishop's, was caught in the act of going to bed and dragged back to play the accordion, and there followed a lively scene that would have made your eyes sparkle with delight. Plain quadrilles, Virginia reels, and other almost forgotten figures took the place in those days — at all events in this spacious kitchen that evening — of the more selfish, if more graceful and dignified, two-step, rages, and other dances so popular today. The merriment of the young folks did bring the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Ward to the door. Brocketts, judging Bessie's father by the dignity and soberness he read in the word "bishop," looked for something vastly different from the hilarity that was written on every line of those two faces. As for the rest of the company, they were evidently used to the word itself and the jovial nature that stood behind it. For several of them dragged the pair into the room and compelled them to head the Virginia reel. Nor was the good bishop a new hand at the amusement. He bent his big frame as gracefully, kicked up his heeds as lightly, and swung the girls as blithefully as even fat Dave Bradley himself. But one dance was enough for his sixty winters, and then T

HE OPEN ROAD. 997 he retreated, wisely leaving the event to those of longer endurance in that sort of thing. , And after that everybody had to take everybody else home, including Bessie, who, though already at home, nevertheless was induced to join the songful procession to this, that, and the other girl's residence, till some one had to take her home. That some one Brocketts saw to it was himself. "I'm glad he took laudanum, anyhow!" Brocketts commented, as the two approached the Ward residence. "Glad he took just a little, you mean," Bessie laughed. And Brocketts acquiesced. "I've only been out with him three times, you know," Bessie explained in defiance of an outward occasion for the remark. Brocketts, of course, did not know. But glad he was to know. "Besides," she went on, "I always thought he was silly, like his name." "And this might just as well have happened ages ago!" Brocketts did not say this — he only thought it. He said merely — "Oh!" Stage XI — Wherein is shown how Brocketts confirms the truth of a certain motto. In every idea there lurks somewhat of the force that sets mountains on fire. Only, some ideas have more and others less, and the eruption is always proportionate to the invisible force within. That is why Brocketts found his way into the office of the Bernstein establishment, one morning. An idea had taken him there. "Good morning, Brocketts," Mr. Bernstein said cheerfully. "What can I do for you ?" We can never know precisely the effect of our words, nor the effect of the way we happen to say them. Now, if it hadn't been for that cheery note in Mr. Bernstein's voice that morning, I am very much afraid what was about to happen would not have happened at all. Anyway, it would probably not have happened then. For Brocketts, most likely, would have invented an excuse for call-

993 IMPROVEMENT ERA. ing on his employer and then have turned away with the idea still in his head. But instead he spoke it out and it became also the property of Mr. Bernstein — which made it wonderfully fruitful. "I heard you say a little while ago to Mr. Dalrymple that you needed a book-keeper." Mr. Bernstein was opening letters with a paper knife. He glanced hurriedly at their contents, threw the outside into the waste basket, and laid the inside of each face down, one on top of the other, on his desk. He did not look up after the greeting. "That is correct, Brocketts. I've sent down to Mr. Morley to get another. Do you know where I can find one ?" "Yes, sir." Mr. Bernstein waited till he had finished another letter. But he did not look up. He only picked up a fresh one, ripped it open and said — "Where?" "Here !" the young man answered. Mr. Bernstein looked up. "You, Brocketts?" "Yes, sir, if you'll have me." "Upon my word, and where did you learn book-keeping?" "At Morley's Business College." "At Morley's Business College!" repeated Mr. Bernstein. The idea found small opening, it seemed. "And where did you get time to go to Morley's Business College?" "At night. I've—" "Oh, yes," the other interrupted, "I'd forgotten he ran a night school, too." "I've been going there for nearly a year now," Brocketts went on," and Mr. Morley says I've been doing pretty well." "No doubt of it, Brocketts, whatever you do, you do well." Mr. Bernstein was good enough to leave the "pretty," out. "Thank you, sir." "And what's more, if you know anything about book-keeping, and think you can keep my books, you may have Harper's place. And if you do the work as well as he did, I'll give you the same wages — fifty dollars a month." "Thank you, sir; when shall I begin?" "Right away. Come with me." And Mr. Bernstein led the T

