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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12684 ***
+
+DORIAN
+
+
+By
+
+Nephi Anderson
+
+
+Author of "Added Upon," "Romance of A Missionary," etc.
+
+
+
+
+    "The Keys of the Holy Priesthood unlock the Door of Knowledge and
+    let you look into the Palace of Truth."
+
+    BRIGHAM YOUNG.
+
+
+
+
+Salt Lake City, Utah
+
+1921
+
+
+
+
+Other books by Nephi Anderson.
+
+
+"ADDED UPON"--A story of the past, the present, and the future stages of
+existence.
+
+"THE CASTLE BUILDER"--The scenes and incidents are from the "Land of the
+Midnight Sun."
+
+"PINEY RIDGE COTTAGE"--A love story of a Mormon country girl.
+Illustrated.
+
+"STORY OF CHESTER LAWRENCE"--Being the completed account of one who
+played an important part in "Piney Ridge Cottage."
+
+"A DAUGHTER OF THE NORTH"--A story of a Norwegian girl's trials and
+triumphs. Illustrated.
+
+"JOHN ST. JOHN"--The story of a young man who went through the
+soul-trying scenes of Missouri and Illinois.
+
+"ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY"--A story of English life and missionary
+experiences. Illustrated.
+
+"MARCUS KING MORMON"--A story of early days in Utah.
+
+"THE BOYS OF SPRINGTOWN"--A story about boys for boys and all interested
+in boys. Illustrated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ONE.
+
+
+Dorian Trent was going to town to buy himself a pair of shoes. He had
+some other errands to perform for himself and his mother, but the reason
+for his going to town was the imperative need of shoes. It was Friday
+afternoon. The coming Sunday he must appear decently shod, so his mother
+had told him, at the same time hinting at some other than the Sunday
+reason. He now had the money, three big, jingling silver dollars in his
+pocket.
+
+Dorian whistled cheerfully as he trudged along the road. It was a scant
+three miles to town, and he would rather walk that short distance than
+to be bothered with a horse. When he took Old Nig, he had to keep to the
+main-traveled road straight into town, then tie him to a post--and worry
+about him all the time; but afoot and alone, he could move along as
+easily as he pleased, linger on the canal bank or cut cross-lots through
+the fields to the river, cross it on the footbridge, then go on to town
+by the lower meadows.
+
+The road was dusty that afternoon, and the sun was hot. It would be
+cooler under the willows by the river. At Cottonwood Corners, Dorian
+left the road and took the cut-off path. The river sparkled cool and
+clear under the overhanging willows. He saw a good-sized trout playing
+in the pool, but as he had no fishing tackle with him, the boy could
+only watch the fish in its graceful gliding in and out of sunshine and
+shadow. A robin overhead was making a noisy demonstration as if in
+alarm about a nest. Dorian sat on the bank to look and listen for a few
+moments, then he got up again.
+
+Crossing the river, he took the cool foot-path under the willows. He
+cut down one of the smoothest, sappiest branches with which to make
+whistles. Dorian was a great maker of whistles, which he freely gave
+away to the smaller boys and girls whom he met. Just as it is more fun
+to catch fish than to eat them, so Dorian found more pleasure in giving
+away his whistles than to stuff them in his own pockets. However, that
+afternoon, he had to hurry on to town, so he caught no fish, and made
+only one whistle which he found no opportunity to give away. In the
+city, he attended to his mother's errands first. He purchased the few
+notions which the store in his home town of Greenstreet did not have,
+checking each item off on a slip of paper with a stub of a pencil. Then,
+there were his shoes.
+
+Should he get lace or button, black or tan? Were there any bargains in
+shoes that afternoon? He would look about to see. He found nothing in
+the way of footwear on Main street which appealed to him. He lingered at
+the window of the book store, looking with envious eyes at the display
+of new books. He was well known by the bookseller, for he was a frequent
+visitor, and, once in a while, he made a purchase; however, to day he
+must not spend too much time "browsing" among books. He would, however,
+just slip around to Twenty-fifth street and take a look at the
+secondhand store there. Not to buy shoes, of course, but sometimes there
+were other interesting things there, especially books.
+
+Ah, look here! Spread out on a table on the sidewalk in front of this
+second-hand store was a lot of books, a hundred or more--books of all
+kind--school books, history, fiction, all of them in good condition,
+some only a little shopworn, others just like new. Dorian Trent eagerly
+looked them over. Here were books he had read about, but had not
+read--and the prices! Dickens' "David Copperfield", "Tale of Two
+Cities", "Dombey and Son", large well-printed books, only a little
+shopworn, for thirty-five cents; Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", twenty-five
+cents; books by Mrs. Humphrey Ward and Margaret Deland; "Robinson
+Crusoe", a big book with fine pictures. Dorian had, of course, read
+"Robinson Crusoe" but he had always wanted to own a copy. Ah, what's
+this? Prescott's "Conquest of Peru", two volumes, new, fifty cents each!
+Dorian turned the leaves. A man stepped up and also began handling the
+books. Yes, here were bargains, surely. He stacked a number together as
+if he desired to secure them. Dorian becoming fearful, slipped the other
+volume of the Conquest under his arm and made as if to gather a number
+of other books under his protection. He must have some of these before
+they were all taken by others. The salesman now came up to him and
+asked:
+
+"Find something you want?"
+
+"O, yes, a lot of things I like" replied Dorian.
+
+"They're bargains."
+
+Dorian needed not to be told that.
+
+"They're going fast, too."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so."
+
+His heart fell as he said it, for he realized that he had no money to
+buy books. He had come to town to buy shoes, which he badly needed. He
+glanced down at his old shoes. They were nearly falling to pieces, but
+they might last a little longer. If he bought the "Conquest of Peru" he
+would still have two dollars left. Could he buy a pair of shoes for that
+amount? Very likely but not the kind his mother had told him to get, the
+kind that were not too heavy or "stogy" looking, but would be "nice"
+for Sundays. He held tightly on to the two books, while Dickens and
+Thackeray were still protectingly within his reach. What could he do?
+
+Down there in Peru there had been a wonderful people whom Pizarro, the
+bad, bold Spaniard had conquered and abused. Dorian knew about it all
+vaguely as a dim fairy tale; and here was the whole story, beautifully
+and minutely told. He must have these books. This bargain might never
+come again to him. But what would his mother say? She herself had added
+the last half dollar to his amount to make sure that he could get the
+nicer kind.
+
+"Well, sir, how many of these will you have?" asked the salesman.
+
+"I'll--I'll take these two, anyway"--meaning Prescott's Conquest--"and
+let me see", he looked hungrily over the titles--"And this one 'David
+Copperfield'." It was hard to select from so many tempting ones. Here
+was one he had missed: "Ben Hur"--, a fine new copy in blue and gold. He
+had read the Chariot Race, and if the whole story was as interesting as
+that, he must have it. He handed the volume to the salesman. Then his
+hand touched lovingly a number of other books, but he resisted the
+temptation, and said: "That's all--this time."
+
+The clerk wrapped the purchase in a newspaper and handed the package to
+Dorian who paid for them with his two silver dollars, receiving some
+small silver in change. Then, with his package under his arm, the boy
+walked on down the street.
+
+Well, what now? He was a little afraid of what he had done. How could
+he face his mother? How could he go home without shoes? Books might be
+useful for the head, but they would not clothe the feet. He jingled the
+coins in his pocket as he walked on down to the end of the business
+section of the city. He could not buy any kind of shoes to fit his big
+feet for a dollar and twenty cents. There was nothing more to do but to
+go home, and "face the music", so he walked on in a sort of fearsome
+elation. At a corner he discovered a new candy store. Next to books,
+Dorian liked candy. He might as well buy some candy for the twenty
+cents. He went into the store and took his time looking at the tempting
+display, finally buying ten cents worth of chocolates for himself and
+ten cents worth of peppermint lozenges for his mother.
+
+You see, Dorian Trent, though sixteen years old, was very much a child;
+he did many childish things, and yet in some ways, he was quite a man;
+the child in him and the man in him did not seem to merge into the boy,
+but were somewhat "separate and apart," as the people of Greenstreet
+would say.
+
+Dorian again took the less frequented road home. The sun was still high
+when he reached the river. He was not expected home for some time yet,
+so there was no need for hurry. He crossed the footbridge, noticing
+neither birds nor fish. Instead of following the main path, he struck
+off into a by-trail which led him to a tiny grass plat in the shade of a
+tree by the river. He sat down here, took off his hat, and pushed back
+from a freckled, sweating forehead a mop of wavy, rusty-colored hair.
+Then he untied his package of books and spread his treasures before him
+as a miser would his gold. He opened "David Copperfield", looked at the
+frontispiece which depicted a fat man making a very emphatic speech
+against someone by the name of Heep. It must all be very interesting,
+but it was altogether too big a book for him to begin to read now. "Ben
+Hur" looked solid and substantial; it would keep until next winter when
+he would have more time to read. Then he picked up the "Conquest",
+volume one. He backed up against the tree, settled himself into a
+comfortable position, took from his paper bag a chocolate at which he
+nibbled contentedly, and then away he went with Prescott to the land of
+the Inca and the glories of a vanished race!
+
+For an hour he read. Then, reluctantly, he closed his book, wrapped up
+his package again, and went on his homeward way.
+
+The new canal for which the farmers of Greenstreet had worked and waited
+so long had just been completed. The big ditch, now full of running
+water, was a source of delight to the children as well as to the more
+practical adults. The boys and girls played on its banks, and waded and
+sported in the cool stream. Near the village of Greenstreet was a big
+headgate, from which the canal branched into two divisions. As Dorian
+walked along the canal bank that afternoon, he saw a group of children
+at play near the headgate. They were making a lot of robust noise, and
+Dorian stopped to watch them. He was always interested in the children,
+being more of a favorite among them than among the boys of his own age.
+
+"There's Dorian," shouted one of the boys. "Who are you going to marry?"
+
+What in the world were the youngsters talking about, thought the young
+man, as the chattering children surrounded him.
+
+"What's all this?" asked Dorian, "a party?"
+
+"Yes; it's Carlia's birthday; we're just taking a walk by the canal to
+see the water; my, but it's nice!"
+
+"What, the party or the water?"
+
+"Why, the water."
+
+"Both" added another.
+
+"We've all told who we're going to marry," remarked a little rosy-faced
+miss, "all but Carlia, an' she won't tell."
+
+"Well, but perhaps Carlia don't know. You wouldn't have her tell a fib,
+would you?"
+
+"Oh, shucks, she knows as well as us."
+
+"She's just stubborn."
+
+She who was receiving these criticisms seemed to be somewhat older
+and larger than her companions. Just now, not deigning to notice the
+accusation of her friends, she was throwing sticks into the running
+water and watching them go over the falls at the headgate and dance on
+the rapids below. Her white party dress was as yet spotless. She swung
+her straw hat by the string. Her brown-black hair was crowned by an
+unusually large bow of red ribbon. She was not the least discomposed by
+the teasing of the other children, neither by Dorian's presence. This
+was her party, and why should not she do and say what she pleased.
+
+Carlia now led the way along the canal bank until she came to where a
+pole spanned the stream. She stopped, looked at the somewhat insecure
+footbridge, then turning to her companions, said:
+
+"I can back you out."
+
+"How? Doin' what?" they asked.
+
+"Crossing the canal on the pole."
+
+"Shucks, you can't back me out," declared one of the boys, at which he
+darted across the swaying pole, and with a jump, landed safely across.
+Another boy went at it gingerly, and with the antics of a tight-rope
+walker, he managed to get to the other side. The other boys held back;
+none of the girls ventured.
+
+"All right, Carlia," shouted the boys on the other bank.
+
+The girl stood looking at the frail pole.
+
+"Come on, it's easy," they encouraged.
+
+Carlia placed her foot on the pole as if testing it. The other girls
+protested. She would fall in and drown.
+
+"You dared us; now who's the coward," cried the boys.
+
+Carlia took a step forward, balanced herself, and took another. The
+children stood in spell-bound silence. The girl advanced slowly along
+the frail bridge until she reached the middle where the pole swayed
+dangerously.
+
+"Balance yourself," suggested the second boy.
+
+"Run," said the first.
+
+But Carlia could neither balance nor run. She stood for a moment on the
+oscillating span, then threw up her hands, and with a scream she plunged
+into the waters of the canal.
+
+No thought of danger had entered Dorian's mind as he stood watching the
+capers of the children. If any of them fell in, he thought, they would
+only get a good wetting. But as Carlia fell, he sprang forward. The
+water at this point was quite deep and running swiftly. He saw that
+Carlia fell on her side and went completely under. The children
+screamed. Dorian, startled out of his apathy, suddenly ran to the canal
+and jumped in. It was done so impulsively that he still held on to his
+package of books. With one hand he lifted the girl out of the water, but
+in her struggles, she knocked the bundle from his hand, and the precious
+books splashed into the canal and floated down the stream. Dorian made
+an effort to rescue them, but Carlia clung so to his arms that he could
+do nothing but stand and see the package glide over the falls at the
+headgate and then go dancing over the rapids, even as Carlia's sticks
+had done. For a moment the young man's thoughts were with his books, and
+it seemed that he stood there in the canal for quite a while in a sort
+of daze, with the water rushing by his legs. Then mechanically he
+carried the girl to the bank and would have set her down again with her
+companions, but she clung to him so closely and with such terror in her
+eyes that he lifted her into his arms and talked reassuringly to her:
+
+"There, now," he said, "you're only a bit wet. Don't cry."
+
+"Take me home. I--I want to go home," sobbed the girl.
+
+"Sure," said Dorian. "Come on everybody."
+
+He led the way, and the rest of the children followed.
+
+"I suppose the party's about over, anyway," suggested he.
+
+"I--I guess so."
+
+They walked on in silence for a time; then Carlia said:
+
+"I guess I'm heavy."
+
+"Not at all", lied the young man bravely, for she was heavier than he
+had supposed; but she made no offer to walk. By the time they reached
+the gate, Carlia was herself again, and inclined to look upon her
+wetting and escape as quite an adventure.
+
+"There," said Dorian as he seated the girl on the broad top of the gate
+post; "I'll leave you there to dry. It won't take long."
+
+He looked at his own wet clothes, and then at his ragged, mud-laden
+shoes. He might as well carry the girl up the path to her home, but
+then, that was not necessary. The day was warm, there was no danger of
+colds, and she could run up the path in a few minutes.
+
+"Well, I'll go now. Goodby," he said.
+
+"Wait a minute--Say, I'm glad you saved me, but I'm sorry you lost your
+package. What was in it?"
+
+"Only books."
+
+"I'll get you some more, when I get the money, yes I will. Come here and
+lift me down before you go."
+
+He obeyed. She put a wet arm about his neck and cuddled her dark, damp
+curls against his russet mop. He lifted her lightly down, and then he
+slipped a chocolate secretly into her hand.
+
+"Oh girls," exclaimed one of the party, "I know now."
+
+"Know what?" asked Carlia.
+
+"I know who you are going to marry."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"You're going to marry Dorian."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWO.
+
+
+The disposition to lie or evade never remained long with Dorian Trent;
+but that evening as he turned into the lane which led up to the house,
+he was sorely-tempted. Once or twice only, as nearly as he could
+remember, had he told an untruth to his mother with results which he
+would never forget. He must tell her the truth now.
+
+But he would put off the ordeal as long as possible. There could be no
+harm in that. Everything was quiet about the house, as his mother was
+away. He hurriedly divested himself of his best clothes and put on
+his overalls. He took the milk pail and hung it on the fence until he
+brought the cows from the pasture. After milking, he did his other
+chores. There were no signs of mother. The dusk turned to darkness, yet
+no light appeared in the house. Dorian went in and lighted the lamp and
+proceeded to get supper.
+
+The mother came presently, carrying a bag of wool. "A big herd of sheep
+went by this afternoon," she explained, "and they left a lot of fine
+wool on the barbed-wire fences. See, I have gathered enough for a pair
+of stockings." She seated herself.
+
+"You're tired," said Dorian.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you sit and rest; I'll soon have the supper on the table." This
+was no difficult task, as the evening meal was usually a very simple
+one, and Dorian had frequently prepared it. This evening as the mother
+sat there quietly she looked at her son with admiring eyes. What a big
+boy he was getting to be! He had always been big, it seemed to her. He
+had been a big baby and a big little boy, and now he was a big young
+man. He had a big head and big feet, big hands. His nose and mouth were
+big, and big freckles dotted his face--yes, and a big heart, as his
+mother very well knew. Along with his bigness of limb and body there was
+a certain awkwardness. He never could run as fast as the other boys,
+and he always fumbled the ball in their games though he could beat them
+swimming. So far in his youthful career he had not learned to dance. The
+one time he had tried, his girl partner had made fun of his awkwardness,
+so that ended his dancing. But Dorian was not clumsy about his mother's
+home and table. He handled the dishes as daintily as a girl, and the
+table was set and the food served in a very proper manner.
+
+"Did you get your shoes, Dorian?"
+
+Dorian burned his fingers on a dish which was not at all hot.
+
+"Mother, sit up; supper is ready."
+
+They both drew up their chairs. Dorian asked the blessing, then became
+unusually solicitous in helping his mother, continually talking as he
+did so.
+
+"That little Duke girl was nearly drowned in the canal, this afternoon,"
+he told her, going on with the details. "She's a plucky little thing.
+Ten minutes after I had her out of the canal, she was as lively as
+ever."
+
+The mother liked to hear him talk, so she did not interrupt him. After
+they had eaten, he forced her to take her rocking-chair while he cleared
+the table and washed the few dishes. She asked no more questions about
+shoes, but leaned back in her chair with half-closed eyes. Dorian
+thought to give her the mint lozenges, but fearing that it might lead to
+more questions, he did not.
+
+Mrs. Trent was not old in years, but hard work had bent her back and
+roughened her hands. Her face was pleasant to look upon, even if there
+were some wrinkles now, and the hair was white at the temples. She
+closed her eyes as if she were going to sleep.
+
+"Now, mother, you're going to bed", said Dorian. "You have tired
+yourself out with this wool picking. I thought I told you before that I
+would gather what wool there was."
+
+"But you weren't here, and I could not stand to see the wind blowing it
+away. See, what a fine lot I got." She opened her bundle and displayed
+her fleece.
+
+"Well, put it away. You can't card and spin and knit it tonight."
+
+"It will have to be washed first, you foolish boy."
+
+Dorian got his mother to bed without further reference to shoes. He went
+to his own room with a conscience not altogether easy. He lighted his
+lamp, which was a good one, for he did a lot of reading by it. The
+electric wires had not yet reached Greenstreet. Dorian stood looking
+about his room. It was not a very large one, and somewhat sparsely
+furnished. The bed seemed selfishly to take up most of the space.
+Against one wall was set some home-made shelving containing books. He
+had quite a library. There were books of various kinds, gathered with no
+particular plan or purpose, but as means and opportunity afforded. In
+one corner stood a scroll saw, now not very often used. Pictures of a
+full-rigged sailing vessel and a big modern steamer hung on the wall
+above his books. On another wall were three small prints, landscapes
+where there were great distances with much light and warmth. Over his
+bed hung an artist's conception of "Lorna Doone," a beautiful face,
+framed in a mass of auburn hair, with smiling lips, and a dreamy look in
+her eyes.
+
+"That's my girl," Dorian sometimes said, pointing to this picture. "No
+one can take her from me; we never quarrel; and she never scolds or
+frowns."
+
+On another wall hung a portrait of his father, who had been dead nine
+years. His father had been a teacher with a longing to be a farmer.
+Eventually, this longing had been realized in the purchase of the twenty
+acres in Greenstreet, at that time a village with not one street which
+could be called green, and without a sure water supply for irrigation,
+at least on the land which would grow corn and potatoes and wheat. To
+be sure, there was water enough of its kind down on the lower slopes,
+besides saleratus and salt grass and cattails and the tang of marshlands
+in the air. Schoolmaster Trent's operations in farming had not been very
+successful, and when he died, the result of his failure was a part of
+the legacy which descended to his wife and son.
+
+Dorian took a book from the shelf as if to read; but visions intruded
+of some beautiful volumes, now somewhere down the canal, a mass of
+water-soaked paper. He could not read. He finished his last chocolate,
+said his prayers, and went to bed.
+
+Saturday was always a busy day with Dorian and his mother; but that
+morning Mrs. Trent was up earlier than usual. The white muslin curtains
+were already in the wash when Dorian looked at his mother in the summer
+kitchen.
+
+"What, washing today!" he asked in surprise. Monday was washday.
+
+"The curtains were black; they must be clean for tomorrow."
+
+"You can see dirt where I can't see it."
+
+"I've been looking for it longer, my boy. And, say, fix up the line you
+broke the other day."
+
+"Sure, mother."
+
+The morning was clear and cool. He did his chores, then went out to his
+ten-acre field of wheat and lucerne. The grain was heading beautifully;
+and there were prospects of three cuttings of hay; the potatoes were
+doing fine, also the corn and the squash and the melons. The young
+farmer's heart was made glad to see the coming harvest, all the work of
+his own hands.
+
+For this was the first real crop they had raised. For years they had
+struggled and pinched. Sometimes Dorian was for giving up and moving
+to the city; but the mother saw brighter prospects when the new canal
+should be finished. And then her boy would be better off working for
+himself on the farm than drudging for others in the town; besides, she
+had a desire to remain on the spot made dear by her husband's work; and
+so they struggled along, making their payments on the land and later on
+the canal stock. The summit of their difficulties seemed now to have
+passed, and better times were ahead. Dorian looked down at his ragged
+shoes and laughed to himself good-naturedly. Shucks, in a few months he
+would have plenty of money to buy shoes, perhaps also a Sunday suit for
+himself, and everything his mother needed. And if there should happen to
+be more book bargains, he might venture in that direction again.
+
+Breakfast passed without the mention of shoes. What was his mother
+thinking about! She seemed uncommonly busy with cleaning an uncommonly
+clean house. When Dorian came home from irrigating at noon, he kicked
+off his muddy shoes by the shanty door, so as not to soil her cleanly
+scrubbed floor or to stain the neat home-made rug. There seemed to be
+even more than the extra cooking in preparation for Sunday.
+
+The mother looked at Dorian coming so noiselessly in his stocking feet.
+
+"You didn't show me your new shoes last night," she said.
+
+"Say, mother, what's all this extra cleaning and cooking about?"
+
+"We're going to have company tomorrow."
+
+"Company? Who?"
+
+"I'll tell you about it at the table."
+
+"Do you remember," began the mother when they were seated, "a lady and
+her little girl who visited us some two years ago?"
