---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Harris, F. S.
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 22
number: 10
published: 1919-08
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Harris, F. S., "Noise in Worship," *Improvement Era* 22, no. 10 (August 1919): 889.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera22010unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera22010unse
start_page: 889
end_page: 889
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1919-08)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera22010unse
  publication_year: 1919
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1919, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# Noise in Worship

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HOW BEAVER PAID                       g9l

    "Easy, boy, easy," Bob admonished him. "It's a long way
to Eagle Rock and a nice warm stable with plenty of oats, and
Kitty to give you sugar."
     Beaver cocked one ear appreciatively at the sound of his
master's voice, but otherwise gave no sign of having heard.
     It might be well to mention here that Bob thought of Kitty
much oftener than Beaver did, although it was the latter who
received the sugar and whatever other sweetness that charming
young lady saw fit to bestow.
     Their descent of the grade, because of the roughness of the
trail,was much less rapid than Bob desired and darkness overtook them only a few miles from the lookout. The mercury
had fallen steadily during the last two hours. The wind had
increased to a hurricane, and then, all at once it ceased. The
silence became ominous. The horse and rider had just left the
canyon and started on the forty-mile stretch of open country
when the blizzard engulfed them with all its fury. It was as if
the storm had rested a few moments to catch its breath and had
then started with redoubled energy.         It seemed as if the
elements had combined their forces for the purpose of destroying that mere speck of a horse and rider who had dared to
brave their wrath.
     Driving sleet fell in layers. It was as impossible for a human being to see fifty feet into that swirling mass as it was for
the horse to fly.
     After the first furious onslaught of the raging elements, Bob
realized that he was face to face with death. Already he had
lost all sense of direction.  His face was giving him excruciating
pain from the ceaseless pelting of the minute particles of ice.
With numbed fingers he unrolled the neck of his sweater and
pulled it over his head, drawing his cap down over it.
      There is something about life in the great, silent places of
God's big outdoors that prepares men to meet great crises without flinching.    Somehow the fear of death gives place to a
strange curiosity to know what lies beyond, what the Creator
of it all has in store for us on the other side. And thus Bob,
firmly convinced that this was the last ride that he and Beaver
would ever take together, smiled whimsically as he lashed himself to the horn of the saddle, preparing for that hour when he
should be so overcome by the cold that he could no longer keep
his seat.
         Several times, during a momentary lull in the storm, he attempted to guide Beaver towards the place where he believed
the trail to lie. Each time the horse insisted on keeping his own
course, and finally Bob desisted.
     "I know it's rough on you, Beaver, old boy," he murmured,