HE OPEN ROAD. 999 way up a flight of stairs and into a room where some men were working at desks, high and low, and a long counter. "Here, Phillip," he said to one of the men — "here's a man to take Harper's place. Brocketts has been going to Morley's night school. Set him to work." Three persons were pleased with this event. First of all, the head book-keeper, Phillip Shorthurst — though he said nothing and looked nothing, being a man who kept his own counsel under his bald pate, and was therefore reputed wise — rejoiced inwardly nevertheless that the pressure on him would be relieved by the amount of work that Brocketts could be got to do. Then Mr. Bernstein's heart took a bound too. The place Brocketts had just vacated had been deliberately created for him with almost as much ease as a small political office is sometimes brought into existence for a man who has done what is known as good service for the party in power, but whose talents are not adequate for something within the gift of the people. But the higher places are harder to make in business than in political life. And so Brocketts had been permitted to go on with his former job for much longer than Mr. Bernstein could have wished. Mr. Bernstein had by no means forgotten his charge. He would have given him this place of Harper's if he had had the least suspicion that the young man knew anything about keeping books. Now that he knew that Brocketts had been energetic and far-seeing enough to prepare himself for the place, Mr. Bernstein was doubly pleased. But Brocketts was almost beside himself. His boldest expectations had been suddenly realized. He had lost no time in going to his employer when he learned that Harper had been dismissed. "It all comes of getting ready," he thought, "and then looking out." And the joy that was in his heart just would come to the surface and disturb his thoughts about work. "You mustn't expect too much of me the first day," he said to the taciturn Shorthurst, "because this is different from what it is when you have only play transactions, as you do in school." And Phillip had smiled knowingly, as deprecating the school-taught bookkeeper. It was different from the barter system of the Business College, in spite of the effort to make that system tally with actual

1000 IMPROVEMENT ERA. commercial life, and not the smallest difference lay in the fact, as Brocketts had observed, that this was real and that other a fiction. "I've got to make good, though," Brocketts reflected — "I've got to nake good!" That afternoon Mr. Bernstein threw on Brocketts' desk a folded note, with the remark, "It's from Mr. Morley." A horrible fear darted into Brocketts' heart. From Mr. Morley ! What could it be about ? Had his employer sent to the College to ask what kind of book-keeper Brocketts was and had the school master written unfavorably of his parts? But Brocketts instantly dismissed the idea as impossible after what his teacher had said about him. He unfolded the note and read, — "The best book-keeper I have at school, night or day, is a young man you have in your employ already. I mean Brocketts Porter. He has all but finished our work, and that in about half the time generally required. He is thoroughly competent and reliable. I sincerely hope you will advance him to the vacant place. — John Morley." "Not a bad recommendation, Brocketts, is it?" inquired Mr. Bernstein, who had lingered long enough at the desk to see the young man's confusion. "I'm afraid it's better than I deserve," Brocketts answered. "But I'll try to live up to his confidence in me." And a fourth person was pleased when he knew of Brocketts' good fortune. That was Mr. Dargan. Brocketts was not long in calling on the book-seller. "Ask and it shall be given you," Dargan said immediately when he knew how Brocketts had got the place. "Ask and it shall be given you, — that's my motto. And it seems to be yours, too, Brocketts." Mr. Dargan was silent for a minute. And then — "Do you know, lad, that I've never got anything that I didn't ask for—" "And got everything you've asked for?" queried Brocketts, breaking in. "That's what I was going to say," the book-man went on. "It sounds unbelievable, but it's a fact — it's a fact. You know Christ seems to have meant the words in a religious sense, but they're true in every sense. I take them in their broader meaning, though, as you did, Brocketts. A man has to get ready for T