+
+Yes, he had some recollection of them. He remembered the girl,
+specially, spindle-legged, with round eyes, pale cheeks, and an
+uncommonly long braid of yellow hair hanging down her back.
+
+"Well, they're coming to see us tomorrow. Mrs. Brown is an old-time
+friend of mine, and Mildred is an only child. The girl is not strong,
+and so I invited them to come here and get some good country air."
+
+"To stay with us, mother?" asked the boy in alarm.
+
+"Just to visit. It's terribly hot in the city. We have plenty of fresh
+eggs and good milk, which, I am sure is just what the child needs. Mrs.
+Brown cannot stay more than the day, so she says, but I am going to ask
+that Mildred visits with us for a week anyway. I think I can bring some
+color into her cheeks."
+
+"Oh, gee, mother!" he remonstrated.
+
+"Now, Dorian, be reasonable. She's such a simple, quiet girl. She will
+not be in the way in the least. I want you to treat her nicely."
+
+Dorian had finished his dinner and was gazing out of the window. There
+was an odd look on his face. The idea of a girl living right here with
+them in the same house startled and troubled him. His mother had called
+her a little girl, but he remembered her as being only a year or two
+younger than he. Gee!
+
+"That's why I wanted you to get a pair of decent shoes for tomorrow,"
+said the mother, "and I told you to get a nice pair. I have brushed and
+pressed your clothes, but you must get a new suit as soon as possible.
+Where are your shoes! I couldn't find them."
+
+"I--didn't get any shoes, mother."
+
+"Didn't get any! Why not?"
+
+"Well, you see--I didn't know about these visitors coming, mother, and
+so I--bought some books for most of my money, and so; but mother, don't
+get mad--I--"
+
+"Books? What books? Where are they?"
+
+And then Dorian told her plainly the whole miserable story. At first the
+mother was angry, but when she saw the troubled face of her boy, she
+relented, not wishing to add to his misery. She even smiled at the
+calamitous ending of those books.
+
+"My boy, I see that you have been sorely tempted, and I am sorry that
+you lost your books. The wetting that Carlia gave you did no harm ...
+but you must have some shoes by tomorrow. Wait."
+
+The mother went to the bureau drawer, opened the lid of a little box,
+drew from the box a purse, and took from the purse two silver dollars.
+She handed them to Dorian.
+
+"Go to town again this afternoon and get some shoes."
+
+"But, mother, I hate to take your money. I think I can black my old ones
+so that they will not look so bad."
+
+"Blacking will not fill the holes. Now, you do as I say. Jump on Nig and
+go right away."
+
+Dorian put the money in his pocket, then went out to the yard and
+slipped a bridle on his horse, mounted, and was back to the house.
+
+"Now, Dorian, remember what I say. Get you a nice pair, a nice Sunday
+pair."
+
+"All right, mother, I will."
+
+He rode off at a gallop. He lingered not by creeks or byways, but went
+directly to the best shoe store in the city, where he made his purchase.
+He stopped neither at book store or candy shops. His horse was sweating
+when he rode in at the home yard. His mother hearing him, came out.
+
+"You made quick time," she said.
+
+"Yes; just to buy a pair of shoes doesn't take long."
+
+"You got the right kind?"
+
+"Sure. Here, look at 'em." He handed her the package.
+
+"I can't look at them now. Say, Dorian--" she came out nearer to
+him--"They are here."
+
+"Who, mother?"
+
+"Mrs. Brown and her daughter. They got a chance to ride out this
+afternoon, so they did not wait until tomorrow. Lucky I cleaned up this
+morning. Mildred is not a bit well, and she is lying down now. Don't
+make any more noise than you can help."
+
+"Gee--but, mother, gosh!" He was very much disturbed.
+
+"They are dear, good people. They know we are simple farmers. Just you
+wash yourself and take off those dirty overalls before you come in. And
+then you just behave yourself. We're going to have something nice for
+supper. Now, don't be too long with your hoeing or with your chores,
+for supper will be early this evening."
+
+Dorian hoed only ten rows that afternoon for the reason that he sat down
+to rest and to think at the end of each row. Then he dallied so with his
+chores that his mother had to call him twice. At last he could find no
+more excuses between him and the strange company. He went in with much
+fear and some invisible trembling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THREE.
+
+
+About six o'clock in the afternoon, Mildred Brown went down through the
+fields to the lower pasture. She wore a gingham apron which covered her
+from neck to high-topped boots. She carried in one hand an easel and
+stool and in the other hand a box of colors. Mildred came each day to a
+particular spot in this lower pasture and set up her easel and stool in
+the shade of a black willow bush to paint a particular scene. She did
+her work as nearly as possible at the same time each afternoon to get
+the same effect of light and shade and the same stretch of reflected
+sunlight on the open water spaces in the marshland.
+
+And the scene before her was worthy of a master hand, which, of course,
+Mildred Brown was not as yet. From her position in the shade of the
+willow, she looked out over the flat marshlands toward the west. Nearby,
+at the edge of the firmer pasture lands, the rushes grew luxuriously,
+now crowned with large, glossy-brown "cat-tails." The flats to the left
+were spotted by beds of white and black saleratus and bunches of course
+salt grass. Openings of sluggish water lay hot in the sun, winding in
+and out among reeds, and at this hour every clear afternoon, shining
+with the undimmed reflection of the burning sun. The air was laden
+with salty odors of the marshes. A light afternoon haze hung over the
+distance. Frogs were lazily croaking, and the killdeer's shrill cry came
+plaintively to the ear. A number of cows stood knee-deep in mud and
+water, round as barrels, and breathing hard, with tails unceasingly
+switching away the flies.
+
+Dorian was in the field turning the water on his lucerne patch when he
+saw Mildred coming as usual down the path. He had not expected her that
+afternoon as he thought the picture which she had been working on
+was finished; but after adjusting the flow of water, he joined her,
+relieving her of stool and easel. They then walked on together, the
+big farm boy in overalls and the tall graceful girl in the enveloping
+gingham.
+
+Mildred's visit had now extended to ten days, by which time Dorian had
+about gotten over his timidity in her presence. In fact, that had not
+been difficult. The girl was not a bit "stuck up," and she entered
+easily and naturally into the home life on the farm. She had changed
+considerably since Dorian had last seen her, some two years ago. Her
+face was still pale, although it seemed that a little pink was now
+creeping into her cheeks; her eyes were still big and round and blue;
+her hair was now done up in thick shining braids. She talked freely to
+Dorian and his mother, and at last Dorian had to some extent been able
+to find his tongue in the presence of a girl nearly his own age.
+
+The two stopped in the shade of the willow. He set up the easel and
+opened the stool, while she got out her colors and brushes.
+
+"Thank you," she said to him. "Did you get through with your work in the
+field?"
+
+"I was just turning the water on the lucerne. I got through shocking the
+wheat some time ago."
+
+"Is there a good crop! I don't know much about such things, but I want
+to learn." She smiled up into his ruddy face.
+
+"The wheat is fine. The heads are well developed. I wouldn't be
+surprised if it went fifty bushels to the acre."
+
+"Fifty bushels?" She began to squeeze the tubes of colors on to the
+palette.
+
+Dorian explained; and as he talked, she seated herself, placed the
+canvas on the easel, and began mixing the colors.
+
+"I thought you finished that picture yesterday," he said.
+
+"I was not satisfied with it, and so I thought I would put in another
+hour on it. The setting sun promises to be unusually fine today, and I
+want to put a little more of its beauty into my picture, if I can."
+
+The young man seated himself on the grass well toward the rear where he
+could see her at work. He thought it wonderful to be able thus to make a
+beautiful picture out of such a commonplace thing as a saleratus swamp.
+But then, he was beginning to think that this girl was capable of
+endless wonders. He had met no other girl just like her, so young and so
+beautiful, and yet so talented and so well-informed; so rich, and yet
+so simple in manner of her life; so high born and bred, and yet so
+companionable with those of humbler station.
+
+The painter squeezed a daub of brilliant red on to her palette. She
+gazed for a moment at the western sky, then turning to Dorian, she
+asked:
+
+"Do you think I dare put a little more red in my picture?"
+
+"Dare?" he repeated.
+
+The young man followed the pointing finger of the girl into the flaming
+depths of the sky, then came and leaned carefully over the painting.
+
+"Tell me which is redder, the real or the picture?" she asked.
+
+Dorian looked critically back and forth. "The sky is redder," be
+decided.
+
+"And yet if I make my picture as red as the sky naturally is, many
+people would say that it is too red to be true. I'll risk it anyway."
+Then she carefully laid on a little more color.
+
+"Nature itself, our teacher told us, is always more intense than any
+representation of nature."
+
+She worked on in silence for a few moments, then without looking from
+her canvas, she asked: "Do you like being a farmer?"
+
+"Oh, I guess so," he replied somewhat indefinitely. "I've lived on a
+farm all my life, and I don't know anything else. I used to think I
+would like to get away, but mother always wanted to stay. There's been a
+lot of hard work for both of us, but now things are coming more our way,
+and I like it better. Anyway, I couldn't live in the city now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, I don't seem able to breathe in the city, with its smoke and its
+noise and its crowding together of houses and people."
+
+"You ought to go to Chicago or New York or Boston," she replied. "Then
+you would see some crowds and hear some noises."
+
+"Have you been there?"
+
+"I studied drawing and painting in Boston. Next to farming, what would
+you like to do?"
+
+He thought for a moment--"When I was a little fellow--"
+
+"Which you are not," she interrupted as she changed brushes.
+
+"I thought that if I ever could attain to the position of standing
+behind a counter in a store where I could take a piece of candy whenever
+I wanted it, I should have attained to the heights of happiness. But,
+now, of course--"
+
+"Well, and now?"
+
+"I believe I'd like to be a school teacher."
+
+"Why a teacher?"
+
+"Because I'd then have the chance to read a lot of books."
+
+"You like to read, don't you? and you like candy, and you like
+pictures."
+
+"Especially, when someone else paints them."
+
+Mildred arose, stepped back to get the distance for examination. "I
+don't think I had better use more color," she commented, "but those
+cat-tails in the corner need touching up a bit."
+
+"I suppose you have been to school a lot?" he asked.
+
+"No; just completed the high school; then, not being very strong, mother
+thought it best not to send me to the University; but she lets me dabble
+a little in painting and in music."
+
+Dorian could not keep his eyes off this girl who had already completed
+the high school course which he had not yet begun; besides, she had
+learned a lot of other things which would be beyond him to ever reach.
+Even though he were an ignoramus, he could bask in the light of her
+greater learning. She did not resent that.
+
+"What do you study in High School!" he asked.
+
+"Oh, a lot of things--don't you know?" She again looked up at him.
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"We studied algebra and mathematics and English and English literature,
+and French, and a lot of other things."
+
+"What's algebra like?"
+
+"Oh dear, do you want me to draw it?"
+
+"Can you draw it?"
+
+"About as well as I can tell it in words. Algebra is higher mathematics;
+yes, that's it."
+
+"And what's the difference between English and English literature?"
+
+"English is grammar and how sentences are or should be made. English
+literature is made up mostly of the reading of the great authors, such
+as Milton and Shakespeare,"
+
+"Gee!" exclaimed Dorian, "that would be great fun."
+
+"Fun? just you try it. Nobody reads these writers now only in school,
+where they have to. But say, Dorian"--she arose to inspect her work
+again. "Have I too much purple in that bunch of salt-grass on the left?
+What do you think?"
+
+"I don't see any purple at all in the real grass," he said.
+
+"There is purple there, however; but of course, you, not being an
+artist, cannot see it." She laughed a little for fear he might think her
+pronouncement harsh.
+
+"What--what is an artist?"
+
+"An artist is one who has learned to see more than other people can in
+the common things about them."
+
+The definition was not quite clear to him. He had proved that he
+could see farther and clearer than she could when looking at trees or
+chipmunks. He looked critically again at the picture.
+
+"I mean, of course," she added, as she noted his puzzled look, "that an
+artist is one who sees in nature the beauty in form, in light and shade,
+and in color."
+
+"You haven't put that tree in the right place," he objected! "and you
+have left out that house altogether."
+
+"This is not a photograph," she answered. "I put in my picture only that
+which I want there. The tree isn't in the right place, so I moved it.
+The house has no business in the picture because I want it to represent
+a scene of wild, open lonesomeness. I want to make the people who look
+at it feel so lonesome that they want to cry!"
+
+She was an odd girl!
+
+"Oh, don't you understand. I want them only to feel like it. When you
+saw that charcoal drawing I made the other day, you laughed."
+
+"Well, it was funny."
+
+"That's just it. An artist wants to be able to make people feel like
+laughing or crying, for then he knows he has reached their soul."
+
+"I've got to look after the water for a few minutes, then I'll come back
+and help you carry your things," he said. "You're about through, aren't
+you?"
+
+"Thank you; I'll be ready now in a few minutes. Go see to your water.
+I'll wait for you. How beautiful the west is now!"
+
+They stood silently for a few moments side by side, looking at the glory
+of the setting sun through banks of clouds and then down behind the
+purple mountain. Then Dorian, with shovel on shoulder, hastened to his
+irrigating. The blossoming field of lucerne was usually a common enough
+sight, but now it was a stretch of sweet-scented waves of green and
+purple.
+
+Mildred looked at the farmer boy until he disappeared behind the willow
+fence, then she began to pack up her things. Presently, she heard some
+low bellowing, and, looking up, she saw a number of cows, with tails
+erect, galloping across the fields. They had broken the fence, and were
+now having a gay frolic on forbidden grounds. Mildred saw that they were
+making directly for the corner of the pasture where she was. She was
+afraid of cows, even when they were within the quiet enclosure of the
+yard, and here was a wild lot apparently coming upon her to destroy her.
+She crouched, terror stricken, as if to take shelter behind the frail
+bulwark of her easel.
+
+Then she saw a horse leap through the gap in the fence and come
+galloping after the cows. On the horse was a girl, not a large girl, but
+she was riding fearlessly, bare-back, and urging the horse to greater
+strides. Her black hair was trailing in the wind as she waved a willow
+switch and shouted lustily at the cows. She managed to head the cows off
+before they had reached Mildred, rounding them up sharply and driving
+them back through the breach into the road which they followed quietly
+homeward. The rider then galloped back to the frightened girl.
+
+"Did the cows scare you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," panted Mildred. "I'm so frightened of cows, and these were so
+wild."
+
+"They were just playing. They wouldn't hurt you; but they did look
+fierce."
+
+"Whose cows were they?"
+
+"They're ours. I have to get them up every day. Sometimes when the flies
+are bad they get a little mad, but I'm not afraid of them. They know me,
+you bet. I can milk the kickiest one of the lot."
+
+"Do you milk the cows?"
+
+"Sure--but what is that?" The rider had caught sight of the picture.
+"Did you make that?"
+
+"Yes; I painted it."
+
+"My!" She dismounted, and with arm through bridle, she and the horse
+came up for a closer view of the picture. The girl looked at it mutely
+for a moment. "It's pretty" she said; "I wish I could make a picture
+like that."
+
+Mildred smiled at her. She was such a round, rosy girl, so full of
+health and life and color. Not such a little girl either, now a nearer
+view was obtained. She was only a year or two younger than Mildred
+herself.
+
+"I wish I could do what you can," said the painter of pictures.
+
+"I--what? I can't do anything like that."
+
+"No; but you can ride a horse, and stop runaway cows. You can do a lot
+of things that I cannot do because you are stronger than I am. I wish I
+had some of that rosy red in your cheeks."
+
+"You can have some of mine," laughed the other, "for I have more than
+enough; but you wouldn't like the freckles."
+
+"I wouldn't mind them, I'm sure; but let me thank you for what you did,
+and let's get acquainted." Mildred held out her hand, which the other
+took somewhat shyly. "Don't you have to go home with your cows?"
+
+"Yes, I guess so."
+
+"Then we'll go back together." She gathered her material and they walked
+on up the path, Mildred ahead, for she was timid of the horse which the
+other led by the bridle rein. At the bars in the corner of the upper
+pasture the horse was turned loose into his own feeding ground, and the
+girls went on together.
+
+"You live near here, don't you?" inquired Mildred.
+
+"Yes, just over there."
+
+"Oh, are you Carlia Duke?"
+
+"Yes; how did you know?"
+
+"Dorian has told me about you."
+
+"Has he? We're neighbors; an' you're the girl that's visiting with the
+Trent's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I'm glad to meet you. Dorian has told me about you, too."
+
+Thus these two, meeting for the first time, went on chatting together;
+and thus Dorian saw them. He had missed Mildred at the lower pasture,
+and so, with shovel again on shoulder, he had followed up the homeward
+path. The girls were some distance ahead, so he did not try to overtake
+them. In fact, he slackened his pace a little, so as not to get too
+close to them to disturb them; but he saw them plainly walk close
+together up the road in the twilight of the summer evening, the tall,
+light-haired Mildred, and the shorter, dark-haired Carlia; and the child
+in Dorian seemed to vanish, and the man in him asserted himself in
+thought and feelings which it would have been hard for him to describe
+in words.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOUR.
+
+
+Indian summer lay drowsily over the land. It had come late that season,
+but its rare beauty compensated for its tardiness. Its golden mellowness
+permeating the hazy air, had also, it seems, crept into the heart of
+Dorian Trent. The light coating of frost which each morning lay on the
+grass, had by noon vanished, and now the earth was warm and dry.
+
+Dorian was plowing, and he was in no great haste with his work. He did
+not urge his horses, for they also seemed imbued with the languidness of
+the season. He let them rest frequently, especially at the end of the
+furrow where there was a grassy bank on which the plowman could lie
+prone on his back and look into the dreamy distances of the hills or up
+into the veiling clouds.
+
+Dorian could afford to take it a little easy that afternoon, so he
+thought. The summer's work was practically over: the wheat had been
+thrashed; the hay was in the stacks; the potatoes were in the pit;
+the corn stood in Indian wigwam bunches in the yard; the fruit and
+vegetables, mostly of the mother's raising, had been sufficient for
+their simple needs. They were well provided for the winter; and so
+Dorian was happy and contented as everyone in like condition should be
+on such an Indian summer afternoon.
+
+Mildred Brown's visit to the farm had ended some weeks ago; but only
+yesterday his mother had received a note from Mrs. Brown, asking if her
+daughter might not come again. Her former visit had done her so much
+good, and now the beautiful weather was calling her out into the
+country. It was a shame, Mildred had said, that Indian summer should
+"waste its sweetness on the desert air of the city."
+
+"What do you say?" Mrs. Trent had asked Dorian.
+
+"Why--why--of course, mother, if she doesn't make too much work for
+you."
+
+And so Mildred had received the invitation that she was very welcome to
+come to Greenstreet and stay as long as she desired. Very likely, she
+would be with them in a day or two, thought Dorian. She would draw and
+paint, and then in the soft evening dusk she would play some of those
+exquisite melodies on her violin. Mildred did not like people to speak
+of her beloved instrument as a fiddle, and he remembered how she had
+chastised him on one occasion for so doing. Yes, she would again enter
+into their daily life. Her ladylike ways, her sweet smile, her golden
+beauty would again glorify their humble home. Why, if she came often
+enough and remained long enough, she might yet learn how to milk a cow,
+as she had threatened to do. At the thought, the boy on the grass by the
+nodding horses, laughed up into the sky. Dorian was happy; but whether
+he preferred the somewhat nervous happiness of Mildred's presence or the
+quiet longing happiness of her absence, he could not tell.
+
+The plain truth of the matter was, that Dorian had fallen deeply in love
+with Mildred. This statement may be scoffed at by some people whose eyes
+have been dimmed by age so that they cannot see back into that time of
+youth when they also were "trailing clouds of glory" from their heavenly
+home. There is nothing more wholesomely sweet than this first boy and
+girl affection. It is clean and pure and undefiled by the many worldly
+elements which often enter into the more mature lovemaking.
+
+Perhaps Mildred Brown's entrance into Dorian's life did not differ from
+like incidents in many lives, but to him it was something holy. Dorian
+at this time never admitted to himself that he was in love with the
+girl. He sensed very well that she was far above him in every way. The
+thought that she might ever become his wife never obtained foothold in
+him more than for a fleeting moment: that was impossible, then why think
+of it. But there could be no harm in loving her as he loved his mother,
+or as he loved the flowers, the clear-flowing water, the warm sun and
+the blue sky. He could at least cast adoring eyes up to her as he did to
+the stars at night. He could also strive to rise to her level, if that
+were possible. He was going to the High school the coming winter, then
+perhaps to the University. He could get to know as much of school
+learning as she, anyway. He never would become a painter of pictures
+or a musician, but surely there were other things which he could learn
+which would be worth while.
+
+There came to Dorian that afternoon as he still lay on the grass, his
+one-time effort to ask a girl to a dance. He recalled what care he
+had taken in washing and combing and dressing, how he had finally cut
+cross-lots to the girl's home for fear of being seen, for surely he had
+thought, everybody must know what he was up to!--how he had lingered
+about the back door, and had at last, when the door opened, scudded back
+home as fast as his legs could carry him! And now, the finest girl he
+had ever seen was chumming with him, and he was not afraid, that is, not
+very much afraid.
+
+When Mildred had packed up to go home on the occasion of her former
+visit she had invited Mrs. Trent to take her pick of her drawings for
+her own.
+
+"All but this," Mildred had said. "This which I call 'Sunset in the
+Marshland' I am going to give to Dorian."
+
+The mother had looked over the pile of sketches. There was a panel in
+crayon which the artist said was the big cottonwood down by the Corners.
+Mrs. Trent remarked that she never would have known it, but then, she
+added apologetically, she never had an eye for art. There was a winter
+scene where the houses were so sunk into the earth that only the roofs
+were visible. (Mrs. Trent had often wondered why the big slanting roofs
+were the only artistic thing about a house). Another picture showed a
+high, camel-backed bridge, impossible to cross by anything more real
+than the artist's fancy. Mrs. Trent had chosen the bridge because of its
+pretty colors.
+
+"Where shall we hang Dorian's picture?" Mildred had asked.
+
+They had gone into his room. Mildred had looked about.
+
+"The only good light is on that wall." She had pointed to the space
+occupied by Dorian's "best girl."
+
+And so Lorna Doone had come down and Mildred's study of the marshlands
+glowed with its warmer colors in its place.
+
+The plowboy arose from the grass. "Get up there," he said to his horses.
+"We must be going, or there'll be very little plowing today."