HE OPEN ROAD. 1001 something and then ask for it. It'll come then, no doubt about it. And now what do you want next?" "To go up. But I dort't know the next step yet." "Get ready, boy — get ready. Broaden your mind by hard study. Make yourself as competent as you can. An opening'll come, and then you can pop in like that." And Mr. Dargan hit the two palms of his hands together with a smack. "You're still going to the night school?" "Oh, I couldn't think of giving that up, especially now that I'm studying rhetoric and civil government." "That's right. I'm glad to hear it. Now you ought to do some solid reading on your own account." "I'm anxious to do that, too, Mr. Dargan." "To be sure— to be sure! Now, here's another book by Samuel Smiles. Brocketts. Just out. It's called Thrift. You don't particularly need it to make you thrifty, but it'll do you good in another way. It'll give you ginger, and that's what everybody needs, especially young men who can do things.. Inspiration to do things is about all one can get out of this sort of books, anyway, don't you think ?" Brocketts agreed with him. "I've certainly got a lot of it from Self -Help,,y he said. "No doubt of it— no doubt of it, Brocketts. It's a wonderful book— that it is!" commented the voluble book-man. "Do you like history, still?" "Yes, I'm very fond of history. I read Greene, you know, and I've started on Bancroft." _ "That's so— I forgot. Well, then, I've got something else for you." Mr. Dargan trotted behind the counter to the back of the store and presently returned with an armful of books. "This is Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire-six volumes, the greatest history in the language, and it's about one of the three greatest nations of the ancient world. Here's a grand style for you, Brocketts, a grand- style-listen to this." And the enthusiastic book-seller read a paragraph from one of the volumes,- evidently his favorite passage. "Some people believe you ought to read only brief accounts of those ancient nations," he went on glibly. "But I don t. Short

1002 IMPROVEMENT ERA. accounts of big things are always stupid. That's my opinion, Brocketts, very stupid and dry." "I've proved that for myself, Mr. Dargan," added the young man. "And so I can easily agree with you." "To be sure — to be sure !" Mr. Dargan sat down opposite his friend and set the stack of books on his knees. " And then some folks, you know, think everything for young persons should be diluted, so to speak. T don't believe that, either. Why, bless your dear heart, this sort of reading — " and here he struck the volumes a resounding thwack with his hand — "breaks new brain cells — that's what it does — stiffens the mental fiber. Education nowadays — what little we have of it — is altogether too thin and watery. Now, there's nothing watery about Gibbon — not at all. It's solid, rich food." The book-seller here suddenly dropped the volumes of the Decline and Fall, and ran back to the place where he had gotten them, and came back with another stack of books. "Here's some more, Brocketts, of the same sort." And he showed the young man a copy of Macaulay's History of England, and Carlyle's Frederick the Great. Of both of these great works he spoke enthusiastically, almost rapturously. Brocketts bought some of these books at various times. Others he borrowed from his genial friend. For no one knew better than Brocketts that Mr. Dargan was not laying plans to get his money. Nothing, he felt sure, was farther from the bookseller's mind. The man was interested in him, not in his money. The merest hint from Brocketts, and Mr. Dargan would have given outright all the volumes. In many such conversations as this with the book-man, Brocketts got ideas and directions in his reading. It was through Mr. Dargan that he took up with the Fourteen Weeks series in physiology, astronomy, and such like subjects — books which had clone good service in the Lyceum. Through him it was, too, that he became acquainted with Dickens and Wordsworth, with Scott and Burns and De Ouincey, with Burke and Webster — masters, all, of the written word and of the philosophy of life. For Mr. Dargan had no patience with cheapness in books, whether in money or in that which is higher than money. "Get the best, Brocketts — get the best," he would say. "You wouldn't pick up T