+
+Carlia Duke was the first person to greet Mildred as she alighted at the
+Trent gate. Carlia knew of her coming and was waiting. Mildred put her
+arm about her friend and kissed her, somewhat to the younger girl's
+confused pleasure. The two girls went up the path to the house where
+Mrs. Trent met them.
+
+"Where's your baggage?" asked the mother of the arrival, seeing she
+carried only a small bag and her violin case.
+
+"This is all. I'm not going to paint this time--just going to rest,
+mother said, so I do not need a lot of baggage."
+
+"Well, come in Honey; and you too, Carlia. Dinner is about ready, an'
+you'll stay."
+
+By a little urging Carlia remained, and pretty soon, Dorian came
+stamping in to be surprised.
+
+"Yes; we're all here," announced Carlia, as she tossed her black curls
+and laughed at his confusion.
+
+"I see you are," he replied, as he shook hands with Mildred. After which
+ceremony, it did not just look right to slight the other girl, so he
+shook hands with her also, much to her amusement.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Trent" she said.
+
+"Carlia is such a tease," explained the mother.
+
+"For which I like her," added Mildred.
+
+"We all do. Even Dorian here, who is usually afraid of girls, makes
+quite a chum of her."
+
+"Well, we're neighbors," justified the girl.
+
+After dinner Carlia took Mildred home with her. It was not far, just
+around the low ridge which hid the house from view. There Mildred met
+Pa Duke, Ma Duke and Will Duke, Carlia's older brother. Pa Duke was a
+hard-working farmer, Ma Duke was likewise a hard-working farmer's wife,
+and Will Duke should have been a hard-working farmer's boy, but he was
+somewhat a failure, especially regarding the hard work part. Carlia,
+though so young, was already a hardworking farmer girl, with no chance
+of escape, as far as she could see, from the hard-working part. The Duke
+house, though clean and roomy, lacked the dainty home touches which
+mean so much. There were no porch, no lawn, no trees. The home was bare
+inside and out.
+
+In deference to the "company" Carlia was permitted to "visit" with her
+friend that afternoon. Apparently, these two girls had very little in
+common, but when left to themselves they found many mutual interests.
+
+Toward the close of the afternoon, Dorian appeared. He found the girls
+out in the yard, Carlia seated on the topmost pole of the corral fence,
+and Mildred standing beside her.
+
+"Hello girls," Dorian greeted. "I've come to give you an invitation."
+
+"What, a party!" exclaimed Carlia, jumping down from her perch.
+
+"Not a dancing party, you little goose--just a surprise party."
+
+"On who?"
+
+"On Uncle Zed."
+
+"Uncle Zed. O, shucks!"
+
+"Well, of course, you do not have to go," said Dorian.
+
+"I think you're mean. I do want to go if Mildred is going."
+
+"I don't know Uncle Zed," said Mildred, "but if Mrs. Trent and Dorian
+wish me to go, I shall be pleased; and of course, you will go with us."
+
+"She's invited," repeated Dorian. "It's Uncle Zed's seventy-fifth
+birthday. Mother keeps track of them, the only one who does, I guess,
+for he doesn't do it himself. We're just going down to visit with him
+this evening. He's a very fine old man, is Uncle Zed," this last to
+Mildred.
+
+"Is he your uncle?"
+
+"Oh, no; he's just uncle to everybody and no one in particular. He's all
+by himself, and has no folks?"
+
+Just before the dusk of the evening, the little party set out for the
+home of Zedekiah Manning, generally and lovingly known as Uncle Zed. He
+lived about half a mile down the road in a two-roomed log house which
+had a big adobe chimney on one side. His front yard was abloom with the
+autumn flowers. The path leading to his door was neatly edged by small
+cobble stones. Autumn tinted ivy embowered his front door and climbed
+over the wall nearly to the low roof.
+
+Uncle Zed met the visitors at the door. "Well, well," he exclaimed,
+"come right in. I'll light the lamp." Then he assisted them to find
+seats.
+
+Mildred looked keenly at Uncle Zed, whom she found to be a little frail
+old man with clean white hair and beard, and kindly, smiling face. He
+sat down with his company and rubbed his hands in a way which implied:
+"And what does all this mean?" Mildred noted that the wall, back of his
+own chair, was nearly covered with books, and a number of volumes lay
+on the table. The room was furnished for the simple needs of the lone
+occupant. A fire smouldered in the open grate.
+
+"Now, Uncle Zed, have you forgotten again?" inquired Mrs. Trent.
+
+"Forgotten what? I suppose I have, for my memory is not so good as it
+used to be."
+
+"Your memory never was good regarding the day of the year you were
+born."
+
+"Day when I was born? What, has my birthday come around again? Well,
+sure; but I had quite forgotten. How these birthdays do pile up on one."
+
+"How old are you today?" asked Dorian.
+
+"How old? Let me see. I declare, I must be seventy-five."
+
+"Isn't he a funny man," whispered Carlia to Mildred, who appeared not to
+hear the comment, so interested was she in the old man.
+
+"And so you've come to celebrate," went on Uncle Zed, "come to
+congratulate me that I am one year nearer the grave."
+
+"Now, Uncle Zed, you know--"
+
+"Yes; I know; forgive me for teasing; I know why you come to wish me
+well. It is that I have kept the faith one year more, and that I am
+twelve months nearer my heavenly reward. That's it, isn't it?"
+
+Uncle Zed pushed his glasses up on his forehead to better see his
+company, especially Mildred. Mrs. Trent made the proper introduction,
+then lifted the picnic basket from the table to a corner.
+
+"We're just going to spend an hour or so with you," explained Mrs.
+Trent. "We want you to talk, Mildred to play, and then we'll have a bite
+to eat. We'll just sit about your grate, and look into the glow of the
+fire while you talk." However, Dorian and Mildred were scanning the
+books.
+
+"What's this set?" the young girl asked.
+
+Dorian bent down to read the dim titles. "The Millennial Star" he said.
+
+"And here's another set."
+
+"The Journal of Discourses" he replied.
+
+"My, all sermons? they must be dry reading."
+
+Uncle Zed heard their conversation, and stepped over to them. "Are
+you also interested in books?" he asked. "Dorian and I are regular
+book-worms, you know."
+
+Oh, yes, she was interested in books.
+
+"But there are books and books, you know," went on Uncle Zed. "You like
+story books, no doubt. So do I. There's nothing better than a rattling
+good love story, eh, young lady?"
+
+Mildred hardly knew just how to take this remark, so she did not reply.
+
+"Here's the most wonderful love story ever written." He took from
+the shelf a very ordinary looking volume, called the "Doctrine and
+Covenants." Carlia and Mrs. Trent now joined the other three. They also
+were interested.
+
+"You wouldn't be looking in the 'Doctrine and Covenants' for love
+stories, would you; but here in the revelation on the eternity of
+the marriage covenant we find that men and women, under the proper
+conditions and by the proper authority, may be united as husbands and
+wives, not only for time, but for eternity. Most love stories end when
+the lovers are married; but think of the endlessness of life and love
+under this new and everlasting covenant of marriage--but I mustn't
+preach so early in the evening."
+
+"But we like to hear it, Uncle Zed," said Dorian.
+
+"Indeed, we do," added Mildred. "Tell us more about your books."
+
+"Here is one of my precious volumes--Orson Pratt's works. When I get
+hungry for the solid, soul-satisfying doctrines of the kingdom, I read
+Orson Pratt. Parley Pratt also is good. Here is a book which is nearly
+forgotten, but which contains beautiful presentations of the gospel,
+'Spencer's Letters'. Dorian, look here." He handed the young man a
+small, ancient-looking, leather bound book. "I found it in a second-hand
+store and paid fifteen cents for it. Yes, it's a second edition of
+the 'Doctrine and Covenants,' printed by John Taylor in Nauvoo in 1844.
+The rest of my collection is familiar to you, I am sure. Here is a
+complete set of the 'Contributor' and this is my 'Era' shelf, and here
+are most of the more modern church works. Let us now go back to the
+fire."
+
+After they were again seated, Mildred asked him if he had known Brigham
+Young. She always liked to hear the pioneers talk of their experiences.
+
+"No" replied Uncle Zed, "I never met President Young, but I believe I
+know him as well as many who had that pleasure. I have read everything
+that I could get in print which Brigham Young ever said. I have read
+all his discourses in those volumes. He was not a polished speaker, I
+understand, and he did not often follow a theme; but mixed with the more
+commonplace subjects of irrigation, Indian troubles, etc., which, in his
+particular day had to be spoken of, are some of the most profound gospel
+truths in any language. Gems of thought shine from every page of his
+discourses."
+
+Carlia was nodding in a warm corner. Uncle Zed rambled on reminiscently
+until Mrs. Trent suddenly arose, spoke sharply to Carlia, and lifted the
+basket of picnic on to the table.
+
+"We'll have our refreshments now," she said, "and then we must be going.
+Uncle Zed goes early to bed, and so should we."
+
+The table was spread: roast chicken, brought by Carlia; dainty
+sandwiches, made by Mildred; apple pie from Mrs. Trent's cupboard; a jar
+of apricot preserves, suggested by Dorian. Uncle Zed asked a blessing
+not only on the food, but on the kind hands which had provided it. Then
+they ate heartily, and yet leaving a generous part to be left in Uncle
+Zed's own cupboard.
+
+Then Dorian had a presentation to make. He took from the basket a small
+package, unwrapped it, and handed a book to the man who was seventy-five
+years old.
+
+"I couldn't do much by way of the eats," said Dorian, "so my present is
+this."
+
+"'Drummond's Natural Law in the Spiritual World'" read Uncle Zed. "Why,
+Dorian, this is fine of you. How could you guess my wishes so nicely.
+For a long time, this is just the book I have wanted."
+
+"I'm glad. I thought you'd like it."
+
+"Fine, fine," said the old man, fondling the volume as he would some
+dear object, as indeed, every good book was to him.
+
+Then Mildred got out her violin, and after the proper tuning of the
+strings, she placed it under her shapely chin. She played without music
+some of the simple heart melodies, and then some of the Sunday School
+songs which the company softly accompanied by words.
+
+Carlia poked the log in the grate into a blaze, then slyly turned the
+lamp wick down. When detected and asked why she did that she replied:
+
+"I wanted to make it appear more like a picnic party around a camp fire
+in the hills."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIVE.
+
+
+Dorian's high school days in the city began that fall, a little late
+because he had so many things to set right at home; but he soon made up
+the lost time, for he was a student not afraid of hard work. He walked
+back and forth the three miles. Mrs. Brown offered him a room at her
+large city residence, but he could not accept it because of his daily
+home chores. However, he occasionally called on the Brown's who tried to
+make him feel as much at home as they did at Greenstreet.
+
+Never before were days so perfect to Dorian, never before had he so
+enjoyed the fleeting hours. For the first week or two, he was a little
+shy, but the meeting each morning with boys and girls of his own age and
+mingling with them in their studies and their recreations, soon taught
+him that they were all very much alike, just happy, carefree young
+people, most of them trying to get an education. He soon learned, also,
+that he could easily hold his own in the class work with the brightest
+of them. The teachers, and students also, soon learned to know this.
+Boys came to him for help in problems, and the younger girls chattered
+about him with laughing eyes and tossing curls. What a wonder it was! He
+the simple, plainly-dressed country boy, big and awkward and ugly as he
+thought himself to be, becoming a person of some importance. And so
+the days went all too swiftly by. Contrary to his younger boyhood's
+experience, the closing hour came too soon, when it was time to go home
+to mother and chores and lessons.
+
+And the mother shared the boy's happiness, for she could see the added
+joy of living and working which had come into his life by the added
+opportunities and new environment. He frequently discussed with his
+mother his lessons. She was not well posted in the knowledge derived
+from books, and sometimes she mildly resented this newer learning which
+he brought into the home and seemed to intrude on her old-established
+ideas. For instance, when the cold winter nights came, and Dorian kept
+open his bedroom window, the mother protested that he would "catch his
+death of cold." Night air and drafts are very dangerous, especially if
+let into one's bedroom, she held.
+
+"But, mother, I must have air to breathe," said Dorian, "and what other
+kind of air can I have at night? I might store a little day-air in my
+room, but I would soon exhaust its life-giving qualities at night.
+You know, mother," he went on in the assurance of his newly acquired
+knowledge, "I guess the Lord knew what He was about when He enveloped
+the earth with air which presses down nearly fifteen pounds to the
+square inch so that it might permeate every possible nook and corner of
+the globe." Then he went on to explain the wonderful process of blood
+purification in the lungs, and demonstrated to her that the breath is
+continually throwing off foul matter. He did this by breathing into a
+fruit jar, screwing on the lid for a little while, and then having the
+nose make the test.
+
+"Some bed rooms I've gone into smell just like that," he said.
+
+"Here, mother is a clipping from a magazine. Listen:
+
+"'Of all the marvels of God's workmanship, none is more wondrous than
+the air. Think of our all being bathed in a substance so delicate as to
+be itself unperceived, yet so dense as to be the carriage to our senses
+of messages from the world about us! It is never in our way; it does not
+ask notice; we only know it is there by the good it does us. And this
+exquisitely soft, pure, yielding, unseen being, like a beautiful and
+beneficent fairy, brings us blessings from all around. It has the skill
+to wash our blood clean from all foulness. Its weight keeps us from
+tumbling to pieces. It is a reservoir where the waters lie stored, until
+they fall and gladden the earth. It is a great-coat that softens to us
+the heat of the day, and the cold of the night. It carries sounds to
+our ears and smells to our nostrils. Its movements fill Nature with
+ceaseless change; and without their aid in wafting ships over the sea,
+commerce and civilization would have been scarce possible. It is of all
+wonders the most wonderful.'"
+
+At another time when Dorian had a cold, and consequently, a loss of
+appetite, his mother urged him to eat more, saying that he must have
+strength to throw off his cold.
+
+"What is a cold?" he smilingly asked.
+
+"Why, a cold is--a cold, of course, you silly boy."
+
+"What does it do to the activities of the body?"
+
+"I'm not a doctor; how can I tell."
+
+"All mothers are doctors and nurses; they do a lot of good, and some
+things that are not so good. For instance, why should I eat more when I
+have a cold?" She did not reply, and so he went on: "The body is very
+much like a stove or a furnace; it is burning material all the time.
+Sometimes the clinkers accumulate and stop the draft, both in the human
+as well as the iron stove. When that happens, the sensible thing to do
+is not to throw in more fuel but to clean out the clinkers first."
+
+"Where did you get all that wisdom, Dorian?"
+
+"I got it from my text book on hygiene, and I think it's true because it
+seems so reasonable."
+
+"Well, last night's talk led me to believe that you would become a
+philosopher; now, the trend is more toward the doctor; tomorrow I'll
+think you are studying law."
+
+"Oh, but we are, mother; you ought to hear us in our civil government
+class. We have organized into a Congress of the United States, and we
+are going to make laws."
+
+"You'll be elected President, I suppose."
+
+"I'm one of the candidates."
+
+"Well, my boy" she smiled happily at him, "I hope you will be elected to
+every good thing, and that you will fill every post with honor; and now,
+I would like you to read to me from the 'Lady of the Lake' while I darn
+your stockings. Your father used to read the story to me a long, long
+time ago, and your voice is very much like his when you read."
+
+And thus with school and home and ward duties the winter passed. Spring
+called him again to the fields to which he went with new zeal, for life
+was opening to him in a way which life is in the habit of doing to the
+young of his age. Mildred Brown and her mother were in California. He
+heard from her occasionally by way of postcards, and once she sent him
+one of her sketches of the ocean. Carlia Duke also was not forgotten by
+Mildred. Dorian and Carlia met frequently as neighbors will do, and they
+often spoke of their mutual friend. The harvest was again good that
+fall, and Dorian once more took up his studies at the high school in the
+city. Carlia finished the grades as Dorian completed his second year,
+and the following year Carlia walked with Dorian to the high school.
+That was no great task for the girl, now nearly grown to young
+womanhood, and it was company for both of them. During these walks
+Carlia had many questions to ask about her lessons, and Dorian was
+always pleased to help her.
+
+"I am such a dunce," she would say, "I wish I was as smart as you."
+
+"You must say 'were' when you wish. I were as smart as you," he
+corrected.
+
+"O, yes: I forgot. My, but grammar is hard, especially to a girl
+which--"
+
+"No--a girl who; which refers to objects and animals, who to persons."
+
+Carlia laughed and swung her books by the strap. Dorian was not carrying
+them that day. Sometimes he was absentminded regarding the little
+courtesies.
+
+The snow lay hard packed in the road and it creaked under their feet.
+Carlia's cheeks glowed redder than ever in contact with the keen winter
+air. They walked on in silence for a time.
+
+"Say, Dorian, why do you not go and see Mildred?" asked Carlia, not
+looking at him, but rather at the eastern mountains.
+
+"Why? Is she not well?"
+
+"She is never well now. She looks bad to me."
+
+"When did you see her?"
+
+"Last Saturday. I called at the house, and she asked about you--Poor
+girl!"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"You are very smart in some things, but are a stupid dunce in other
+things. Mildred is like an angel both in looks and--everything. I wish I
+was--were half as good."
+
+"But how am I such a dunce, Carlia?"
+
+"In not seeing how much Mildred thinks of you."
+
+"Thinks of me? Mildred?"
+
+"She just loves you."
+
+Carlia still looked straight ahead as though fearful to see the
+agitation she had brought to the young man; but he looked at her, with
+cheeks still aflame. He did not understand Carlia. Why had she said
+that? Was she just teasing him? But she did not look as if she were
+teasing. Silently they walked on to the school house door.
+
+But Dorian could not forget what Carlia had said. All day it intruded
+into his lessons. "She said she loves me" he whispered to his heart
+only. Could it be possible? Even if she did, what final good would come
+of it? The distance between them was still too great, for he was only a
+poor farmer boy. Dear Mildred--his heart did not chide him for thinking
+that--so frail, so weak, so beautiful. What if she--should die! Dorian
+was in a strange state of mind for a number of days. He longed to visit
+the Brown home, yet he could not find excuse to go. He could not talk
+to anybody about what was in his mind and heart, not even to his mother
+with whom he always shared his most hidden thoughts.
+
+One evening he visited Uncle Zed, ostensibly, to talk about a book.
+Uncle Zed was deep in the study of "Natural Law in the Spiritual World"
+and would have launched into a discussion of what he had found, but
+Dorian did not respond; he had other thoughts in mind.
+
+"Uncle Zed," he said, "how can I become something else than a farmer?"
+
+The old man looked questioningly at his young friend. "What's the matter
+with being a farmer?" he asked.
+
+"Well, a farmer doesn't usually amount to much, I mean in the eyes of
+the world. Farmers seem to be in a different class from merchants, for
+example, or from bankers or other more genteel workers."
+
+"Listen to me, Dorian Trent." Uncle Zed laid down his book as if he had
+a serious task before him. "Let me tell you something. If you haven't
+done so before, begin now and thank the Lord that you began life on this
+globe of ours as a farmer's child and boy. Whatever you do or become in
+the future, you have made a good beginning. You have already laid away
+in the way of concepts, we may say, a generous store of nature's riches,
+for you have been in close touch with the earth, and the life which
+teems in soil and air and the waters. Pity the man whose childish eyes
+looked out on nothing but paved streets and brick walls or whose young
+ears heard nothing but the harsh rumble of the city, for his early
+conceptions from which to interpret his later life is artificial and
+therefore largely untrue."
+
+Uncle Zed smiled up into the boy's face as if to ask, Do you get that?
+Dorian would have to have time to assimilate the idea; meanwhile, he had
+another question:
+
+"Uncle Zed, why are there classes among members of our Church?"
+
+"Classes? What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, the rich do not associate with the poor nor the learned with
+the unlearned. I know, of course, that this is the general rule in the
+world, but I think it should be different in the Church."
+
+"Yes; it ought to be and is different. There are no classes such as you
+have in mind in the Church, even though a few unthinking members seem to
+imply it by their actions; but there is no real class distinction in the
+Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, only such that are based on
+the doing of the right and the wrong. Character alone is the standard of
+classification."
+
+"Yes, I see that that should be true."
+
+"It is true. Let me illustrate: The presiding authority in the Church
+is not handed down from father to son, thus fostering an aristocratic
+tendency; also this authority is so wide-spread that anything like a
+"ruling family" would be impossible. In a town where I once lived, the
+owner of the bank and the town blacksmith were called on missions. They
+both were assigned to the same field, and the blacksmith was appointed
+to preside over the banker. The banker submitted willingly to be
+directed in his missionary labors by one who, judged by worldly
+standards, was far beneath him in the social scale. I know a shoemaker
+in the city who is a teacher in the theological class of his ward,
+whose membership consists of merchants, lawyers, doctors, and the like.
+Although he is poor and earns his living by mending shoes, he is greatly
+respected for his goodness and his knowledge of Scriptural subjects and
+doctrine."
+
+"So you think--that a young fellow might--that it would not be wrong--or
+foolish for a poor man to think a lot of--of a rich girl, for instance."
+
+Uncle Zed peered at Dorian over his glasses. The old man took him gently
+by the shoulders. Ah, that's what's back of all this, he thought; but
+what he said was:
+
+"My boy, Emerson said, 'Hitch your wagon to a star,' and I will add,
+never let go, although the rocks in the road may bump you badly. Why,
+there's nothing impossible for a young man like you. You may be rich, if
+you want to; I expect to see you learned; and the Priesthood which you
+have is your assurance, through your diligence and faithfulness, to any
+heights. Yes, my boy; go ahead--love Mildred Brown all you want to;
+she's fine, but not a bit finer than you."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Zed," Dorian somewhat protested; but, nevertheless, he went
+home that evening with his heart singing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIX.
+
+
+Some days later word came to Mrs. Trent that Mildred was very ill. "Call
+on them after school," she said to Dorian, "to see just how she is, and
+ask Mrs. Brown if I can do anything for her."
+
+Dorian did as he was directed. He went around to the back door for fear
+he might disturb the sick girl. Mrs. Brown herself, seeing him coming,
+met him and let him in.
+
+Yes, Mildred was very ill. Mrs. Brown was plainly worried. Could he
+or his mother do anything to help? No; only to lend their faith and
+prayers. Would he come into the sick room to see her for a few minutes?
+Yes, if she desired it.
+
+Dorian followed the mother into the sick room. Mildred lay well propped
+up by pillows in a bed white as snow. She was thinner and paler than
+ever, eyes bigger, hair heavier and more golden. When she saw Dorian,
+she smiled and reached out her hand, letting it lie in the big strong
+one.
+
+"How are you?" she said, very low.
+
+"Well and fine, and how are you?"
+
+She simply shook her head gently and closed her eyes, seeming content to
+touch the strong young manhood beside her. The mother went quietly from
+the room, and all became quite still. Speech was difficult for the sick
+girl, and equally hard for the young man. But he looked freely at the
+angel-like face on the pillow without rebuke from the closed eyes. He
+glanced about the room, beautifully clean and airy. All her books and
+her working material had been carried away as if she were through with
+them for good. In a corner on an easel stood an unfinished copy of
+"Sunset in Marshland." Dorian's eyes rested for a moment on the picture,
+and as he again looked at the girl, he saw a smile pass over the
+marble-like face.
+
+That was all. Presently, he left the room, and without many words, the
+house.
+
+Each day after that Dorian managed to learn of the girl's condition,
+though he did not go into the sick chamber. On the sixth day word came
+to Dorian at school that Mildred was dying. He looked about for Carlia
+to tell her, but she was nowhere to be found. Dorian could not go home.
+Mildred was dying! The one girl--yes, the only one in all the world who
+had looked at him with her heart in the look, was leaving the world, and
+him. Why could she not live, if only for his sake? He sat in the school
+room until all had gone, and he was alone with the janitor. His open
+book was still before him, but he saw not the printed page. Then the
+short winter day closed. Dusk came on. The janitor had finished sweeping
+the room and was ready to leave. Dorian gathered up his books, put on
+his overcoat, and went out. Mildred was dying! Perhaps she was about to
+begin that great journey into the unknown. Would she be afraid? Would
+she not need a strong hand to help her? "Mildred," he whispered.
+
+He walked on slowly up the street toward the Brown's. Darkness came
+on. The light gleamed softly through the closed blinds of the house.
+Everything was very still. He did not try to be admitted, but paced back
+and forth on the other side of the street. Back and forth he went for a
+long time, it seemed. Then the front door opened, and the doctor passed
+out. Mildred must either be better or beyond all help. He wanted to ask
+the doctor, but he could not bring himself to intercept him. The house
+remained quiet. Some of the lights were extinguished. Dorian crossed the
+street. He must find out something. He stood by the gate, not knowing
+what to do. The door opened again, and a woman, evidently a neighbor,
+came out. She saw the young man and stopped.
+
+"Pardon me," said Dorian, "but tell me how Mildred--Miss Brown is?"
+
+"She just died."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The woman went into a nearby house. Dorian moved away, benumbed with the
+despair which sank into his heart at the final setting of his sun. Dead!
+Mildred was dead! He felt the night wind blow cold down the street, and
+he saw the storm clouds scudding along the distant sky. In the deep blue
+directly above him a star shone brightly, but it only reminded him of
+what Uncle Zed had said about hitching to a star; yes, but what if the
+star had suddenly been taken from the sky!
+
+A form of a girl darted across the street toward him. He stopped and saw
+that it was Carlia.
+
+"Dorian" she cried, "how is she?"
+
+"She has just died."
+
+"Dead! O, dear," she wailed.
+
+They stood there under the street light, the girl looking with great
+pity into the face of the young man. She was only a girl, and not a very
+wise girl, but she saw how he suffered, and her heart went out to his
+heart. She took his hand and held it firmly within her warmer grasp; and
+by that simple thing the young man seemed again to get within the reach
+of human sympathy. Then they walked on without speaking, and she led him
+along the streets and on to the road which led to Greenstreet.
+
+"Come on, Dorian, let's go home," she said.
+
+"Yes; let's go home, Carlia."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN.
+
+
+The death of Mildred Brown affected Dorian Trent most profoundly. Not
+that he displayed any marked outward signs of his feelings, but his very
+soul was moved to its depths, sometimes as of despair, sometimes as
+of resentment. Why, he asked himself, should God send--he put it this
+way--send to him this beautiful creature who filled his heart so
+completely, why hold her out to him as if inviting him to take her, and
+then suddenly snatch her away out of his life--out of the life of the
+world!
+
+For many days Dorian went about as if in a pained stupor. His mother,
+knowing her boy, tried in a wise way to comfort him; but it was not
+altogether a success. His studies were neglected, and he had thoughts of
+quitting school altogether; but he did not do this. He dragged through
+the few remaining days until spring, when he eagerly went to work on the
+open reaches of the farm, where he was more away from human beings and
+nearer to that something in his heart. He worked long and hard and
+faithfully that spring.
+
+On the upper bank of the canal, where the sagebrush stood untouched,
+Dorian that summer found the first sego blossoms. He had never observed
+them so closely before nor seen their real beauty. How like Mildred they
+were! He gathered a bouquet of them that Saturday afternoon as he went
+home, placed them in a glass of water, and then Sunday afternoon he
+wrapped them in a damp newspaper and took the bouquet with him to town.
+His Sunday trips to the city were usually for the purpose of visiting
+Mildred's grave. The sun shone warm that day from a blue sky as Dorian
+came slowly and reverently to the plot where lay all that was earthly of
+one whom he loved so well. The new headstone gleamed in white marble and
+the young grass stood tender and green. Against the stone lay a bunch of
+withered wild roses. Someone had been there before him that day. Whom
+could it be? Her mother was not in the city, and who else would remember
+the visit of the angel-being who had returned to her eternal home? A
+pang shot through his heart, and he was half tempted to turn without
+placing his own tribute on the grave, then immediately he knew the
+thought was foolish. He took off the wrapping and placed his fresher
+flowers near the more withered ones. Later that summer, he learned
+only incidently that it had been Carlia who had been before him that
+afternoon.
+
+During those days, Carlia kept out of Dorian's way as much as possible.
+She even avoided walking to and from school with him. He was so
+absentminded even with her that she in time came to resent it in her
+feelings. She could not understand that a big, very-much-alive boy
+should have his mind so fixed on a dead girl that he should altogether
+forget there were living ones about, especially one, Carlia Duke.
+
+One evening Dorian met Uncle Zed driving his cow home from the pasture,
+and the old man invited the younger man to walk along with him. Dorian
+always found Uncle Zed's company acceptable.
+
+"Why haven't you come to me with your trouble?" abruptly asked Uncle
+Zed.
+
+Dorian started, then hung his head.
+
+"We never have any unshared secrets, you know, and I may have been able
+to help you."
+
+"I couldn't talk to anybody."
+
+"No; I suppose not."
+
+The cow was placed in the corral, and then Uncle Zed and Dorian sat
+down on a grassy bank. The sun was painting just such a picture of the
+marshlands as Dorian knew so well.
+
+"But I can talk to you" continued the old man as if there had been no
+break in his sentences. "Death, I know, is a strange and terrible thing,
+for youth; when you get as old as I, I hope you will look on death as
+nothing more than a release from mortality, a moving from one sphere to
+another, a step along the eternal line of progress. I suppose that it
+is just as necessary that we pass out of the world by death as that we
+enter it by birth; and I further suppose that the terror with which
+death is vested is for the purpose of helping us to cling to this
+earth-life until our mission here is completed."
+
+Dorian did not speak; his eyes were on the marshlands.
+
+"Imagine, Dorian, this world, just as it is, with all its sin and misery
+and without any death. What would happen? We would all, I fear, become
+so self-centered, so hardened in selfishness that it would be difficult
+for the gentle power of love to reach us; but now there is hardly a
+family that has not one or more of its members on the other side. And
+these absent loved ones are anchors to our souls, tied to us by the
+never-ending cords of love and affection. You, yourself, my boy, never
+have had until now many interests other than those of this life; now
+your interests are broadened to another world, and that's something
+worth while.... Now, come and see me often." They arose, each to go to
+his home.
+
+"I will, Uncle Zed. Thank you for what you have said."
+
+Dorian completed his four years high school. Going to the University
+might come later, but now he was moved by a spirit of activity to do
+bigger things with his farm, and to enlarge it, if possible.
+
+About this time, dry-farming had taken the attention of the farmers
+in his locality, and many of them had procured lands on the sloping
+foothills. Dorian, with a number of other young men had gone up the
+nearby canyon to the low hills of the valley beyond and had taken up
+lands. That first summer Dorian spent much of his time in breaking up
+the land. As timber was not far away, he built himself a one-roomed log
+house and some corrals and outhouses. A mountain stream rushed by the
+lower corner of his farm, and its wild music sang him to sleep when he
+spent the night in the hills. He furnished his "summer residence" with a
+few simple necessities so that he could live there a number of days at a
+time. He minded not the solitude. The wild odorous verdure of the hills,
+the cool breezes, the song of the distant streams, the call of the
+birds, all seemed to harmonize with his own feelings at that time. He
+had a good kerosene lamp, and at nights when he was not too tired, he
+read. On his visits to the city he usually had an eye for book bargains,
+and thus his board shelving came to be quite a little library. He had no
+method in his collecting, no course of connected study. At one time he
+would leisurely read one of Howell's easy-going novels, at another time
+he would be kept wide-eyed until midnight with "Lorna Doone" or with
+"Ben Hur."
+
+Dorian had heard of Darwin, of Huxley, of Ingersol and of Tom Payne, but
+he had never read anything but selections from these writers. Now he
+obtained a copy of the "Origin of Species" and a book by Ingersol.
+These he read carefully. Darwin's book was rather heavy, but by close
+application, the young student thought he learned what the scientist was
+"driving at." This book disturbed him somewhat. There seemed to be much
+truth in it, but also some things which did not agree with what he had
+been taught to be true. In this he realized his lack of knowledge. More
+knowledge must clear up any seeming contradiction, he reasoned. Ingersol
+was more readable, snappy, witty, hitting the Bible in a fearless way.
+Dorian had no doubt that all of Ingersol's points could be answered, as
+he himself could refute many of them.
+
+One day as Dorian was browsing as usual in a book store he came across a
+cheap copy of Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World," the book
+which he had given Uncle Zed. As he wanted a copy himself, he purchased
+this one and took it with him to his cabin in the hills. Immediately he
+was interested in the book, and he filled its pages with copious notes
+and marks of emphasis.
+
+It was Sunday afternoon in mid-summer at Greenstreet. The wheat again
+stood in the shock. The alfalfa waved in scented purple. Dorian and the
+old philosopher of Greenstreet sat in the shade of the cottonwood and
+looked out on the farm scene as they talked.
+
+"I've also been reading 'Natural Law in the Spiritual World'" said
+Dorian.
+
+"Good," replied Uncle Zed. "I was going to lend you my copy, so we could
+talk about it intelligently. What message have you found in it for you?"
+
+"Message?"
+
+"Yes; every book should have a message and should deliver it to the
+reader. Drummond's book thundered a message to me, but it came too late.
+I am old, and past the time when I could heed any such call. If I were
+young, if I--if I were like you, Dorian, you who have life before you,
+what might not I do, with the help of the Lord!"
+
+"What, Uncle Zed?"
+
+"Drummond was a clergyman and a professor of natural history and
+science. As such, he was a student of the laws of God as revealed both
+through the written word of inspiration and in nature about him. In his
+book he aims to prove that the spiritual world is controlled by the same
+laws which operate in the natural wold; and as you perhaps discovered in
+your reading, he comes very nearly proving his claim. He presents some
+wonderfully interesting analogies. Of course, much of his theology is
+of the perverted sectarian kind, and therein lies the weakness of his
+argument. If he had had the clear truth of the restored gospel, how much
+brighter would his facts have been illumed, how much stronger would have
+been his deductions. Why, even I with my limited scientific knowledge
+can set him right in many places. So I say, if I were but a young man
+like you, do you know what I'd do?"
+
+"What?" again questioned Dorian.
+
+"I would devote all my mind, might and strength to the learning of
+truth, of scientific truth. I would cover every branch of science
+possible in the limits of one life, especially the natural sciences.
+Then with my knowledge of the gospel and the lamp of inspiration which
+the priesthood entitles me to, I could harmonize the great body of truth
+coming from any and every source. Dorian, what a life work that would
+be!"
+
+The old man looked smilingly at his companion with a strange, knowing
+intimation. He spoke of himself, but he meant that Dorian should take
+the suggestion. Dorian could pick up his beautiful dream and make it
+come true. Dorian, with life and strength, and a desire for study and
+truth could accomplish this very desirable end. The old man placed his
+hand lovingly on the young man's shoulder, as he continued:
+
+"You are the man to do this, Dorian--you, not I."
+
+"I--Uncle Zed, do you believe that?"
+
+"I do. Listen, my boy. I see you looking over the harvested field. It is
+a fine work you are doing; thousands can plant and harvest year after
+year; but few there are who can and will devote their lives to the
+planting of faith and the nourishing and the establishing of faith in
+the hearts of men; and that's what we need now to properly answer the
+Lord's cry that when He cometh shall He find faith on the earth?... Let
+the call come to you--but there, in the Lord's own good time. Come into
+the house. I have a new book to show you, also I have a very delicious
+cherry pie."
+
+They went into the house together, where they inspected both book and
+pie. Dorian weakly objected to the generous portion which was cut for
+him, but Uncle Zed explained that the process of division not only
+increased the number of pieces of pie, but also added to its tastiness.
+Dorian led his companion to talk about himself.
+
+"Yes," he said in reply to a question, "I was born in England and
+brought up in the Wesleyan Methodist church. I was a great reader ever
+since I can remember. I read not only history and some fiction, but
+even the dry-as-dust sermons were interesting to me. But I never seemed
+satisfied. The more I read, the deeper grew the mysteries of life.
+Nowhere did I find a clear, comprehendible statement of what I, an
+entity with countless other entities, was doing here. Where had I come
+from, where was I going? I visited the churches within my reach. I heard
+the preachers and read the philosophers to obtain, if possible, a clue
+to the mystery of life. I studied, and prayed, and went about seeking,
+but never finding."
+
+"But you did find the truth at last?"
+
+"Yes; thank the Lord. I found the opening in the darkness, and it came
+through the simple, humble, and not very learned elders of the Church of
+Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints."
+
+"What is the principle trouble with all this learning of the world that
+it does not lead to the truth?"
+
+"The world's ignorance of God. Eternal life consists in knowing the only
+true God, and the world does not know Him; therefore, all their systems
+of religion are founded on a false basis. That is the reason there is so
+much uncertainty and floundering when philosophers and religionists try
+to make a known truth agree with their conceptions of God."
+
+"Explain that a little more to me, Uncle Zed."
+
+"Some claim that Nature is God, others that God only manifests Himself
+through nature. I read this latter idea many places. For instance, Pope
+says:
+
+  "'All are but parts of one stupendous whole
+  Whose body nature is, and God the soul.'
+
+"Also Tennyson:
+
+  'The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and plains
+  Are not these, O soul, the vision of Him who reigns?
+  Speak to Him there, for He hears, and spirit with spirit can meet,
+  Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.'
+
+"This, no doubt, is beautiful poetry, but it tells only a part of the
+truth. God, by His Spirit is, and can be all the poet here describes.
+'Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy
+presence?' exclaims the Psalmist. 'In him we live and move and have our
+being' declares Paul; but these statements alone are not enough for our
+proper understanding of the subject. We try to see God behind the veil
+of nature, in sun and wind and flower and fruit; but there is something
+lacking. Try now to formulate some distinct idea of what this universal
+and almighty force back of nature is. We are told that this force is
+God, whom we must love and worship and serve. We want the feeling
+of nearness to satisfy the craving for love and protection, but our
+intellect and our reason must also be somewhat satisfied. We must
+have some object on which to rest--we cannot always be floating about
+unsuspended in time and space.
+
+"Then there is some further confusion: Christian philosophers have tried
+to personify this 'soul of the universe,' for God, they say, thinks and
+feels and knows. They try to get a personality without form or bounds or
+dimentions, but it all ends in vagueness and confusion. As for me, and I
+think I am not so different from other men,--for me to be able to think
+of God, I must have some image of Him. I cannot think of love or good,
+or power or glory in the abstract. These must be expressed to me by
+symbols at least as eminating from, or inherent in, or exercised by some
+person. Love cannot exist alone: there must be one who loves and one
+who is being loved. God is love. That means to me that a person, a
+beautiful, glorified, allwise, benevolent being exercises that divine
+principle which is shed forth on you and me.
+
+"Now, if the world would only leave all this metaphysical meandering and
+come back to the simple truth, what a clearing of mists there would
+be! All their philosophies would have a solid basis if they would only
+accept the truth revealed anew to us through the Prophet Joseph Smith
+that God is one of a race, the foremost and first, if you wish it, but
+still one of a race of beings who inhabit the universe; that we humans
+are His children, begotten of Him in the pre-mortal world in His image;
+that we are on the upward path through eternity, following Him who has
+gone before and has marked out the way; that if we follow, we shall
+eventually arrive at the point where He now is. Ignorance of these
+things is what I understand to be ignorance of God."
+
+"In England I lost my wife and two children. The gospel came to me
+shortly after, I am sure, to comfort me in the depths of my despair. Not
+one church on earth that I knew of, Catholic or Protestant, would hold
+out any hope of my ever being reunited with wife and children as such.
+There is no family life in heaven, they teach. At that time I went about
+listening to the preachers, and I delved into books. I made extensive
+copyings in my note books. I have them yet, and some day when you are
+interested I will show them to you."
+
+"I am interested now," said Dorian.
+
+"But I'm not going to talk to you longer on this theme, even though it
+is Sunday and time for sermonizing. I'm going to meeting, where you also
+ought to go. You are not attending as regularly as you should."
+
+"No, but I've been very busy."
+
+"No excuse that. There is danger in remaining away too long from the
+established sources of spiritual inspiration and uplift, especially when
+one is reading Ingersol and Tom Paine. I have no fault to find with your
+ambition to get ahead in the world, but with it 'remember thy creator in
+the days of thy youth.' Are you neglecting your mother?"
+
+"No; I think not, Uncle Zed; but what do you mean about mother?"
+
+"You are all she has. Are you making her days happy by your personal
+care and presence. Are you giving of yourself to her?"
+
+"Well, perhaps I am not so considerate as I might be; I am away quite a
+lot; thank you for calling my attention to it."
+
+"Are you neglecting anybody else?"
+
+"Not that I know."
+
+"Good. Now I must clear away my table and get ready for meeting. You'll
+go with me."
+
+"I can't. I haven't my Sunday clothes."
+
+"The Lord will not look at your clothes."
+
+"No; but a lot of people will."
+
+"We go to meeting to worship the Lord, not to be looked at by others. Go
+home and put on your Sunday best; there is time." The old man was busy
+between table and cupboard as he talked. "Have you seen Carlia lately?"
+
+"No," replied Dorian.
+
+"The last time she was here I thought she was a little peaked in the
+face, for you know she has such a rosy, roly-poly one."
+
+"Is that so? She comes to see you, then?"
+
+"Yes; oftener than you do."
+
+"I never meet her here."
+
+"No; she manages that, I surmise."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I tell you Carlia is a lovely girl," continued Uncle Zed, ignoring his
+direct question. "Have you ever eaten butter she has churned?"
+
+"Not that I know."
+
+"She used to bring me a nice pat when my cow was dry; and bread of her
+own baking too, about as good as I myself make." He chuckled as he wiped
+the last dish and placed it neatly in the rack.
+
+Dorian arose to go. "Remember what I have told you this evening" said
+Uncle Zed. The old man from behind his window watched his young friend
+walk leisurely along the road until he reached the cross-lots path which
+led to the Duke home. Here he saw him pause, go on again, pause once
+more, then jump lightly over the fence and strike out across the field.
+Uncle Zed then went on finishing his preparations for meeting.
+
+As Dorian walked across the field, he did think of what Uncle Zed had
+said to him. Dorian had built his castles, had dreamed his dreams; but
+never before had the ideas presented to him by Uncle Zed that afternoon
+ever entered in them. The good old man had seemed so eager to pass on
+to the young man an unfulfilled work, yes, a high, noble work. Dorian
+caught a glimpse of the greatness of it and the glory of it that
+afternoon, and his soul was thrilled. Was he equal to such a task?... He
+had wanted to become a successful farmer, then his vision had gone on
+to the teaching profession; but beyond that he had not ventured. He was
+already well on the way to make a success of his farms. He liked the
+work. He could with pleasure be a farmer all his life. But should a
+man's business be all of life? Dorian realized, not of course in its
+fuller meaning, that the accumulating of worldly riches was only a means
+to the accomplishing of other and greater ends of life; and here was
+before him something worthy of any man's best endeavors. Here was a
+life's work which at its close would mean something to him and to the
+world. With these thoughts in his mind he stepped up to the rear of the
+Duke place where he saw someone in the corral with the cows, busy with
+her milking.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT.
+
+
+"Hello, Carlia", greeted Dorian as he stopped at the yard and stood
+leaning against the fence.
+
+Carlia was just finishing milking a cow. As she straightened, with a
+three-legged stool in one hand and a foaming milk pail in the other, she
+looked toward Dorian. "O, is that you? You scared me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"A stranger coming so suddenly."
+
+The young man laughed. "Nearly through?" he asked.
+
+"Just one more--Brindle, the kickey one."
+
+"Aren't you afraid of her?"
+
+Carlia laughed scornfully. The girl had beautiful white teeth. Her red
+cheeks were redder than ever. Her dark hair coiled closely about her
+shapely head. And she had grown tall, too, the young man noticed, though
+she was still plump and round-limbed.
+
+"My buckets are full, and I'll have to take them to the house before I
+can finish," she said. "You stay here until I come back--if you want
+to."
+
+"I don't want to--here, let me carry them." He took the pails from her
+hand, and they went to the house together.
+
+The milk was carried into the kitchen where Mrs. Duke was busy with pots
+and pans. Mr. Duke was before the mirror, giving the finishing touches
+to his hair. He was dressed for meeting. As he heard rather than saw his
+daughter enter, he asked:
+
+"Carlia, have you swilled the pigs?"
+
+"Not yet," she replied.
+
+"Well, don't forget--and say, you'd better give a little new milk to the
+calf. It's not getting along as well as it should--and, if you have time
+before meetin', throw a little hay to the horses."
+
+"All right, father, I'll see to all of it. As I'm not going to meeting,
+I'll have plenty of time."
+
+"Not goin'?" He turned, hair brush in hand, and saw Dorian. "Hello,
+Dorian," he greeted, "you're quite a stranger. You'll come along to
+meetin' with Carlia, I suppose. We will be late if we don't hurry."
+
+"Father, I told you I'm not going. I--" she hesitated as if not quite
+certain of her words--"I had to chase all over the hills for the cows,
+and I'm not through milking yet. Then there are the pigs and the calves
+and the horses to feed. But I'll not keep Dorian. You had better go with
+father"--this to the young man who still stood by the kitchen door.