HE OPEN ROAD. 1003 with a tramp when you could talk with a king, would you? To be sure not — to be sure not ! Well, then, why should you in books? Tell me that." And so it came about that with such guidance Brocketts read only the best. But the first to be told the news of Brocketts' rise, you may be sure, and the one who rejoiced the most over it, hardly even excepting Brocketts himself, was Bessie Ward. So there were five persons made more or less happy by this event. "I'm so glad!" she cried, when he told her. "Now you can—" " — get decent lodgings," he put in. That she meant this there could be no doubt when Brocketts looked upon her confusion. "Save more money to find your parents !" she put in weakly. But it would not do. Brocketts knew that she did not altogether relish the joke, handed about so freely among the crowd, that he was batching it. "I'm going to move, Bessie," he added conciliatingly. "I'm going to give up my quarters in the barn, and board at Dudley's mother's. You know she lives all alone. It'll be a fine place to stay. I'll have a room to myself and won't have to cook anything, or wash dishes, or even make my bed. That'll give me more time for my study. And everything for three dollars a week !" "Oh, isn't that delightful!" "Fifteen dollars a month for board and incidentals," he went on confidentially, "will leave me thirty-five dollars. I've made up my mind to put twenty-five of that in the bank. It'll take lots of money if I'm to find my father and mother. But I'm going to do that, if I don't do anything else in life — that's certain. I've set my heart on it." "But if you do that," Bessie put in, "you will be doing something else." "That sounds like a paradox, Bessie. What do you mean?" "Why, that you'll be showing your ability to work towards an end." Brocketts colored over the compliment. He was beginning to feci that girls admire ability in boys. Anyway, girls of Bessie's stamp. And he was glad. "A fellow doesn't amount to much,"

1004 IMPROVEMENT ERA. he said more in answer to his thoughts than to Bessie's remark, "unless he has a purpose in life and gumption enough to stick to it." "But how do you expect to find your parents, Brocketts? The world's so wide and has so many people in it. Where can you possibly begin?" "That's easy," he explained with the air of one to whom the thought was familiar. "When I get enough money I'll just go to Strausberg where my folks lived, try to pick up the trail there, and follow it up till I find them. Very likely some of the old residents there will remember them and will know where they went. Maybe I've got uncles and aunts in Strausberg, or cousins, who may know exactly where my parents are." "I've got an idea, Brocketts," Bessie exclaimed. "Why not ask some of our missionaries who go to Germany to hunt up some of your relatives at Strausberg? It'll do no harm, and maybe it'll do good. You don't know." Brocketts reflected. "Aunt Mary's brother did that once," she urged, "only not in Germany, and he found out the names of a lot of his people." "That's a good idea," Brocketts assented. "I believe I'll try it. But where can I find out who's going to Germany ?" "Oh, at the President's office. They call missionaries from there. They can tell you when missionaries are going, and where they're going, and all about it." "I'll do it, Bessie. Maybe you'll be the one to find my father and mother, after all !" "Wouldn't it be funny if I should? I'd like to." The next day Brocketts moved to this new home with Mrs. Brown. There was not much, indeed, to move. A small trunk sufficed to hold all his clothes. A small box which had held sweet crackers proved ample for his few books. That was all. It was with a heart-pang that he abandoned the barn loft. It had been his home ever since that first night when he had lain asleep over there in that corner on some straw. There was the goods box that had served for a cupboard, there hung the burlap which did for wall-paper, there stood the stove which he and Tom had lugged up the ladder with such toil and sweat. Tom ! Where was he now? Brocketts had not set eyes on him since the disapT

HE OPEN ROAD. 1005 pearance of the money that night when Self-Help entered this dwelling. Never a trace of hard feeling towards poor Tom did Brocketts entertain now. Tf Tom had just then come through the door way, Brocketts would have run to him with forgiveness on his lips. "Well !" sighed Brocketts, "I guess I'll have to give you up, old room. I hate to. There'll be beautiful paper on the walls where I'm going, white linen to eat off, and a rocking chair with a thick cushion on it. But I wonder if I won't miss all these ?" If Brocketts had been pleasing only himself he would not have moved. But in this respect, he was like a good many of us, he was willing, nay anxious, to do something he wouldn't otherwise do, because he felt that he was pleasing somebody else by doing so. Stage XII — Which shows how disconcerting the third person of the proverb may be. Should you wish to learn why Bessie Ward sat close to the front window in a low rocker that Wednesday evening, you must needs know three things : first that the many-gabled house in which the Wards lived stood rather close to the fence that separated it from the cobble-paved sidewalk; second, that the gate hung on some powerful spring hinges that sent it back with a bang when you opened it, and let it go again; and, third, that on this particular evening Bessie was on tip-toe of expectation for the sound of certain foot-steps on that same cobble-stone walk and the click of that same gate as the latch of it sought its niche on the post. There, at any rate, she sat. Now, if this were a romance and not a true story, most likely you would expect me to say that Bessie had a book in her hand, to read a single page of which took her an unconscionable time, so absent-minded was she, and which she finally closed, only to look nervously now at the old-fashioned fireplace with a bright glow in it, now at the three-cornered centre table on which reposed a large family Bible waiting to be opened and never being anything but dusted, a smaller volume of the Scriptures being called into requisition whenever any sacred reading was to be done, — and now at the framed portraits of George and Martha Wash-