+
+"Leave the rest of the chores until after meetin'," suggested the
+father, somewhat reluctantly, to be sure, but in concession to Dorian's
+presence.
+
+"I can't go to meeting either," said Dorian. "I'm not dressed for it, so
+I'll keep Carlia company, if you or she have no objections."
+
+"Well, I've no objections, but I don't like you to miss your meetin's."
+
+"We'll be good," laughed Dorian.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Come, father," the mother prompted, "you know I can't walk fast in this
+hot weather."
+
+Carlia got another pail, and she and Dorian went back to the corral.
+
+"Let me milk," offered Dorian.
+
+"No; you're strange, and she'd kick you over the fence."
+
+"O, I guess not," he remarked; but he let the girl finish her milking.
+He again carried the milk back; he also took the "slop" to the pigs and
+threw the hay to the horses, while the girl gave the new milk to the
+butting calf; then back to the house where they strained the milk. Then
+the young man was sent into the front room while the girl changed from
+work to Sunday attire.
+
+The front room was very hot and uncomfortable. The young man looked
+about on the familiar scene. There were the same straight-backed chairs,
+the same homemade carpet, more faded and threadbare than ever, the
+same ugly enlarged photographs within their massive frames which the
+enterprising agent had sold to Mrs. Duke. There was the same lack of
+books or music or anything pretty or refined; and as Dorian stood and
+looked about, there came to him more forcibly than ever the barrenness
+of the room and of the house in general. True, his own home was very
+humble, and yet there was an air of comfort and refinement about it. The
+Duke home had always impressed him as being cold and cheerless and ugly.
+There were no protecting porches, no lawn, no flowers, and the barn yard
+had crept close up to the house. It was a place to work. The eating and
+the sleeping were provided, so that work could be done, farm and kitchen
+work with their dirt and litter. The father and the mother and the
+daughter were slaves to work. Only in work did the parents companion
+with the daughter. The visitors to the house were mostly those who came
+to talk about cattle and crops and irrigation.
+
+As a child, Carlia was naturally cheerful and loving; but her sordid
+environment seemed to be crushing her. At times she struggled to get out
+from under; but there seemed no way, so she gradually gave in to
+the inevitable. She became resentful and sarcastic. Her black eyes
+frequently flashed in scorn and anger. As she grew in physical
+strength and beauty, these unfortunate traits of character became more
+pronounced. The budding womanhood which should have been carefully
+nurtured by the right kind of home and neighborhood was often left to
+develop in wild and undirected ways. Dorian Trent as he stood in that
+front room awaiting her had only a dim conception of all this.
+
+Carlia came in while he was yet standing. She had on a white dress and
+had placed a red rose in her hair.
+
+"O, say, Carlia!" exclaimed Dorian at sight of her.
+
+"What's the matter?" she asked.
+
+"Here you go dolling up, and look at me."
+
+"You're all right. Open the door, it's terribly stuffy in here."
+
+Dorian opened the tightly stuck door. Then he turned and stood looking
+at the girl before him. It seemed to him that he had never seen her so
+grown-up and so beautiful.
+
+"Say, Carlia, when did you grow up?" he asked.
+
+"While you have been away growing up too."
+
+"It's the long dress, isn't it?"
+
+"And milking cows and feeding pigs and pitching hay." She gave a toss to
+her head and held out her roughened red hands as proof of her assertion.
+He stepped closer to her as if to examine them more carefully, but she
+swiftly hid them behind her back. The rose, loosened from the tossing
+head, fell to the floor, and Dorian picked it up. He sniffed at it then
+handed it to her.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked.
+
+She reddened. "None of your--Say, sit down, can't you."
+
+Dorian seated himself on the sofa and invited her to sit by him, but she
+took a chair by the table.
+
+"You're not very neighborly," he said.
+
+"As neighborly as you are," she retorted.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Carlia?"
+
+"Nothing the matter with me. I'm the same; only I must have grown up, as
+you say."
+
+A sound as of someone driving up the road came to them through the
+open door. Carlia nervously arose and listened. She appeared to be
+frightened, as she looked out to the road without wanting to be seen. A
+light wagon rattled by, and the girl, somewhat relieved, went back to
+her chair.
+
+"Isn't it warm in here?" she asked.
+
+"It's warm everywhere."
+
+"I can't stay here. Let's go out--for a walk."
+
+"All right--come on."
+
+They closed the door, and went out at the rear. He led the way around to
+the front, but Carlia objected.
+
+"Let's go down by the field," she said. "The road is dusty."
+
+The day was closing with a clear sky. A Sunday calm rested over meadow
+and field, as the two strolled down by the ripening wheat. The girl
+seemed uneasy until the house was well out of sight. Then she seated
+herself on a grassy bank by the willows.
+
+"I'm tired," she said with a sigh of relief.
+
+Dorian looked at her with curious eyes. Carlia, grown up, was more of a
+puzzle than ever.
+
+"You are working too hard," he ventured.
+
+"Hard work won't kill anybody--but it's the other things."
+
+"What other things?"
+
+"The grind, the eternal grind--the dreary sameness of every day."
+
+"You did not finish the high school. Why did you quit?"
+
+"I had to, to save mother. Mother was not only doing her usual house
+work, but nearly all the outside choring besides. Father was away most
+of the time on his dry farm too, and he's blind to the work at home. He
+seems to think that the only real work is the plowing and the watering
+and the harvesting, and he would have let mother go on killing herself.
+Gee, these men!" The girl viciously dug the heel of her shoe into the
+sod.
+
+"I'm sorry you had to quit school, Carlia."
+
+"Sorry? I wanted to keep on more than I ever wanted anything in my life;
+but--"
+
+"But I admire you for coming to the rescue of your mother. That was fine
+of you."
+
+"I'm glad I can do some fine thing."
+
+Dorian had been standing. He now seated himself on the bank beside
+her. The world about them was very still as they sat for a few moments
+without speaking.
+
+"Listen," said he, "I believe Uncle Zed is preaching. The meeting house
+windows are wide open, for a wonder.
+
+"He can preach," she remarked.
+
+"He told me you visit him frequently."
+
+"I do. He's the grandest man, and I like to talk to him."
+
+"So do I. I had quite a visit with him this afternoon. I rather fooled
+him, I guess."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He told me to go home and change my clothes, and then go to meeting;
+but I came here instead."
+
+"Why did you do that?"
+
+"To see you, of course."
+
+"Pooh, as if I was anything to look at."
+
+"Well, you are, Carlia," and his eyes rested steadily on her to prove
+his contention. "Why didn't you want to go to meeting this evening?"
+
+"You heard me tell father."
+
+"That wasn't the whole truth. I was not the reason because you had
+decided not to go before I came."
+
+"Well--how do you know that? but, anyway, it's none of your business,
+where I go, is it?" She made an effort to stare him out of countenance,
+but it ended in lowered head and eyes.
+
+"Carlia! No, of course, it isn't. Excuse me for asking."
+
+There was another period of silence wherein Dorian again wondered at the
+girl's strange behavior. Was he annoying her? Perhaps she did not care
+to have him paying his crude attentions to her; and yet--
+
+"Tell me about your dry farm," she said.
+
+"I've already plowed eighty acres," he informed her. "The land is rich,
+and I expect to raise a big crop next year. I've quite a cosy house, up
+there, not far from the creek. The summer evenings are lovely and cool.
+I can't get mother to stay over night. I wish you would come and go with
+her, and stay a few days."
+
+"How could I stay away from home that long? The heavens would fall."
+
+"Well, that might help some. But, honestly, Carlia, you ought to get
+away from this grind a little. It's telling on you. Don't you ever get
+into the city?"
+
+"Sometimes Saturday afternoons to deliver butter and eggs."
+
+"Well, some Saturday we'll go to see that moving picture show that's
+recently started in town. They say it's wonderful. I've never been.
+We'll go together. What do you say?"
+
+"I would like to."
+
+"Let's move on. Meeting is out, and the folks are coming home."
+
+They walked slowly back to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Duke soon arrived and
+told of the splendid meeting they had had.
+
+"Uncle Zed spoke," said Mr. Duke, "and he did well, as usual. He's a
+regular Orson Pratt."
+
+"The people do not know it," added Dorian; "perhaps their children or
+their children's children will."
+
+"Well, what have you two been doing?" enquired the father of Carlia.
+
+"We've just been taking a walk," answered Dorian. "Will it be alright
+if Carlia and I go to the new moving picture theatre in town some
+Saturday?"
+
+Neither parent made any objection. They were, in fact, glad to have this
+neighbor boy show some interest in their daughter.
+
+"Your mother was at meeting," said Mrs. Duke; "and she was asking about
+you."
+
+"Yes; I've neglected her all afternoon; so I must be off. Good night
+folks."
+
+Carlia went with him to the gate, slipping her arm into his and
+snuggling closely as if to get the protection of good comradship. The
+movement was not lost on Dorian, but he lingered only for a moment.
+
+"Goodnight, Carlia; remember, some Saturday."
+
+"I'll not forget. Goodnight" she looked furtively up and down the road,
+then sped back into the house.
+
+Dorian walked on in the darkening evening. A block or so down the road
+he came on to an automobile. No one in Greenstreet owned one of
+these machines as yet, and there were but few in the city. As Dorian
+approached, he saw a young man working with the machinery under the
+lifted hood.
+
+"Hello," greeted Dorian, "what's the trouble?"
+
+"Damned if I know. Been stalled here for an hour." The speaker
+straightened from his work. His hands were grimy, and the sweat was
+running down his red and angry face. He held tightly the stump of a
+cigarette between his lips.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't help you," said Dorian, "but I don't know the first
+thing about an automobile."
+
+"Well, I thought I knew a lot, but this gets me." He swore again, as if
+to impress Dorian with the true condition of his feelings. Then he
+went at the machinery again with pliers and wrenches, after which he
+vigorously turned the crank. The engine started with a wheeze and then a
+roar. The driver leaped into the car and brought the racing engine to a
+smoother running. "The cursed thing" he remarked, "why couldn't it have
+done that an hour ago. O, say, excuse me, have you just been at the
+house up the road?"
+
+"The Duke house? yes."
+
+"Is the old man--is Mr. Duke at home?"
+
+"Yes; he's at home."
+
+"Thank you." The car moved slowly up the road until it reached the Duke
+gate where it stopped; but only for a moment, for it turned and sped
+with increasing hurry along the road leading to the city.
+
+Dorian stood and watched it until its red light disappeared. He wondered
+why the stranger wanted to know why Mr. Duke was at home, then on
+learning that he was, why he turned about as if he had no business with
+him.
+
+Later, Dorian learned the reason.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINE.
+
+
+Dorian was twenty-one years old, and his mother had planned a little
+party in honor of the event. The invited guests were Uncle Zed, Bishop
+Johnson and wife, the teacher of the district school, and Carlia Duke.
+These arrived during the dusk of the evening, all but Carlia. They
+lingered on the cool lawn under the colored glow of the Chinese
+lanterns.
+
+Mrs. Trent realized that it would be useless to make the party a
+surprise, for she had to have Dorian's help in hanging out the lanterns,
+and he would necessarily see the unusual activity in front room and
+kitchen. Moreover, Dorian, unlike Uncle Zed, had not lost track of his
+birthdays, and especially this one which would make him a full-fledged
+citizen of these United States.
+
+The little party chatted on general topics for some time until Mrs.
+Trent, in big white apron, announced that supper was ready, and would
+they all come right in. Mrs. Trent always served her refreshments at the
+regular supper time and not near midnight, for she claimed that people
+of regular habits, which her guests were, are much better off by not
+having those habits broken into.
+
+"Are we all here?" she asked, scanning them as they passed in. "All but
+Carlia," she announced. "Where's Carlia?"
+
+No one knew. Someone proffered the explanation that she was usually late
+as she had so many chores to do, at which the Bishop's wife shook her
+head knowingly, but said nothing.
+
+"Well, she'll be along presently," said Mrs. Trent. "Sit down all of
+you. Bishop, will you ask the blessing?"
+
+The hostess, waitress, and cook all combined in the capable person of
+Mrs. Trent, sat at the table with her party. Everything which was to be
+served was on the table in plain sight, so that all could nicely guage
+their eating to various dishes. When all were well served and the eating
+was well under way, Mrs. Trent said:
+
+"Brothers and sisters, this is Dorian's birthday party. He has been a
+mighty good boy, and so--"
+
+"Mother," interrupted the young man.
+
+"Now, you never mind--you be still. Dorian is a good boy, and I want all
+of you to know it."
+
+"We all do, Sister Trent," said the Bishop; "and it is a good thing to
+sometimes tell a person of his worthiness to his face."
+
+"But if we say more, he'll be uncomfortable," remarked the mother, "so
+we had better change the subject. The crops are growing, the weather is
+fine, and the neighbors are all right. That disposes of the chief
+topics of conversation, and will give Uncle Zed a chance. He always has
+something worth listening to, if not up his sleeve, then in his white
+old head. But do not hurry, Uncle Zed; get through with your supper."
+
+The old man was a light eater, so he finished before the others. He
+looked smilingly about him, noting that those present were eager to
+listen. He took from his pocket a number of slips of paper and placed
+them on the table beside his plate. Then he began to talk, the others
+leisurely finishing their dessert.
+
+"The other evening," he said, "Dorian and I had a conversation which
+interested us very much, and I think it would interest all of us here.
+I was telling him my experience in my search for God and the plan of
+salvation, and I promised him I would read to him some of the things I
+found. Here is a definition of God which did not help me very much." He
+picked up one of the slips of paper and read: "'God is the integrated
+harmony of all potentialities of good in every actual and possible
+rational agent.' What do you think of that?"
+
+The listeners knitted their brows, but no one spoke. Uncle Zed
+continued: "Well, here is a little more. Perhaps this will clear it up:
+'The greatest of selves, the ultimate Self of the universe, is God....
+My God is my deeper self and yours too. He is the self of the universe,
+and knows all about it.... By Deity we mean the all-controling
+consciousness of the universe, as well as the unfathomable, all
+unknowable, and unknowable abyss of being beyond'."
+
+Uncle Zed carefully folded his papers and placed them back in his
+pocket. He looked about him, but his friends appeared as if they had had
+a volley of Greek fired at them. "Well" he said, "why don't some of you
+say something?"
+
+"Please pass the pickles," responded Mrs. Trent.
+
+When the merriment had ceased, uncle Zed continued: "There is some truth
+in these definitions. God is all that which they try to express, and
+vastly more. The trouble is these men talk about the attributes of God,
+and confound these with the being and personality of the Great Parent.
+I may describe the scent of the rose, but that does not define the rose
+itself. I cannot separate the rose from its color or form or odor, any
+more than I can divorce music from the instrument. These vague and
+incomplete definitions have had much to do with the unbelief in the
+world. Tom Paine wrote a book which he called the 'Age of Reason' on the
+premise that reason does away with God. Isn't that it, Dorian?"
+
+"All agnostic writers seem to think that there is no reason in religion,
+and at times they come pretty near proving it too," replied Dorian.
+
+"That is because they base their arguments on the religions of the
+world; but the restored gospel of Jesus Christ rests largely on reason.
+Why, I can prove, contrary to the generally accepted opinion, by reason
+alone that there must be a God."
+
+"We shall be glad to hear it," said the school teacher. The eating was
+about over, and so they all sat and listened attentively.
+
+"We do not need to quote a word of scripture," continued Uncle Zed. "All
+we need to know is a little of the world about us, a little of the race
+and its history, and a little of the other worlds out in space, all of
+which is open to anybody who will seek it. The rest is simply a little
+connected thought. Reason tells me that there can be no limits to time
+or space or intelligence. Time always has been, there can be no end to
+space, and intelligence cannot create itself. Now, with limitless time
+and space and intelligence to work with, what have we? The human mind,
+being limited, cannot grasp the limitless; therefore, we must make
+arbitrary points of beginning and ending. Now, let us project our
+thought as far back into duration as we can--count the periods by any
+thinkable measurements, years, centuries, ages, aeons, anything you
+please that will help. Have we arrived at a point when there is no
+world, no life, no intelligence? Certainly not. Somewhere in space, all
+that we see here and now will be seen to exist. Go back from this point
+to a previous period, and then count back as far as you wish; there is
+yet time and space and intelligence.
+
+"There is an eternal law of progress which holds good always and
+everywhere. It has been operating all through the ages of the past. Now,
+let us take one of these Intelligences away back in the far distance
+past and place him in the path of progress so that the eternal law of
+growth and advancement will operate on him. I care not whether you apply
+the result to Intelligences as individuals or as the race. Given time
+enough, this endless and eternal advancement must result in a state of
+perfection that those who attain to it may with truth and propriety be
+called Gods. Therefore, there must be a God, yes, many Gods living and
+reigning throughout the limitless regions of glorified space.
+
+"Here is corroborative evidence: I read in the Doctrine and Covenants,
+Section 88: 'All kingdoms have a law given; and there are many kingdoms;
+for there is no space in the which there is no kingdom; and there is
+no kingdom in which there is no space, either a greater or a lesser
+kingdom. And unto every kingdom is given a law; and unto every law there
+are certain bounds also and conditions.'
+
+"There is a hymn in our hymn book in which W.W. Phelps expresses this
+idea beautifully. Let me read it:
+
+  'If you could hie to Kolob,
+    In the twinkling of an eye,
+  And then continue onward,
+    With that same speed to fly.
+
+  'Do you think that you could ever,
+    Through all eternity,
+  Find out the generation
+    Where Gods began to be?
+
+  'Or see the grand beginning
+    Where space did not extend?
+  Or view the last creation,
+    Where Gods and matter end?
+
+  'Methinks the Spirit whispers:
+    No man has found "pure space,"
+  Nor seen the outside curtains,
+    Where nothing has a place.
+
+  'The works of God continue,
+    And worlds and lives abound;
+  Improvement and progression
+    Have one eternal round.
+
+  'There is no end to matter,
+    There is no end to space,
+  There is no end to spirit,
+    There is no end to race.
+
+  'There is no end to virtue,
+    There is no end to might,
+  There is no end to wisdom,
+    There is no end to light.
+
+  'There is no end to union,
+    There is no end to youth,
+  There is no end to priesthood,
+    There is no end to truth.
+
+  'There is no end to glory,
+    There is no end to love,
+  There is no end to being,
+    Grim death reigns not above.'
+
+"The Latter-day Saints have been adversely criticized for holding out
+such astounding hopes for the future of the human race; but let
+us reason a little more, beginning nearer home. What has the race
+accomplished, even within the short span of our own recollection? Man is
+fast conquering the forces of nature about him, and making these forces
+to serve him. Now, we must remember that duration extends ahead of us in
+the same limitless way in which it reaches back. Give, then, the race
+today all the time necessary, what cannot it accomplish? Apply it again
+either to an individual or to the race, in time, some would attain to
+what we conceive of as perfection, and the term by which such beings are
+known to us is God. I can see no other logical conclusion."
+
+The chairs were now pushed back, and Mrs. Trent threw a cloth over the
+table just as it stood, explaining that she would not take the time from
+her company to devote to the dishes. She invited them into Dorian's
+little room, much to that young man's uneasiness.
+
+His mother had tidied the room, so it was presentable. His picture,
+"Sunset in Marshland" had been lowered a little on the wall, and
+directly over it hung a photograph of Mildred Brown. To Dorian's
+questioning look, Mrs. Trent explained, that Mrs. Brown had sent it just
+the other day. Dorian looked closely at the beautiful picture, and a
+strange feeling came over him. Had Mildred gone on in this eternal
+course of progress of which Uncle Zed had been speaking? Was she still
+away ahead of him? Would he ever reach her?
+
+On his study table were a number of books, birthday presents. One was
+from Uncle Zed's precious store, and one--What? He picked it up--"David
+Copperfield." He opened the beautiful volume and read on the fly leaf:
+"From Carlia, to make up a little for your loss." He remembered now that
+Carlia, some time before, had asked him what books were in the package
+which had gone down the canal at the time when he had pulled her out of
+the water. Carlia had not forgotten; and she was not here; the supper
+was over, and it was getting late. Why had she not come?
+
+The party broke up early, as it was a busy season with them all. Dorian
+walked home with Uncle Zed, then he had a mind to run over to Carlia's.
+He could not forget about her absence nor about the present she had
+sent. He had never read the story, and he would like to read it to
+Carlia. She had very little time, he realized, which was all the more
+reason for his making time to read it to her.
+
+As every country boy will, at every opportunity, so Dorian cut crosslots
+to his objective. He now leaped the fence, and struck off through the
+meadow up into the corn field. Mr. Duke had a big, fine field that
+season, the growing corn already reaching to his shoulder. The night was
+dark, save for the twinkling stars in the clear sky; it was still, save
+for the soft rustling of the corn in the breeze.
+
+Dorian caught sight of a light as of a lantern up by the ditch from
+which the water for irrigating was turned into the rows of corn and
+potatoes. He stopped and listened. A tool grated in the gravelly soil.
+Mr. Duke was no doubt using his night turn at the water on his corn
+instead of turning it on the hay-land as was the custom. He would
+inquire of him about Carlia.
+
+As he approached the light, the scraping ceased, and he saw a dark
+figure dart into the shelter of the tall corn. When he reached the
+lantern, he found a hoe lying in the furrow where the water should have
+been running. No man irrigates with a hoe; that's a woman's tool. Ah,
+the secret was out! Carlia was 'tending' the water. That's why she was
+not at the party.
+
+He stood looking down into the shadows of the corn rows, but for the
+moment he could see or hear nothing. He had frightened her, and yet
+Carlia was not usually afraid. He began to whistle softly and to walk
+down into the corn. Then he called, not loudly, "Carlia".
+
+There was no response. He quickened his steps. The figure ran to another
+shelter. He could see her now, and he called again, louder than before.
+She stopped, and then darted through the corn into the more open potatoe
+patch. Dorian followed.
+
+"Hello, Carlia," he said, "what are you doing?"
+
+The girl stood before him, bareheaded, with rough dress and heavy boots.
+She was panting as if with fright. When she caught a full sight of
+Dorian she gave a little cry, and when he came within reach, she grasped
+him by the arm.
+
+"Oh, is it you, Dorian?"
+
+"Sure. Who else did you think it was? Why, you're all of a tremble. What
+are you afraid of?"
+
+"I--I thought it was--was someone else. Oh, Dorian, I'm so glad it is
+you!"
+
+She stood close to him as if wishing to claim his protection. He
+instinctively placed his arm about her shoulders. "Why, you silly girl,
+the dark won't hurt you."
+
+"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of--Oh, Dorian, don't let him
+hurt me!" There was a sob in her voice.
+
+"What are you talking about? I believe you're not well. Are your feet
+wet? Have you a fever?" He put his hand on her forehead, brushing back
+the dark, towsled hair. He took her plump, work-roughened hand in his
+bigger and equally rough one. "And this is why you were not to my
+party," he said.
+
+"Yes; I hated to miss it, but father's rheumatism was so bad that he
+could not come out. So it was up to me. We haven't any too much water
+this summer. I'd better turn the water down another row; it's flooding
+the corn."
+
+They went to the lantern on the ditch bank. Dorian picked up the hoe and
+made the proper adjustment of the water flow. "How long will it take for
+the water to reach the bottom of the row?" he asked.
+
+"About fifteen minutes."
+
+"And how many rows remain?"
+
+Carlia counted. "Twelve," she said.
+
+"All right. This is a small stream and will only allow for three rows at
+a time. Three into twelve is four, and four times fifteen is sixty. It
+is now half past ten. We'll get through by twelve o'clock easy."
+
+"You'd better go home. I'm all right now. I'm not afraid."
+
+"I said we will get home. Sit down here on the bank. Are you cold?"
+He took off his coat and placed it about her shoulders. She made no
+objections, though in truth she was not cold.
+
+"Tell me about the party," she said.
+
+He told her who were there, and how they had missed her.
+
+"And did Uncle Zed preach?"
+
+"Preach? O, yes, he talked mighty fine. I wish I could tell you what he
+said."
+
+"What was it about?"
+
+"About God," he answered reverently.
+
+"Try to tell me, Dorian. I need to know. I'm such a dunce."
+
+Dorian repeated in his way Uncle Zed's argument, and he succeeded fairly
+well in his presentation of the subject. The still night under the
+shining stars added an impressive setting to the telling, and the girl
+close by his side drank in hungrily every word. When the water reached
+the end of the rows, it was turned into others, until all were
+irrigated. When that was accomplished, Dorian's watch showed half past
+eleven. He picked up the lantern and the hoe, and they walked back to
+the house.
+
+"The party was quite complete, after all," he said at the door. "I've
+enjoyed this little after-affair as much as I did the party."
+
+"I'm glad," she whispered.
+
+"And it was wonderfully good of you to give me that present."
+
+"I'm glad," she repeated.
+
+"Do you know what I was thinking about when I opened the book and saw it
+was from you?"
+
+"No; what?"
+
+"Why, I thought, we'll read this book together, you and I."
+
+"Wouldn't that be fine!"
+
+"We can't do that now, of course; but after a while when we get more
+time. I'll not read it until then.... Well, you're tired. Go to bed.
+Good night, Carlia."
+
+"Goodnight, Dorian, and thank you for helping me."
+
+They stood close together, she on the step above him. The lamp, placed
+on the kitchen table for her use, threw its light against the glass door
+which formed a background for the girl's roughened hair, soiled and
+sweat-stained face, and red, smiling lips.
+
+"Goodnight," he said again; and then he leaned forward and kissed her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TEN.
+
+
+That goodnight's kiss should have brought Dorian back to Carlia sooner
+than it did; but it was nearly a month before he saw her again. The fact
+that it was the busiest time of the year was surely no adequate excuse
+for this neglect. Harvest was on again, and the dry-farm called for much
+of his attention. Dorian prospered, and he had no time to devote to the
+girls, so he thought, and so he said, when occasion demanded expression.
+
+One evening while driving through the city and seeing the lights of the
+moving picture theatre, he was reminded of his promise to Carlia. His
+conscience pricked him just a little, so the very next evening he drove
+up to Farmer Duke's. Seeing no one choring about, he went into the house
+and inquired after Carlia. Mrs. Duke told him that Carlia had gone to
+the city that afternoon. She was expected back any minute, but one could
+never tell, lately, when she would get home. Since this Mr. Lamont had
+taken her to the city a number of times, she had been late in getting
+home.
+
+"Mr. Lamont?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes; haven't you met him? Don't you know him?"
+
+"No; who is he?"
+
+"Dorian, I don't know. Father seems to think he's all right, but I don't
+like him. Oh, Dorian, why don't you come around oftener?"
+
+Mrs. Duke sank into a chair and wiped away the tears from her eyes with
+the corner of her apron. Dorian experienced a strange sinking of the
+heart. Again he asked who this Mr. Lamont was.
+
+"He's a salesman of some kind, so he says. He drives about in one of
+those automobiles. Surely, you have seen him--a fine-looking fellow with
+nice manners and all that, but--"
+
+"And does Carlia go out with him?"
+
+"He has taken her out riding a number of times. He meets her in the city
+sometimes. I don't know what to make of it, Dorian. I'm afraid."
+
+Dorian seemed unable to say anything which would calm the mother's
+fears. That Carlia should be keeping company with someone other than
+himself, had never occurred to him. And yet, why not? she was aid enough
+to accept attention from young men. He had certainly neglected her, as
+the mother had implied. The girl had such few opportunities for going
+out, why should she not accept such as came to her. But this stranger,
+this outsider! Dorian soon took his departure.
+
+He went home, unhitched, and put up his horse; but instead of going into
+the house, he walked down to the post office. He found nothing in his
+box. He felt better in the open, so he continued to walk. He had told
+his mother he was going to the city, so he might as well walk that way.
+Soon the lights gleamed through the coming darkness. He went on with his
+confused thoughts, on into the city and to the moving picture show. He
+bought a ticket and an attendant led him stumbling in the dark room to a
+seat.
+
+It was the first time he had been there. He and Carlia were going
+together. It was quite wonderful to the young man to see the actors
+moving about lifelike on the white screen. The story contained a number
+of love-making scenes, which, had they been enacted in real life, in
+public as this was, they would certainly have been stopped by the
+police. Then there was a comic picture wherein a young fellow was
+playing pranks on an old man. The presentation could hardly be said to
+teach respect for old age, but the audience laughed uproariously at it.
+
+When the picture closed and the lights went on, Dorian turned about to
+leave, and there stood Carlia. A young man was assisting her into her
+light wraps. She saw him, so there was no escape, and they spoke to each
+other. Carlia introduced her escort, Mr. Lamont.
+
+"Glad to know you," said Mr. Lamont, in a hearty way. "I've known of you
+through Miss Duke. Going home now?"
+
+"Yes," said Dorian.
+
+"Drive?"
+
+"No; I'm walking."
+
+"Then you'll ride with us. Plenty of room. Glad to have you."
+
+"Thank you, I--"
+
+"Yes, come," urged Carlia.
+
+Dorian hesitated. He tried to carry an independent manner, but Mr.
+Lamont linked his arm sociably with Dorian's as he said:
+
+"Of course you'll ride home with us; but first we'll have a little ice
+cream."
+
+"No thanks," Dorian managed to say. What more did this fellow want of
+him?
+
+However, as Dorian could give no good reason why he should not ride home
+with them, he found no way of refusing to accompany them to a nearby
+ice-cream parlor. Mr. Lamont gave the order, and was very attentive to
+Carlia and Dorian. It was he who kept the flow of conversation going.
+The other two, plainly, were not adept at this.
+
+"What did you think of the show, Mr. Trent?"
+
+"The moving pictures are wonderful, but I did not like the story very
+much."
+
+"It was rotten," exclaimed the other in seeming disgust. I did not
+know what was on, or I should not have gone. Last week they had a fine
+picture, a regular classic. Did you see it?
+
+"No; in fact, this is my first visit."
+
+"Oh, indeed. This is Miss Duke's second visit only."
+
+Under the bright lights Carlia showed rouge on her cheeks, something
+Dorian had never seen on her before. Her lips seemed redder than ever,
+and he eyes shone with a bright luster. Mr. Lamont led them to his
+automobile, and then Dorian remembered the night when this same young
+man with the same automobile had stopped near Carlia's home. Carlia
+seated herself with the driver, while Dorian took the back seat. They
+were soon speeding along the road which led to Greenstreet. The cool
+night air fanned Dorian's hot face. Conversation ceased. Even Carlia
+and the driver were silent. The moon peeped over the eastern hills. The
+country-side was silent. Dorian thought of the strange events of the
+evening. This Mr. Lamont had not only captured Carlia but Dorian also.
+"If I were out with a girl," reasoned Dorian, "I certainly wouldn't want
+a third person along if I could help it." Why should this man be so
+eager to have his company? Dorian did not understand, not then.
+
+In a short time they drove up to Carlia's gate, and she and Dorian
+alighted. The driver did not get out. The machine purred as if impatient
+to be off again and the lamps threw their streams of light along the
+road.
+
+"Well, I shall have to be getting back," said Mr. Lamont. "Goodnight,
+Miss Duke. Thanks for your company. Goodnight, Mr. Trent; sure glad to
+have met you."
+
+The machine glided into the well-worn road and was off. The two stood
+looking at it for a moment. Then Carlia moved toward the house.
+
+"Come in" she said.
+
+He mechanically followed. He might as well act the fool to the end of
+the chapter, he thought. It was eleven by the parlor clock, but the
+mother seemed greatly relieved when she saw Dorian with her daughter.
+Carlia threw off her wraps. She appeared ill at ease. Her gaiety was
+forced. She seemed to be acting a part, but she was doing it poorly.
+Dorian was not only ill at ease himself, but he was bewildered. He
+seated himself on the sofa. Carlia took a chair on the other side of the
+room and gazed out of the window into the night.
+
+"Carlia, why did you--why do you," he stammered.
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" she replied, somewhat defiantly as if she understood
+his unfinished question.
+
+"You know you should not. It's wrong. Who is he anyway?"
+
+"He at least thinks of me and wants to show me a good time, and that's
+more than anybody else does."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"Well, that's the truth." She arose, walked to the table in the middle
+of the room and stood challengingly before him. "Who are you to find
+fault? What have you done to--"
+
+"I'll admit I've done very little; but you, yourself."
+
+"Never mind me. What do you care for me? What does anybody care?"
+
+"Your mother, at least."
+
+"Yes, mother; poor, dear mother.... Oh, my God, I can't stand it, I
+can't stand it!" With a sob she broke and sank down by the table, hiding
+her face in her arms. Dorian arose to go to her. The door opened, and
+the mother appeared.
+
+"What is it, Carlia," she asked in alarm.
+
+The girl raised her head, swiftly dashed the tears from her eyes, then
+with a sad effort to smile, said:
+
+"Nothing, mother, nothing at all. I'm going to bed. Where's father?"
+
+"He was called out to Uncle Zed's who is sick. Dorian's mother is there
+with him too, I understand."
+
+"Then I'd better go for her," said the young man. "I'll say goodnight.
+Poor Uncle Zed; he hasn't been well lately. Goodnight Sister Duke,
+goodnight Carlia."
+
+Carlia stood in the doorway leading to the stairs. "Goodnight, Dorian,"
+she said. "Forgive me for being so rude."
+
+He stepped toward her, but she motioned him back, and than ran up the
+carpetless stairs to her room. Dorian went out in the night. With a
+heavy heart he hurried down the road in the direction of Uncle Zed's
+home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ELEVEN.
+
+
+Uncle Zed's illness did not prove fatal, though it was serious enough.
+In a few days he was up and about again, slowly, quietly providing for
+his simple needs. However, it was plainly evident that he had nearly
+come to the end of his earthly pilgrimage.
+
+After the most pressing fall work had been disposed of, Dorian spent as
+much of his spare time as possible with the old man, who seemed to like
+the company of the younger man better than anyone else in the village;
+and Dorian, for his part, took delight in visiting with him, in helping
+him with the heaviest of his not heavy chores. Especially, was it
+pleasant during the lengthening evening with a small fire and the lamp
+newly trimmed. Uncle Zed reclined in his easy chair, while Dorian sat by
+the table with books and papers. Their conversations ranged from flower
+gardens to dry-farms, and from agnosticism to the highest degrees of the
+celestial glory. And how they both reveled in books and their
+contents on the occasions when they were alone and unhampered by the
+unsympathetic minds of others.
+
+"As you see, Dorian," said Uncle Zed on one such Sunday evening, "my
+collection of books is not large, but they are such that I can read and
+read again."
+
+"Where is your 'Drummond's Natural Law'?" asked Dorian.
+
+Uncle Zed looked about. "I was reading it this morning. There it is on
+the window." Dorian fetched him the volume.
+
+"When I read Drummond's work," continued the old man, "I feel keener
+than ever my lack of scientific knowledge. I have always had a desire
+to delve into nature's laws through the doors of botany, zoology,
+mineralogy, chemistry, and all the other sciences. I have obtained a
+smattering only through my reading. I realize that the great ocean of
+truth is yet before me who am now an old man and can never hope in this
+life to explore much further."
+
+"But how is it, Uncle Zed," enquired Dorian, "that so many scientists
+have such little faith?"
+
+"'The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life,' The Spirit has taught
+us Dorian, that this world is God's world, and that the laws which
+govern here and now are the same eternal laws which have always been in
+operation; that we have come to this world of element to get in touch
+with earthly forms of matter, and become acquainted with the laws which
+govern them. Drummond has attempted to prove that the laws which prevail
+in the temporal world about us also hold good in the spiritual world,
+and he has made out a very good case, I think; but neither Drummond nor
+anybody else not endowed by the gift of the Holy Ghost, can reach the
+simple ultimate truth. That's why I have been looking for some young man
+in the Church who could and would make it his life's mission and work to
+learn the truths of science and harmonize them where necessary with the
+revealed truth--in fact, to complete what Henry Drummond has so well
+begun." The old man paused, then looking steadily at Dorian, said:
+"That's what I expect you to do."
+
+"I? Oh, do you think I could?"
+
+"Yes; it would not be easy, but with your aptness and your trend of
+mind, and your ability to study long and hard, you could, with the
+assistance of the Spirit of God, accomplish wonders by the time you are
+as old as I."
+
+The young man mildly protested, although the vision of what might be
+thrilled his being.
+
+"Don't forget what I am telling you, Dorian. Think and pray and dream
+about it for a time, and the Lord will open the way. Now then, we are to
+discuss some of Drummond's problems, were we not?"
+
+"Yes; I shall be glad to. Are you comfortable? Shall I move your
+pillow?"
+
+"I'm resting very easily, thank you. Just hand me the book. Drummond's
+chapter on Biogenesis interests me very much. I cannot talk very
+scientifically, Dorian, on these things, but I hope to talk
+intelligently and from the large viewpoint of the gospel. Here is
+a paragraph from my book which I have marked and called 'The Wall
+Between.' I'm sure you will remember it. Let us read it again:
+
+"'Let us first place," he read from the book, 'vividly in our
+imagination the picture of the two great Kingdoms of Nature, the
+inorganic and the organic, as these now stand in the light of the Law
+of Biogenesis. What essentially is involved in saying that there is no
+Spontaneous Generation of Life? It is meant that the passage from the
+mineral world is hermetically sealed on the mineral side. This inorganic
+world is staked off from the living world by barriers which have never
+yet been crossed from within. No change of substance, no modification of
+environment, no chemistry, no electricity, nor any form of energy, nor
+any evolution can endow any single atom of the mineral world with the
+attribute of life. Only by bending down into this dead world of some
+living form can these dead atoms be gifted with the properties of
+vitality, without this preliminary contact with life they remain fixed
+in the inorganic sphere forever. It is a very mysterious Law which
+guards in this way the portals of the living world. And if there is
+one thing in Nature more worth pondering for its strangeness it is the
+spectacle of this vast helpless world of the dead cut off from the
+living by the law of Biogenesis and denied forever the possibility of
+resurrection within itself. So very strange a thing, indeed, is this
+broad line in Nature, that Science has long sought to obliterate it.
+Biogenesis stands in the way of some forms of Evolution with such stern
+persistency that the assaults upon this law for number and thoroughness
+have been unparalleled. But, as we have seen, it has stood the test.
+Nature, to the modern eye, stands broken in two. The physical laws
+may explain the inorganic world; the biological laws may account for
+inorganic. But of the point where they meet, of that living borderland
+between the dead and the living, Science is silent. It is as if God had
+placed everything in earth and in heaven in the hands of Nature, but
+reserved a point at the genesis of Life for His direct appearing.'
+
+"Drummond goes on to prove by analogy that the same law which makes such
+a separation between the higher and the lower in the natural world holds
+good in the spiritual realm, and he quotes such passages as this to
+substantiate his argument: 'Except a man is born again, he cannot enter
+the kingdom of God'. Man must be born from above. 'The passage from
+the natural world to the spiritual world is hermetically sealed on the
+natural side.' that is, man cannot by any means make his own unaided way
+from the lower world to the higher. 'No mental energy, no evolution, no
+moral effort, no evolution of character, no progress of civilization'
+can alone lift life from the lower to the higher. Further, the lower can
+know very little about the higher, for 'the natural man receiveth not
+the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness to him;
+neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned'. All
+of which means, I take it, that the higher must reach down to the lower
+and lift it up. Advancement in any line of progress is made possible by
+some directing power either seen or unseen. A man cannot simply grow
+better and better until in his own right he enters the kingdom of God'."
+
+"But, Uncle Zed, are we not taught that we must work out our own
+salvation?" asked Dorian. "That is also scriptural."
+
+"Yes; but wait; I shall come to that later. Let us go on with our
+reasoning and see how this law which Drummond points out--how it fits
+into the larger scheme of things as revealed to us Latter-day Saints.
+You remember some time ago in our talk on the law of eternal progress we
+established the truth that there always have been intelligences evolving
+from lower to higher life, which in the eternity of the past would
+inevitably lead to the perfection of Gods. This is plainly taught in
+Joseph Smith's statement that God was once a man like us, perhaps on an
+earth like this, working out His glorious destiny. He, then, has gone on
+before into higher worlds, gaining wisdom, power, and glory. Now, there
+is another law of the universe that no advancing man can live to himself
+alone. No man can grow by taking selfish thought to the process. He
+grows by the exercise of his faculties and powers for the benefit of
+others. Dorian, hand me the 'Pearl of Great price'."
+
+Dorian found the book and handed it to the old man, who, finding the
+passage he wanted, continued: "Listen to this remarkable statement by
+the Lord: 'For behold, this is my work and my glory--to bring to pass
+the immortality and eternal life of man.' Just think what that means."
+
+"What does it mean?"
+
+"It means, my boy, that the way of progress is the way of unselfish
+labor. 'This is my work,' says the Lord, to labor for those who are yet
+on the lower rungs of the ladder, to institute laws whereby those below
+may climb up higher; (note I used the word climb, not float); to use His
+greater experience, knowledge, and power for others; to pass down
+to those in lower or primary stages that which they cannot get by
+self-effort alone. Let me say this in all reverence, they who attain to
+All Things do not greedily and selfishly cling to it, but pass it on
+to others. 'As one lamp lights another nor grows less, So kindliness
+enkindleth kindliness.' Yes; through great stress and sacrifice, they
+may do this, as witnessed in what our Father has done by endowing His
+Beloved Son with eternal life, and then giving Him to us. That Son was
+the 'Prince of Life.' He was the Resurrection and the Life.' He brought
+Life from the higher kingdom to a lower, its natural course through the
+ages. That is the only way through which it can come. And herein, to
+my humble way of thinking is the great error into which the modern
+evolutionist has fallen. He reasons that higher forms evolve from the
+initial and unaided movements of the lower. That is as impossible as
+that a man can lift himself to the skies by his boot-straps."
+
+Dorian smiled at the illustration.
+
+"Now, my boy, I want to make an application of these divine truths to us
+here and now. I'm not going to live here much longer."
+
+"Uncle Zed!"
+
+"Now, wait; it's a good thing that you nor anybody else can prevent me
+from passing on. I've wanted to live long enough to get rid of the fear
+of death. I have reached that point now, and so I am ready at any time,
+thank the Lord."
+
+Uncle Zed was beautiful to look upon in the clear whiteness of his
+person and the peaceful condition of his spirit. The young listener
+was deeply impressed by what he was hearing. (He never forgot that
+particular Sunday afternoon).
+
+"You asked me about working out our own salvation," continued Uncle Zed.
+"Let me answer you on that. There are three principles in the law of
+progress, all of them important: First, there must be an exercise of the
+will by the candidate for progression. He must be willing to advance and
+have a desire to act for himself. That is the principle of free agency.
+Second, he must be willing to receive help from a higher source; that
+is, he must place himself in a condition to receive life and light from
+the source of life and light. Third, he must be unselfish, willing,
+eager to share all good with others. The lack of any of these will prove
+a serious hindrance. We see this everywhere in the world.
+
+"Coming back now to the application I mentioned. If it is God's work
+and glory to labor for those below Him, why should not we, His sons
+and daughters, follow His example as far as possible in our sphere of
+action? If we are ever to become like Him we must follow in His steps
+and do the things which He has done. Our work, also must be to help
+along the road to salvation those who are lower down, those who are more
+ignorant and are weaker than we."
+
+"Which, Uncle Zed, you have been doing all your life."
+
+"Just trying a little, just a little."
+
+"And this will be as it already has been, your glory. I see that
+plainly."
+
+"Why shouldn't it be everybody's work and glory! What a beautiful world
+this would be if this were the case!"
+
+"Yes, truly."
+
+"And see, Dorian, how this principle ties together the race from the
+beginning to the end, comparatively speaking. Yes, in this way will men
+and families and races and worlds be linked together in chains of love,
+which cannot be broken, worlds without end."
+
+The old man's voice became sweet and low. Then there was silence for a
+few minutes. The clock struck ten.
+
+"I must be going," said Dorian. "I am keeping you out of bed."
+
+"You'll come again?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Come soon, my boy. I have so much to tell you. I can talk so freely to
+you, something I cannot do to all who come here, bless their hearts. But
+you, my boy--"
+
+He reached out his hand, and Dorian took it lovingly. There were tears
+in the old man's eyes.
+
+"I'll not forget you," said Dorian, "I'll come soon and often."
+
+"Then, good night."
+
+"Good night," the other replied from the door as he stepped out into the
+night. The cool breeze swept over meadow and field. The world was open
+and big, and the young man's heart expanded to it. What a comfort to
+feel that the Power which rules the world and all the affairs of men is
+unfailing in its operations! What a joy to realize that he had a loving
+Father to whom he could go for aid! And then also, what a tremendous
+responsibility was on him because of the knowledge he already had and
+because of his God-given agency to act for himself. Surely, he would
+need light from on High to help him to choose the right!
+
+Surely, he would.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWELVE.
+
+
+At the coming of winter, Uncle Zed was bedfast. He was failing rapidly.