1006 IMPROVEMENT ERA. ington looking serenely down from above the wooden mantel-piece. Certainly you would expect me, under the circumstances, to say that she bent her ear alertly to the window now and then, listening like a huntsman. But this is after all not a romance. It is only a plain story of a boy who came to be somewhat from a mere possibility in an orphanage. So I have to record that only the last item even approaches the truth. She had no book in her hand, she did not look at the fire, the table, or the pictures. Not that these objects were not in the room, for they were. And there were other things to look at also. For one thing, a rag carpet spread itself over the floor, and a better looking one it was, too, than many a rag carpet that has since become so fashionable in the fine rooms of the rich. And for another, there was a portrait of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, those noble, king-looking brothers, standing up before you their whole, fine lengths. And for still another, there stood on one side of the room a sofa, and in one corner a small organ, which Bessie played upon other nights after the footsteps had sounded on the cobbles outside and when they were not so long in appearing as now. But, as I say, none of these things interested her while she sat by the window this evening. There can be no doubt, however, that she listened intently, not only once in a while, but all the time. Moreover, she was far more pensive tonight than became a pretty girl of seventeen waiting for her lover. To be sure, however, there is no telling what girls of seventeen, or seventy, will do, so baffling has the sex always been, even to the wisest. At last the foot-steps sounded on the walk, the gate clicked, the foot-steps continued on the brief strip of cobble-stone pavement that joined the house and the street, and a robust, joyous, masculine knock broke the silence at the front door. Bessie had been at the door almost before that resounding knock, though, and she ushered our friend Brocketts first into the hall and then into the parlor where she had been sitting. This done, she threw her arms around his neck and gave him the tightest of hugs. "Why are you so late tonight, Brocketts boy?" she asked with just the least trace of petulance in her voice. "I've waited, and waited, and waited. And I thought you'd never come." "I didn't know I was late — I didn't mean to be." Brocketts T

HE OPEN ROAD. 1007 pulled out his watch. "See, dear, I'm notl" And he showed her the time — eight o'clock. "Oh ! I thought you -were !" she said. Then she repeated the salutation she had given him when he entered, not leaving out the smallest bit of a detail. And that done she fell to crying most piteously. "Why, Bessie, what's the matter?" Brocketts demanded in genuine alarm. "What has happened ?" But Bessie could not control her feelings sufficiently to tell him. He led her to the sofa, where they both sat down and where he endeavored to soothe her. "Bessie," he pleaded, "tell me what has gone wrong." She calmed herself at length, she dried her eyes. "Brocketts," she said, "promise me that whatever happens you'll always love me as you do now?" "Why, little girl, of course I will ! You talk as if we shouldn't always be together — as if anything could separate us. Now tell me what you mean." "Oh, let's talk of other things for a while ! Then I'll tell you. I want to put it off as long as I can." And so they spoke of the past and what they were to each other. They ran back in their talk to the first time they met that Christmas night just after Brocketts had come to Salt Lake. "I liked you even then," she said. "But you didn't show it." "Yes, I did ! Only, you didn't see it— that's all." "I see it now, though, and that's something. I'd have given the world if I'd only known it then. I wasn't quite sure a year afterward." They talked of the times they had been together since. "Do you remember," she asked, "the time we climbed Ensign Peak?" He remembered. How could he forget that? "You know," she went on, "we sat down on the west side and looked out over the city, over the alkali level beyond, and on the shining lake." "Then's when I first touched your hand," he added. "I didn't dare to before." "And do you remember that evening before you went home,