+Neighbors helped him. Dorian remained with him as much as he could. The
+bond which had existed between these two grew stronger as the time
+of separation became nearer. The dying man was clear-minded, and he
+suffered very little pain. He seemed completely happy if he could have
+Dorian sitting by him and they could talk together. And these were
+wonderful days to the young man, days never to be forgotten.
+
+Outside, the air was cold with gusts of wind and lowering clouds.
+Inside, the room was cosy and warm. A few of the old man's hardiest
+flowers were still in pots on the table where the failing eyes could see
+them. That evening Mrs. Trent had tidied up the room and had left Dorian
+to spend the night with the sick man. The tea-kettle hummed softly on
+the stove. The shaded lamp was turned down low.
+
+"Dorian."
+
+"Yes, Uncle Zed."
+
+"Turn up the lamp a little. It's too dark in here."
+
+"Doesn't the light hurt your eyes!"
+
+"No; besides I want you to get me some papers out of that drawer in my
+desk."
+
+Dorian fetched a large bundle of clippings and papers and asked if they
+were what he wanted.
+
+"Not all of them just now; but take from the pile the few on top. I want
+you to read them to me. They are a few selections which I have culled
+and which have a bearing on the things we have lately been talking
+about."
+
+The first note which Dorian read was as follows. "'The keys of the holy
+priesthood unlock the door of knowledge to let you look into the palace
+of truth'."
+
+"That's by Brigham Young. You did not know that he was a poet as well as
+a prophet," commented the old man. "The next one is from him also."
+
+"'There never was a time when there were not Gods and worlds, and when
+men were not passing through the same ordeals that we are now passing
+through. That course has been from all eternity and it is and will be to
+all eternity'."
+
+"Now you know, Dorian, where I get my inspiration from. Read the next,
+also from President Young."
+
+"'The idea that the religion of Christ is one thing, and science is
+another, is a mistaken idea, for there is no true science without
+religion. The fountain of knowledge dwells with God, and He dispenses it
+to His children as He pleases, and as they are prepared to receive it;
+consequently, it swallows up and circumscribes all'."
+
+"Take these, Dorian; have them with you as inspirational mottoes for
+your life's work. Go on, there are a few more."
+
+Dorian read again: "'The region of true religion and the region of a
+completer science are one.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+"You see one of the foremost scientists of the day agrees with Brigham
+Young," said Uncle Zed. "I think the next one corroborates some of our
+doctrine also."
+
+Dorian read: "'We do not indeed remember our past, we are not aware of
+our future, but in common with everything else we must have had a past
+and must be going to have a future.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+Again he read: "'We must dare to extend the thought of growth and
+progress and development even up to the height of all that we can
+realize of the Supreme Being--In some part of the universe perhaps
+already the ideal conception has been attained; and the region of such
+attainment--the full blaze of self-conscious Deity--is too bright for
+mortal eyes, is utterly beyond our highest thoughts.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+Uncle Zed held out his hand and smiled. "There," he said in a whisper,
+"is a hesitating suggestion of the truth which we boldly proclaim."
+
+"Now you are tired, Uncle Zed," said Dorian. "I had best not read more."
+
+"Just one--the next one."
+
+Dorian complied:
+
+  "'There are more lives yet, there are more worlds waiting,
+    For the way climbs up to the eldest sun,
+  Where the white ones go to their mystic mating,
+     And the holy will is done.
+  I'll find you there where our love life heightens--
+     Where the door of the wonder again unbars,
+  Where the old love lures and the old fire whitens,
+     In the stars behind the stars'."
+
+Uncle Zed lay peacefully on his pillow, a wistful look on his face. The
+room became still again, and the clock ticked away the time. Dorian
+folded up the papers which he had been told to keep and put them in his
+pocket. The rest of the package he returned to the drawer. He lowered
+the lamp again. Then he sat down and watched. It seemed it would not be
+long for the end.
+
+"Dorian."
+
+"Yes, Uncle Zed, can I do anything for you?"
+
+"No"--barely above a whisper--"nothing else matters--you're a good
+boy--God bless you."
+
+The dying man lay very still. As Dorian looked at the face of his friend
+it seemed that the mortal flesh had become waxen white so that the
+immortal spirit shone unhindered through it. The young man's heart was
+deeply sorrowful, but it was a sanctified sorrow. Twice before had death
+come near to him. He had hardly realized that of his father's and he was
+not present when Mildred had passed away; but here he was again with
+death, and alone. It seemed strange that he was not terrified, but he
+was not--everything seemed so calm, peaceful, and even beautiful in its
+serene solemnity.
+
+Dorian arose, went softly to the window and looked out. The wind had
+quieted, and the snow was falling slowly, steadily in big white flakes,
+When Dorian again went back to the bedside and looked on the stilled
+face of his friend, he gave a little start. He looked again closely,
+listening, and feeling of the cold hands. Uncle Zed was dead.
+
+The Greenstreet meeting house was filled to overflowing at the funeral.
+Uncle Zed had gone about all his days in the village doing good. All
+could tell of some kind deed he had done, with the admonition that it
+should not be talked about. He always seemed humiliated when anyone
+spoke of these things in his hearing; but now, surely, there could be no
+objection to letting his good deeds shine before men.
+
+Uncle Zed had left with the Bishop a written statement, not in the form
+of a will, wherein he told what disposition was to be made of his simple
+belongings. The house, with its few well tilled acres, was to go to the
+ward for the use of any worthy poor whom the Bishop might designate.
+Everything in the house should be at the disposal of Dorian Trent. The
+books, especially, should belong to him "to have and to hold and to
+study." Such books which Dorian did not wish to keep were to be given
+to the ward Mutual Improvement Library. This information the Bishop
+publicly imparted on the day of the funeral.
+
+"These are the times," said the Bishop, "when the truth comes forcibly
+to us all that nothing in this world matters much or counts for much in
+the end but good deeds, kind words, and unselfish service to others. All
+else is now dross.... The mantle of Brother Zed seems to have fallen on
+Dorian Trent. May he wear it faithfully and well."
+
+A few days after the funeral Dorian and his mother went to Uncle Zed's
+vacant home. Mrs. Trent examined the furnishings, while Dorian looked
+over the books.
+
+"Is there anything here you want, mother? he asked.
+
+"No; I think not; better leave everything, which isn't much, for those
+who are to live here. What about the books?'
+
+"I'm going to take most of them home, for I am sure Uncle Zed would not
+want them to fall into unappreciating hands; but there's no hurry about
+that. We'll just leave everything as it is for a few days."
+
+The next evening Dorian returned to look over again his newly-acquired
+treasures. The ground was covered with snow and the night was cold. He
+thought he might as well spend the evening, and be comfortable, so he
+made a fire in the stove.
+
+On the small home-made desk which stood in the best-lighted corner, near
+to the student's hand were his well-worn Bible, his Book of Mormon, and
+Doctrine and Covenants. He opened the drawers and found them filled with
+papers and clippings, covering, as Dorian learned, a long period of
+search and collecting. He opened again the package which he had out the
+evening of Uncle Zed's death, and looked over some of the papers. These,
+evidently, had been selected for Dorian's special benefit, and so he
+settled himself comfortably to read them. The very first paper was in
+the old man's own hand, and was a dissertation on "Faith." and read
+thus: "Some people say that they can believe only what they can perceive
+with the senses. Let us see: The sun rises, we say. Does it? The earth
+is still. Is it? We hear music, we see beauty. Does the ear hear or the
+eye see? We burn our fingers. Is the pain in our fingers? I cut the
+nerves leading from the brain to these various organs, and then I
+neither hear nor see nor feel."
+
+"How can God keep in touch with us?" was answered thus: "A ray of light
+coming through space from a star millions of miles away will act on a
+photographic plate, will eat into its sensitive surface and imprint the
+image of the star. This we know, and yet we doubt if God can keep in
+touch with us and answer our prayers."
+
+Many people wondered why a man like Uncle Zed was content to live in the
+country. The answer seemed to be found in a number of slips:
+
+  "How peaceful comes the Sabbath, doubly blessed,
+  In giving hope to faith, to labor rest.
+  Most peaceful here:--no city's noise obtains,
+  And God seems reverenced more where silence reigns."
+
+Once Dorian had been called a "Clod hopper." As he read the following,
+he wondered whether or not Uncle Zed had not also been so designated,
+and had written this in reply:
+
+"Mother Earth, why should not I love you? Why should not I get close to
+you? Why should I plan to live always in the clouds above you, gazing at
+other far-distant worlds, and neglecting you? Why did I, with others,
+shout with joy when I learned that I was coming here from the world of
+spirits? I answer, because I knew that 'spirit and element inseparately
+connected receiveth a fullness of joy.' I was then to get in touch with
+'element' as I had been with 'spirit.' This world which I see with my
+natural eyes is the 'natural' part of Mother Earth, even as the
+flesh and bones and blood of my body is the element of myself, to be
+inseparately connected with my spirit and to the end that I might
+receive a fullness of joy. The earth and all things on it known by the
+term nature is what I came here to know. Nature, wild or tamed, is my
+schoolroom--the earth with its hills and valleys and plains, with its
+clouds and rain, with its rivers and lakes and oceans, with its trees
+and fruits and flowers, its life--about all these I must learn what I
+can at first hand. Especially, should I learn of the growing things
+which clothe the earth with beauty and furnish sustenance to life. Some
+day I hope the Lord will give me a small part of this earth, when it is
+glorified. Ah, then, what a garden shall I have!"
+
+No one in Greenstreet had ever known Uncle Zed as a married man. His
+wife had died long ago, and he seldom spoke of her. Dorian had wondered
+whether he had ever been a young man, with a young man's thoughts and
+feelings; but here was evidence which dispelled any doubt. On a slip of
+paper, somewhat yellow with age, were the following lines, written in
+Uncle Zed's best hand:
+
+  "In the enchanted air of spring,
+  I hear all Nature's voices sing,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  By bursting buds, by sprouting grass,
+  I hear the bees hum as I pass,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  The waking earth, the sunny sky
+  Are whispering the same as I,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  The song of birds in sweetest notes
+  Comes from their bursting hearts and throats,
+        'I love you'."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Zed!" said Dorian, half aloud, "who would have thought it!"
+
+Near the top of the pile of manuscript Dorian found an envelope with "To
+Dorian Trent," written on it. He opened it with keen interest and found
+that it was a somewhat newly written paper and dealt with a subject they
+had discussed in connection with the chapter on Death in Drummond's
+book. Uncle Zed had begun his epistle by addressing it, "Dear Dorian"
+and then continued as follows:
+
+"You remember that some time ago we talked on the subject of sin and
+death. Since then I have had some further thought on the subject which I
+will here jot down for you. You asked me, you remember, what sin is, and
+I tried to explain. Here is another definition: Man belongs to an order
+of beings whose goal is perfection. The way to that perfection is long
+and hard, narrow and straight. Any deviation from that path is sin. God,
+our Father, has reached the goal. He has told us how we may follow Him.
+He has pointed out the way by teaching us the law of progress which
+led Him to His exalted state. Sin lies in not heeding that law, but in
+following laws of our own making. The Lord says this in the Doctrine and
+Covenants, Section 88:
+
+'That which breaketh a law, and abideth not by law, but seeketh to
+become a law unto itself, and willeth to abide in sin, and altogether
+abideth in sin, cannot be sanctified by law, neither by mercy, justice,
+nor judgement. Therefore, they must remain filthy still.'
+
+"Now, keeping in mind that sin is the straying from the one straight,
+progressive path, let us consider this expression: 'The wages of sin is
+death'. This leads us to the question: what is death? Do you remember
+what Drummond says? He first explains in a most interesting way what
+life is, using the scientist's phrasing. A human being, for instance,
+is in direct contact with all about him--earth, air, sun, other human
+beings, etc. In biological language he is said to be 'in correspondence
+with his environment,' and by virtue of this correspondence is said to
+be alive. To live, a human being must continue to adjust himself to his
+environment. When he fails to do this, he dies. Thus we have also a
+definition of death. 'Dying is that breakdown in an organization
+which throws it out of correspondence with some necessary part of the
+environment.'
+
+"Of course, these reasonings and deductions pertain to what we term he
+physical death; but Drummond claims that the same law holds good in the
+spiritual world. Modern revelation seems to agree with him. We have an
+enlightening definition of death in the following quotation from the
+Doctrine and Covenants, Section 29: 'Wherefore I the Lord God caused
+that he (Adam) should be cast out from the Garden of Eden, from my
+presence, because of his transgression, wherein he became spiritually
+dead, which is the first death, even that same death, which is the last
+death, which is spiritual, which shall be pronounced upon the wicked
+when I shall say Depart ye cursed'.
+
+"It seems to me that there is a most interesting agreement here.
+Banishment from the place where God lives is death. By the operations
+of a natural law, a person who fails to correspond with a celestial
+environment dies to that environment and must go or be placed in some
+other, where he can function with that which is about him. God's
+presence is exalted, holy, glorified. He who is not pure, holy,
+glorified cannot possibly live there, is dead to that higher world.
+A soul who cannot function in the celestial glory, may do so in the
+terrestrial glory; one who cannot function in the terrestrial, may in
+the telestial; and one who cannot 'abide the law' or function in the
+telestial must find a place of no glory. This is inevitable--it cannot
+be otherwise. Immutable law decrees it, and not simply the ruling of an
+all wise power. The soul who fails to attain to the celestial glory,
+fails to walk in the straight and narrow path which leads to it. Such a
+person wanders in the by-paths called sin, and no power in the universe
+can arbitrarily put him in an environment with which he cannot function.
+'To be carnally minded is death', said Paul. 'The wages of sin is
+death', or in other words, he who persistently avoids the Celestial
+Highway will never arrive at the Celestial Gate. He who works evilly
+will obtain evil wages. Anyway, what would it profit a man with dim
+eyesight to be surrounded with ineffable glory? What would be the music
+of the spheres to one bereft of hearing? What gain would come to a man
+with a heart of stone to be in an environment of perfect and eternal
+love!"
+
+Dorian finished the reading and laid the paper on the desk. For some
+time he sat very still, thinking of these beautiful words from his dear
+friend to him. Surely, Uncle Zed was very much alive in any environment
+which his beautiful life had placed him. Would that he, Dorian, could
+live so that he might always be alive to the good and be dead to sin.
+
+The stillness of the night was about him. The lamplight grew dim,
+showing the oil to be gone, so he blew out the smoking wick. He opened
+the stove door, and by the light of the dying fire he gathered up some
+books to take home. He heard a noise as if someone were outside. He
+listened. The steps were muffled in the snow. They seemed to approach
+the house and then stop. There was silence for a few minutes, then
+plainly he heard sobbing close to the door.
+
+What could it mean? who could it be? Doubtless, some poor soul to whom
+Uncle Zed had been a ministering angel, had been drawn to the vacant
+house, and could not now control her sorrow. Then the sobbing ceased,
+and Dorian realized he had best find out who was there and give what
+help he could. He opened the door, and a frightened scream rang out from
+the surprised Carlia Duke who stood in the faint light from the open
+doorway. She stood for a second, then as if terror stricken, she fled.
+
+"Carlia," shouted Dorian. "Carlia!"
+
+But the girl neither stopped nor looked back. Across the pathless,
+snow-covered fields she sped, and soon became only a dark-moving object
+on the white surface. When she had entirely disappeared, Dorian went
+back, gathered up his bundles, locked the door, and went wonderingly and
+meditatingly home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
+
+
+It is no doubt a wise provision of nature that the cold of winter closes
+the activity in field and garden, thus allowing time for study by the
+home fire. Dorian Trent's library, having been greatly enlarged, now
+became to him a source of much pleasure and profit. Books which he never
+dreamed of possessing were now on his shelves. In some people's opinion,
+he was too well satisfied to remain in his cosy room and bury himself in
+his books; but his mother found no fault. She was always welcome to come
+and go; and in fact, much of the time he sat with her by the kitchen
+fire, reading aloud and discussing with her the contents of his book.
+
+Dorian found, as Uncle Zed had, wonderful arguments for the truth of
+the gospel in Orson and Parley P. Pratt's works. In looking through
+the "Journal of Discourses," he found markings by many of the sermons,
+especially by those of Brigham Young. Dorian always read the passages
+thus indicated, for he liked to realize that he was following the
+former owner of the book even in his thinking. The early volumes of the
+"Millennial Star" contained some interesting reading. Very likely, the
+doctrinal articles of these first elders were no better than those of
+more recent writers, but their plain bluntness and their very age seemed
+to give them charm.
+
+By his reading that winter Dorian obtained an enlarged view of his
+religion. It gave him vision to see and to comprehend better the whole
+and thus to more fully understand the details. Besides, he was laying a
+broad and firm foundation for his faith in God and the restored gospel
+of Jesus Christ, a faith which would stand him well in need when he came
+to delve into a faithless and a Godless science.
+
+Not that Dorian became a hermit. He took an active part in the
+Greenstreet ward organizations. He was secretary of the Mutual, always
+attended Sunday School, and usually went to the ward dances. As he
+became older he overcame some of his shyness with girls; and as
+prosperity came to him, he could dress better and have his mass of
+rusty-red hair more frequently trimmed by the city barber. More than
+one of the discerning Greenstreet girls laid their caps for the big,
+handsome young fellow.
+
+And Dorian's thoughts, we must know, were not all the time occupied with
+the philosophy of Orson Pratt. He was a very natural young man, and
+there were some very charming girls in Greenstreet. When, arrayed in
+their Sunday best, they sat in the ward choir, he, not being a member of
+the choir, could look at them to his heart's content, first at one and
+then at another along the double row. Carlia Duke usually sat on the
+front row where he could see her clearly and compare her with the
+others--and she did not suffer by the comparison.
+
+Dorian now begin to realize that it was selfish, if not foolish, to
+think always of the dead Mildred to the exclusion of the very much alive
+Carlia. Mildred was safe in the world of spirits, where he would some
+day meet her again; but until that time, he had this life to live and
+those about him to think of. Carlia was a dear girl, beautiful, too, now
+in her maturing womanhood. None of the other girls touched his heart as
+Carlia. He had taken a number of them to dances, but he had always come
+back, in his thought, at least, to Carlia. But her actions lately had
+been much of a puzzle. Sometimes she seemed to welcome him eagerly when
+he called, at other times she tried to evade him. No doubt this Mr. Jack
+Lamont was the disturbing element. That winter he could be seen coming
+quite openly to the Duke home, and when the weather would permit, Carlia
+would be riding with him in his automobile. The neighbors talked, but
+the father could only shake his head and explain that Carlia was a
+willful girl.
+
+Now when it seemed that Carlia was to be won by this very gallant
+stranger, Dorian began to realize what a loss she would be to him. He
+was sure he loved the girl, but what did that avail if she did not love
+him in return. He held to the opinion that such attractions should be
+mutual. He could see no sense in the old-time custom of the knight
+winning his lady love by force of arms or by the fleetness of horse's
+legs.
+
+However, Dorian was not easy in his mind, and it came to the point when
+he suffered severe heartaches when he knew of Carlia's being with the
+stranger. The Christmas holidays that season were nearly spoiled for
+him. He had asked Carlia a number of times to go to the parties with
+him, but she had offered some excuse each time.
+
+"Let her alone," someone had told him.
+
+"No; do not let her alone," his mother had counseled; and he took his
+mother's advice.
+
+Carlia had been absent from the Sunday meetings for a number of weeks,
+so when she appeared in her place in the choir on a Sunday late in
+January, Dorian noticed the unusual pallor of her face. He wondered if
+she had been ill. He resolved to make another effort, for in fact, his
+heart went out to her. At the close of the meeting he found his way to
+her side as she was walking home with her father and mother. Dorian
+never went through the formality of asking Carlia if he might accompany
+her home. He had always taken it for granted that he was welcome; and,
+at any rate, a man could always tell by the girl's actions whether or
+not he was wanted.
+
+"I haven't seen you for a long time," began Dorian by way of greeting.
+
+The girl did not reply.
+
+"Been sick?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--no, I'm all right."
+
+The parents walked on ahead, leaving the two young people to follow.
+Evidently, Carlia was very much out of sorts, but the young man tried
+again.
+
+"What's the matter, Carlia?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Well, I hope I'm not annoying you by my company."
+
+No answer. They walked on in silence, Carlia looking straight ahead, not
+so much at her parents, as at the distant snow-clad mountains. Dorian
+felt like turning about and going home, but he could not do that very
+well, so he went on to the gate, where he would have said goodnight had
+not Mrs. Duke urged him to come in. The father and mother went to bed
+early, leaving the two young people by the dining-room fire.
+
+They managed to talk for some time on "wind and weather". Despite the
+paleness of cheek, Carlia was looking her best. Dorian was jealous.
+
+"Carlia," he said, "why do you keep company with this Mr. Lamont?"
+
+She was standing near the book-shelf with its meagre collection. She
+turned abruptly at his question.
+
+"Why shouldn't I go with him?" she asked.
+
+"You know why you shouldn't."
+
+"I don't. Oh, I know the reasons usually given, but--what am I to do.
+He's so nice, and a perfect gentleman. What harm is there?"
+
+"Why do you say that to me, Carlia?"
+
+"Why not to you?" She came and sat opposite him by the table. He was
+silent, and she repeated her question, slowly, carefully, and with
+emphasis. "Why not to you? Why should you care?"
+
+"But I do care."
+
+"I don't believe it. You have never shown that you do."
+
+"I am showing it now."
+
+"Tomorrow you will forget it--forget me for a month."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"You've done it before--many times--you'll do it again."
+
+The girl's eyes flashed. She seemed keyed up to carry through something
+she had planned to do, something hard. She arose and stood by the table,
+facing him.
+
+"I sometimes have thought that you cared for me--but I'm through with
+that now. Nobody really cares for me. I'm only a rough farm hand. I know
+how to milk and scrub and churn and clean the stable--an' that's what I
+do day in and day out. There's no change, no rest for me, save when he
+takes me away from it for a little while. He understands, he's the only
+one who does."
+
+"But, Carlia!"
+
+"You," she continued in the same hard voice, "you're altogether too good
+and too wise for such as I. You're so high up that I can't touch you.
+You live in the clouds, I among the clods. What have we two in common?"
+
+"Much, Carlia--I--"
+
+He arose and came to her, but she evaded him.
+
+"Keep away, Dorian; don't touch me. You had better go home now."
+
+"You're not yourself, Carlia. What is the matter? You have never acted
+like this before."