1008 IMPROVEMENT ERA. after we'd eaten our lunch, how we sat on the porch out there and you put your hand on my head to read it. What a thrill that gave me!" They talked of Brocketts' early life, for Brocketts had long since told her the story of his escape from the orphanage — how he had been taken there, how he had got on at the place, how he had overheard the conversation of the seamen on the Maria Pinta, how he had vowed to find his parents, and all the rest of it. Of all this, too, they talked, living his strange experiences over again. But every event, every incident, served only to remind them, in the end, of what Bessie was keeping back. "You've got to tell me now," Brocketts urged ; "you've kept me in suspense long enough. I'll be thinking pretty soon it's something dreadful." "It is something dreadful — worse than you can possibly imagine." "Why, it can't be anything that's coming between us — that's the worst I can imagine." "That's what I'm afraid of. Oh !" she sighed, "I hope not. But father said he wanted to see you !" "Is that all ! You gave me such a turn. There can't be any harm come to me by letting your father see me. He hasn't seen me very often, you know." "Oh, but you don't understand, Brocketts dear — you don't understand." "Then I'll go in and see him now, and then I'll understand." He rose as he spoke. "Where is he?" "I'll go and see if he's in the dining room. That's where he usually stays when he's here. I don't want mother to be there when he's talking to you." And with that Bessie glided out of the room. Presently she returned. "He's waiting for you," she said excitedly. "You won't get angry will you, Brocketts, whatever he says?" And giving his arm a hard squeeze, she let him go, following him through the hall. Brocketts for once was non-plussed. He walked into the dining room as a culprit goes to the judge. That last "He's waiting for you," had greatly upset him. What had he done? He scanned T

HE OPEN ROAD. 1009 his conduct. He could find nothing that threatened anything severe. Had anyone been saying something against his character? If so, he could easily remove the cause of any disquietude in Mr. Ward's mind. The Bishop sat at the table — the end opposite Brocketts. He was a large, powerfully built man, with a baldness atop wholly out of harmony with the heavy fringe of gray whiskers about the lower part of the face. It was a forceful countenance, betokening the leader and decisive character that he was. Both arms were on the table, both eyes were riveted on Brocketts. "And so this is the young Gentile that's trying to run away with my daughter, is it? Sit down there," pointing to a seat at the other end of the table. "Is it so that you're not in the Church? Bessie says it is, but I want it from your own lips." So this was the trouble ? No slander that anyone had circulated about him. Brocketts had been in Utah long enough to learn what the word "Gentile" meant. "If you mean, Mr. Ward, that I'm not a member of the 'Mormon' Church, I suppose I'll have to prove guilty." In some respects the Bishop was an easy-going man. That was, in his family affairs. Three families he had besides Bessie and her mother, for Mr. Ward's instincts were patriarchal. Bessie was the only child in this household, but each of the other households was large and thriving. With such a multitude of cares, religious, financial, and domestic, the Bishop was compelled to leave much to the direction of the mothers. And so this man of large concerns was inclined to act with as little friction as possible in the affairs of the home. This is why he had not known earlier that Bessie was keeping company with a young man who was not of her faith. "And so you're not in the Church?" the Bishop said reflectively looking straight into the boy's eyes. "Well, then, you'll have to quit going with my daughter — that's all there is about it." "You mean that I can't come to see Bessie — that I can't take her out anywhere — that we'll have to stop going together?" "That's exactly what I mean." "And may I ask why?" "Certainly. Because you're not a Latter-day Saint— that's why. Because you're not in our Church."

1010 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "But," protested Brocketts, "are there not good men who do not belong to the 'Mormon' Church?" "That's not the point at all," retorted the Bishop. "And are there no bad men in the 'Mormon' Church?" "Nor is that the point, either. My daughter is in the Church, and you are out. That's the point. You can't marry her." "But I'm not asking her hand in marriage — yet." "That's all very true ; but you will be pretty soon. Now's the time to say no, before it gets too far. That's my doctrine. How long have you two been keeping company? I ougnt to know it, but I don't." "Less than two years." "Two years! Good heavens! That long? Have you ever kissed her?" Brocketts did not answer. But silence of this sort and on this point was equally expressive to the alert mind of the Bishop. "It's gone farther than I thought. But it'll go no farther. It's got to end now." "Do you know — have you ever heard — anything against my character?" Brocketts wanted to know. "Nothing at all, one way or another — except that you don't belong to the Church." "Am I not honest?" "So far as I know." "And industrious?" "Can't say you're not." "And I haven't any bad habits. I don't drink, or smoke, or gamble, or keep bad company. I don't spend my money before I get it, nor foolishly after I get it." "Very likely." "Well, then, what objection can you have to me?" "Good Lord, boy, haven't I told you? The reason why I don't want you to court my daughter is that you are not a Latterday Saint ! Is that plain enough?" The Bishop, as he uttered this last, brought the palm of his giant hand down on the table with a terrible thwack, which threatened to jar the lamp wick into the oil bowl beneath. But Brocketts was still undaunted. T

HE OPEN ROAD. 1011 "Baptists sometimes marry Methodists," he said, "and Catholics, Presbyterians, don't they?" "Maybe so," the Bisjiop answered. "But if I had my way, they wouldn't. Anyway, no Latter-day Saint ought to marry outside the Church. Nothing but harm ever comes Of it. Besides, you can't afford to trust your girls with strangers who go gallivanting about the country. There's that what's-his-name that came here with the army and ran away with one of our 'Mormon' girls — what did he do ?" The Bishop paused. But Brocketts, never having heard the story, could not venture upon an answer. "Sold her to a Mexican!" roared Mr. Ward. "Sold her to a Mexican — that's what he did, the scoundrel !" Brocketts did not say anything. He might have resented the implication lurking in the Bishop's last remark. But he did not. He wished to be conciliating. He felt, moreover, that there was an element of truth in what his companion had said about trusting his daughter to a stranger. What was he but a stranger? He came here from no one knew where. His past was no one knew what. There was no disputing these points. True, if his life were inquired into during the time he had been in Salt Lake, nothing wrong could be found in it. But three years was not long enough to judge what one's future career should be. While there was nothing in his past of which even the punctilious Bishop would be ashamed, still how could he make any one believe it to be what he represented. "Mr. Ward," Brocketts said, "I love Bessie more than I can tell you. You can't know what this means to me. I'm alone here in Utah. I came here, I don't understand why myself. I didn't know that you could possibly object to me on the score of religion. I supposed your people were much like other people in the matter of marrying. If I had only known, I might have acted differently. But I didn't know. Is there no way in which things might go on as they are ?" "None that I know of — unless you join the Church." "I wouldn't do that, sir, unless I could do it sincerely. I hope I'm not a hypocrite, whatever else I am." "Then I'm to understand that your association with my daughter is at an end ?" the Bishop demanded.

1012 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "If you insist on it, sir — yes. But I think it's both hard and unreasonable." "That's neither here nor there. You've given me your word, young man, and I expect you to keep it." "You can depend upon my doing the square thing, sir, whatever it costs me to do it. Good evening." Brocketts went into the front room again. But he did not stay long. Half an hour after his conversation with the Bishop, the gate clicked behind him, and hurrying foot-steps on the cobblestone pavement were the last sounds that reached the listening ears of the young girl by the parlor window. (to be continued.) The North Colorado conference was held at Greeley, Colorado, May 5. All had a very enjoyable time. President J. C. Campbell, Rigby, Idaho, was released to return home and J. N. Carroll .was sustained in his place. The missionaries are, left to right, upper row: J. N. Carroll, Midway; Mrs. John L. Herrick and President John L. Herrick, Denver, Colo.; J. C. Campbell, Rigby, Idaho. Second row: H. L. McDermott, Clifton; Cora Hansen, Rexburg; J. N. Dayley, Burley; Ethel M. Call, Rigby, Idaho; E. J. Wilson, Jr., Hyrum, Utah. Third row: William Hurd, Snowville, Utah; Joseph Jensen, Independence; C. R. Hart, Raymond, Idaho; J. A. Eyre, Minersville, Utah.