+
+"It's not because I haven't felt like it, but it's because I haven't had
+the courage; but now it's come out, and I can't stop it. It's been
+pent up in me like a flood--now it's out. I hate this old farm--I hate
+everything and everybody--I--hate you!"
+
+Dorian arose quickly as if he had been lifted to his feet. What was she
+saying? She was wild, crazy wild.
+
+"What have I done that you should hate me?" he asked as quietly as his
+trembling voice would allow.
+
+"Done? nothing. It's what you haven't done. What have you done to
+repay--my--Oh, God, I can't stand it--I can't stand it!"
+
+She walked to the wall and turned her face to it. She did not cry. The
+room was silently tense for a few moments.
+
+"I guess I'd better go," said Dorian.
+
+She did not reply. He picked up his hat, lingered, then went to the
+door. She hated him. Then let him get out from her presence. She hated
+him. He had not thought that possible. Well, he would go. He would never
+annoy any girl who hated him, not if he knew it. How his heart ached,
+how his very soul seemed crushed! yet he could not appeal to her. She
+stood with her face to the wall, still as a statue, and as cold.
+
+"Good night," he said at the door.
+
+She said nothing, nor moved. He could see her body quiver, but he could
+not see her face. He perceived nothing clearly. The familiar room,
+poorly furnished, seemed strange to him. The big, ugly enlarged
+photographs on the wall blurred to his vision. Carlia, with head bowed
+now, appeared to stand in the midst of utter confusion. Dorian groped
+his way to the door, and stepped out into the wintry night. When he had
+reached the gate, Carlia rushed to the door.
+
+"Dorian!" she cried in a heart-breaking voice, "O, Dorian, come
+back--come back!"
+
+But Dorian opened the gate, closed it, then walked on down the road into
+the darkness, nor did he once look back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
+
+
+Carlia's ringing cry persisted with Dorian all the way home, but he
+hardened his heart and went steadily on. His mother had gone to bed, and
+he sat for a time by the dying fire, thinking of what he had just passed
+through.
+
+After that, Dorian kept away from Carlia. Although the longing to see
+her surged strongly through his heart from time to time, and he could
+not get away from the thought that she was in some trouble, yet his
+pride forbade him to intrude. He busied himself with chores and his
+books, and he did not relax in his ward duties. Once in a while he saw
+Carlia at the meeting house, but she absented herself more and more from
+public gatherings, giving as an excuse to all who inquired, that her
+work bound her more closely than ever at home.
+
+Dorian and his mother frequently talked about Uncle Zed and the hopes
+the departed one had of the young man. "Do you really think, mother,
+that he meant I should devote my life to the harmonizing of science and
+religion?" he asked.
+
+"I think Uncle Zed was in earnest. He had great faith in you."
+
+"But what do you think of it, mother?"
+
+After a moment's thought, the mother replied.
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"Well, it would be a task, though a wonderfully great one."
+
+"The aim is high, the kind I would expect of you. Do you know, Dorian,
+your father had some such ambition. That's one of the reasons we came
+to the country in hopes that some day he would have more time for
+studying."
+
+"I never knew that, mother."
+
+"And now, what if your father and Uncle Zed are talking about the matter
+up there in the spirit world."
+
+Dorian thought of that for a few moments. Then: "I'll have to go to the
+University for four years, but that's only a beginning. Ill have to go
+East to Yale or Harvard and get all they have. Then will come a lot of
+individual research, and--Oh, mother, I don't know."
+
+"And all the time you'll have to keep near to God and never lose your
+faith in the gospel, for what doth it profit if you gain the whole world
+of knowledge and lose your own soul." The mother came to him and ran her
+fingers lovingly through his hair. "But you're equal to it, my son; I
+believe you can do it."
+
+This was a sample of many such discussions, and the conclusion was
+reached that Dorian should work harder than ever, if that were possible,
+for two or perhaps three years, by which time the farms could be rented
+and the income derived from them be enough to provide for the mother's
+simple needs and the son's expenses while at school.
+
+Spring came early that year, and Dorian was glad of it, for he was eager
+to be out in the growing world and turn that growth to productiveness.
+When the warm weather came for good, books were laid aside, though not
+forgotten. From daylight until dark, he was busy. The home farm was well
+planted, the dry-farm wheat was growing beautifully. Between the two,
+prospects were bright for the furthering of their plans.
+
+"Mother, when and where in this great plan of ours, am I to get
+married?"
+
+Dorian and his mother were enjoying the dusk and the cool of the evening
+within odorous reach of Mrs. Trent's flowers, many of which had come
+from Uncle Zed's garden. They had been talking over some details of
+their "plan." Mrs. Trent laughed at the abruptness of the question.
+
+"Oh, do you want to get married?" she asked, wondering what there might
+be to this query.
+
+"Well--sometimes, of course, I'll have to have a wife, won't I?"
+
+"Certainly, in good time; but you're in no hurry, are you?"
+
+"Oh, no; I'm just talking on general principles. There's no one who
+would have me now."
+
+The mother did not dispute this. She knew somewhat of his feelings
+toward Carlia. These lovers' misunderstandings were not serious, she
+thought to herself. All would end properly and well, in good time.
+
+But Carlia was in Dorian's thought very often, much to his bewilderment
+of heart and mind. He often debated with himself if he should not
+definitely give her up, cease thinking about her as being anything
+to him either now or hereafter; but it seemed impossible to do that.
+Carlia's image persisted even as Mildred's did. Mildred, away from the
+entanglements of the world, was safe to him; but Carlia had her life to
+live and the trials and difficulties of mortality to encounter and to
+overcome; and that would not be easy, with her beauty and her impulsive
+nature. She needed a man's clear head and steady hand to help her, and
+who was more fitting to do that than he himself, Dorian thought without
+conscious egotism.
+
+If it were possible, Dorian always spent Sunday at home. If he was on
+his dry farm in the hills, he drove down on Saturday evenings. One
+Saturday in midsummer, he arrived home late and tired. He put up his
+team, came in, washed, and was ready for the good supper which his
+mother always had for him. The mother busied herself about the kitchen
+and the table.
+
+"Come and sit down, mother," urged Dorian.
+
+"What's the fussing about! Everything I need is here on the table.
+You're tired, I see. Come, sit down with me and tell me all the news."
+
+"The news? what news!"
+
+"Why, everything that's happened in Green street for the past week. I
+haven't had a visitor up on the farm for ten days."
+
+"Everything is growing splendidly down here. The water in the canal is
+holding out fine and Brother Larsen is fast learning to be a farmer."
+
+"Good," said Dorian. "Our dry wheat is in most places two feet high,
+and it will go from forty to fifty bushels, with good luck. If now, the
+price of wheat doesn't sag too much."
+
+Dorian finished his supper, and was about to go to bed, being in need of
+a good rest. His mother told him not to get up in the morning until she
+called him.
+
+"All right, mother," he laughed as he kissed her good night, "but don't
+let me be late to Sunday School, as I have a topic to treat in the
+Theological class. By heck, they really think I'm Uncle Zed's successor,
+by the subjects they give me."
+
+He was about to go to his room when his mother called him by name.
+
+"Yes, mother, what is it?"
+
+"You'll know tomorrow, so I might as well tell you now."
+
+"Tell me what?"
+
+"Some bad news."
+
+"Bad news! What is it?"
+
+The mother seemed lothe to go on. She hesitated.
+
+"Well, mother?"
+
+"Carlia is gone."
+
+"Gone? Gone where?"
+
+"Nobody knows. She's been missing for a week. She left home last
+Saturday to spend a few days with a friend in the city, so she said.
+Yesterday her father called at the place to bring her home and learned
+that she had never been there."
+
+"My gracious, mother!"
+
+"Yes; it's terrible. Her father has inquired for her and looked for her
+everywhere he could think of, but not a trace of her can he find. She's
+gone."
+
+Mother and son sat in silence for some time. He continued to ask
+questions, but she know no more than the simple facts which she had
+told. He could do nothing to help, at least, not then, so he reluctantly
+went to bed. He did not sleep until past midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIFTEEN
+
+
+Dorian was not tardy to Sunday School, and, considering his mental
+condition, he gave a good account of himself in the class. He heard
+whispered comment on Carlia's disappearance.
+
+After Sunday school Dorian went directly to Carlia's home. He found the
+mother tear-stained and haggard with care. The tears flowed again freely
+at the sight of Dorian, and she clung to him as if she had no other
+means of comfort.
+
+"Do you know where Carlia is?" she wailed.
+
+"No, Sister Duke, I haven't the last idea. I haven't seen her for some
+time."
+
+"But what shall we do, Dorian, what shall we do! She may be dead, lying
+dead somewhere!"
+
+"I hardly think that," he tried to comfort her. "She'll turn up again.
+Carlia's well able to take care of herself."
+
+The father came in. He told what had been done to try to find the
+missing girl. Not a word had they heard, not a clue or a trace had been
+discovered. The father tried hard to control his emotions as he talked,
+but he could not keep the tears from slowly creeping down his face.
+
+"And I suppose I'm greatly to blame" he said. "I have been told as much
+by some, who I suppose, are wiser than I am. The poor girl has been
+confined too much to the work here."
+
+"Work doesn't hurt anybody," commented Dorian.
+
+"No; but all work and no play, I was plainly reminded just the
+other day, doesn't always make Jack a dull boy: sometimes, it makes
+dissatisfaction and rebellion--and it seems it has done that here.
+Carlia, I'll admit had very little company, saw very little of society.
+I realize that now when it may be too late."
+
+"Oh, I hope not," said Dorian.
+
+"Carlia, naturally, was full of life. She wanted to go and see and
+learn. All these desires in her were suppressed so long that this is the
+way it has broken loose. Yes, I suppose that's true."
+
+Dorian let the father give vent to his feelings in his talk. He could
+reply very little, for truth to say, he realized that the father was
+stating Carlia's case quite accurately. He recalled the girl when he and
+she had walked back and forth to and from the high school how she had
+rapidly developed her sunny nature in the warm, somewhat care-free
+environment of the school life, and how lately with the continual
+drudgery of her work, she had changed to a pessimism unnatural to one
+of her years. Yes, one continual round of work at the farm house is apt
+either to crush to dullness or to arouse to rebellion. Carlia was of the
+kind not easily crushed.... But what could they now do? What could
+he do? For, it came to him with great force that he himself was not
+altogether free from blame in this matter. He could have done more,
+vastly more for Carlia Duke.
+
+"Well, Brother Duke," said Dorian. "Is there anything that I can do?"
+
+"I don't think of anything," said he.
+
+"Not now," added the mother in a tone which indicated that she did not
+wish the implied occasion to be too severe.
+
+The father followed Dorian out in the yard. There Dorian asked:
+
+"Brother Duke, has this Mr. Lamont been about lately?"
+
+"He was here yesterday. He came, he said, as soon as he heard of
+Carlia's disappearance. He seemed very much concerned about it."
+
+"And he knew nothing about it until yesterday?"
+
+"He said not--do you suspect--he--might--?"
+
+"I'm not accusing anybody, but I never was favorably impressed with the
+man."
+
+"He seemed so truly sorry, that I never thought he might have had
+something to do with it."
+
+"Well, I'm not so sure; but I'll go and see him myself. I suppose I can
+find him in his office in the city?"
+
+"I think so--Well, do what you can for us, my boy; and Dorian, don't
+take to heart too much what her mother implied just now."
+
+"Not any more than I ought," replied Dorian. "If there is any blame to
+be placed on me--and I think there is--I want to bear it, and do what
+I can to correct my mistakes. I think a lot of Carlia, I like her more
+than any other girl I know, and I should have shown that to her both by
+word and deed more than I have done. I'm going to help you find her, and
+when I find her I'll not let her go so easily."
+
+"Thank you. I'm glad to hear you say that."
+
+Monday morning Dorian went to the city and readily found the man whom he
+was seeking. He was in his office.
+
+"Good morning. Glad to see you," greeted Mr. Lamont, as he swung around
+on his chair. "Take a seat. What can I do for you?"
+
+As the question was asked abruptly, the answer came in like manner.
+
+"I want to know what you know about Carlia Duke."
+
+Mr. Lamont reddened, but he soon regained his self-possession.
+
+"What do you mean!" he asked.
+
+"You have heard of her disappearance?"
+
+"Yes; I was very sorry to hear of it."
+
+"It seems her father has exhausted every known means of finding her, and
+I thought you might, at least, give him a clew."
+
+"I should be most happy to do so, if I could; but I assure you I haven't
+the least idea where she has gone. I am indeed sorry, as I expressed to
+her father the other day."
+
+"You were with her a good deal."
+
+"Well, not a good deal, Mr. Trent--just a little," he smilingly
+corrected. "I will admit I'd liked to have seen more of her, but I soon
+learned that I had not the ghost of a chance with you in the field."
+
+"You are making fun, Mr. Lamont."
+
+"Not at all, my good fellow. You are the lucky dog when it comes to Miss
+Duke. A fine girl she is, a mighty fine girl--a diamond, just a little
+in the rough. As I'm apparently out of the race, go to it, Mr. Trent and
+win her. Good luck to you. I don't think you'll have much trouble."
+
+Dorian was somewhat nonplused by this fulsome outburst. He could not for
+a moment find anything to say. The two men looked at each other for a
+moment as if each were measuring the other. Then Mr. Lamont said:
+
+"If at any time I can help you, let me know--call on me. Now you'll have
+to excuse me as I have some business matters to attend to."
+
+Dorian was dismissed.
+
+The disappearance of Carlia Duke continued to be a profound mystery. The
+weeks went by, and then the months. The gossips found other and newer
+themes. Those directly affected began to think that all hopes of finding
+her were gone.
+
+Dorian, however, did not give up. In the strenuous labors of closing
+summer and fall he had difficulty in keeping his mind on his work. His
+imagination ranged far and wide, and when it went into the evil places
+of the world, he suffered so that he had to throw off the suggestion by
+force. He talked freely with his mother and with Carlia's parents on all
+possible phases of the matter, until, seemingly, there was nothing more
+to be said. To others, he said nothing.
+
+Ever since Dorian had been taught to lisp his simple prayers at his
+mother's knee, he had found strength and comfort in going to the Lord.
+With the growth of his knowledge of the gospel and his enlarged vision
+of God's providences, his prayers became a source of power. Uncle
+Zed had taught him that this trustful reliance on a higher power was
+essential to his progress. The higher must come to the help of the
+lower, but the lower must seek for that help and sincerely accept it
+when offered. As a child, his prayers had been very largely a set form,
+but as he had come in contact with life and its experiences, he had
+learned to suit his prayers to his needs. Just now, Carlia and her
+welfare was the burden of his petitions.
+
+The University course must wait another year, so Dorian and his mother
+decided. They could plainly see that one more year would be needed,
+besides Dorian was not in a condition to concentrate his mind on study.
+So, when the long evenings came on again, he found solace in his
+books, and read again many of dear Uncle Zed's writings which had been
+addressed so purposely to him.
+
+One evening in early December Dorian and his mother were cosily "at
+home" to any good visitors either of persons or ideas. Dorian was
+looking over some of his papers.
+
+"Mother, listen to this," he said. "Here is a gem from Uncle Zed which I
+have not seen before." He read:
+
+"'The acquisition of wealth brings with it the obligation of helping
+the poor; the acquisition of knowledge brings with it the obligation of
+teaching others; the acquisition of strength and power brings with it
+the obligation of helping the weak. This is what God does when He says
+that His work and His glory is to bring to pass the immortality and
+eternal life of man'."
+
+"How true that is," said the mother.
+
+"Yes," added Dorian after a thoughtful pause, "I am just wondering how
+and to what extent I am fulfilling any obligation which is resting on me
+by reason of blessings I am enjoying. Let's see--we are not rich, but we
+meet every call made on us by way of tithing and donations; we are not
+very wise, but we impart of what we have by service; we are not very
+strong--I fear, mother, that's where I lack. Am I giving of my strength
+as fully as I can to help the weak. I don't know--I don't know."
+
+"You mean Carlia?"
+
+"Yes; what am I doing besides thinking and praying for her?"
+
+"What more can we do?"
+
+"Well, I can try doing something more."
+
+"What, for instance!"
+
+"Trying to find her."
+
+"But her father has done that."
+
+"Yes; but he has given up too soon. I should continue the search. I've
+been thinking about that lately. I can't stay cosily and safely at home
+any longer, mother, when Carlia may be in want of protection."
+
+"And what would you be liable to find if you found her?"
+
+That question was not new to his own mind, although his mother had not
+asked it before. Perhaps, in this case, ignorance was more bliss than
+knowledge. Whatever had happened to her, would it not be best to have
+the pure image of her abide with him? But he know when he thought of it
+further that such a conclusion was not worthy of a strong man. He should
+not be afraid even of suffering if it came in the performance of duty.
+
+That very night Dorian had a strange dream, one unusual to him because
+he remembered it so distinctly the day after. He dreamed that he saw
+Mildred in what might well be called the heavenly land. She seemed busy
+in sketching a beautiful landscape and as he approached her, she looked
+up to him and smiled. Then, as she still gazed at him, her countenance
+changed and with concern in her voice, she asked, "Where's Carlia?"
+
+The scene vanished, and that was all of the dream. In the dim
+consciousness of waking he seemed to hear Carlia's voice calling to him
+as it did that winter night when he had left her, not heeding. The call
+thrilled his very heart again:
+
+"Dorian, Dorian, come back--come back!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
+
+
+The second week in December Dorian went into action in search of Carlia
+Duke. He acknowledged to himself that it was like searching for the
+proverbial needle in the haystack, but inaction was no longer possible.
+
+Carlia very likely had no large amount of money with her, so she would
+have to seek employment. She could have hidden herself in the city, but
+Dorian reasoned that she would be fearful of being found, so would have
+gone to some nearby town; but which one, he had no way of knowing.
+He visited a number of adjacent towns and made diligent enquiries at
+hotels, stores, and some private houses. Nothing came of this first
+week's search.
+
+A number of mining towns could easily be reached by train from the city.
+In these towns many people came and went without notice or comment.
+Dorian spent nearly a week in one of them, but he found no clue. He went
+to another. The girl would necessarily have to go to a hotel at first,
+so the searcher examined a number of hotel registers. She had been gone
+now about six months, so the search had to be in some books long since
+discarded, much to the annoyance of the clerks.
+
+Dorian left the second town for the third which was situated well up in
+the mountains. The weather was cold, and the snow lay two feet deep over
+the hills and valleys. He became disheartened at times, but always he
+reasoned that he must try a little longer; and then one day in a hotel
+register dated nearly five months back, he found this entry:
+
+"Carlia Davis."
+
+Dorian's heart gave a bound when he saw the name. Carlia was not a
+common name, and the handwriting was familiar. But why Davis? He
+examined the signature closely. The girl, unexperienced in the art of
+subterfuge, had started to write her name, and had gotten to the D in
+Duke, when the thought of disguise had come to her. Yes; there was an
+unusual break between that first letter and the rest of the name. Carlia
+had been here. He was on the right track, thank the Lord!
+
+Dorian enquired of the hotel clerk if he remembered the lady. Did he
+know anything about her? No; that was so long ago. His people came and
+went. That was all. But Carlia had been here. That much was certain.
+Here was at least a fixed point in the sea of nothingness from which he
+could work. His wearied and confused mind could at least come back to
+that name in the hotel register.
+
+He began a systematic search of the town. First he visited the small
+business section, but without results. Then he took up the residential
+district, systematically, so that he would not miss any. One afternoon
+he knocked on the door of what appeared to be one of the best
+residences. After a short wait, the door was opened by a girl, highly
+painted but lightly clad, who smiled at the handsome young fellow and
+bade him come in. He stepped into the hall and was shown into what
+seemed to be a parlor, though the parlors he had known had not smelled
+so of stale tobacco smoke. He made his usual inquiry. No; no such girl
+was here, she was sorry, but--the words which came from the carmine lips
+of the girl so startled Dorian that he stood, hat in hand, staring at
+her, and shocked beyond expression. He know, of course, that evil houses
+existed especially in mining towns, inhabited by corrupt women, but this
+was the first time he had ever been in such a place. When he realized
+where he was, a real terror seized him, and with unceremonious haste he
+got out and away, the girl's laughter of derision ringing in his ears.
+
+Dorian was unnerved. He went back to his room, his thoughts in a whirl,
+his apprehensions sinking to gloomy depths. What if Carlia should be in
+such a place? A cold sweat of suffering broke over him before he could
+drive away the thought. But at last he did get rid of it. His mind
+cleared again, and he set out determined to continued the search.
+However, he went no more into the houses by the invitation of inmates of
+doubtful character, but made his inquiries at the open door.
+
+Then it occurred to Dorian that Carlia, being a country bred girl
+and accustomed to work about farm houses, might apply to some of the
+adjacent farms down in the valley below the town for work. The whole
+country lay under deep snow, but the roads were well broken. Dorian
+walked out to a number of the farms and made enquiries. At the third
+house he was met by a pleasant faced, elderly woman who listened
+attentively to what he said, and then invited him in. When they were
+both seated, she asked him his name. Dorian told her.
+
+"And why are you interested in this girl?" she continued.
+
+"Has she been here?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"Never mind. You answer my question."
+
+Dorian explained as much as he thought proper, but the woman still
+appeared suspicious.
+
+"Are you her brother?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Her young man?"
+
+"Not exactly; only a dear friend."
+
+"Well, you look all right, but looks are deceivin'." The woman tried to
+be very severe with him, but somehow she did not succeed very well. She
+looked quite motherly as she sat with her folded hands in her ample lap
+and a shrewd look in her face. Dorian gained courage to say:
+
+"I believe you know something about the girl I am seeking. Tell me."
+
+"You haven't told me the name of the girl you are looking for."
+
+"Her name is Carlia Duke."
+
+"That isn't what she called herself."
+
+"Oh, then you do know."
+
+"This girl was Carlia Davis."
+
+"Yes--is she here!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you know where she is?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+Dorian's hopes fell. "But tell me what you know about her--you know
+something."
+
+"It was the latter part of August when she came to us. She had walked
+from town, an' she said she was wanting a place to work. As she was used
+to farm life, she preferred to work at a country home, she said."
+
+"Was she a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked girl?"
+
+"Her hair was dark, but there was no roses in her cheeks. There might
+have been once. I was glad to say yes to her for I needed help bad. Of
+course, it was strange, this girl comin' from the city a' wanting to
+work in the country. It's usually the other way."
+
+"Yes; I suppose so."
+
+"So I was a little suspicious."
+
+"Of what?"
+
+"That she hadn't come to work at all; though I'll say that she did her
+best. I tried to prevent her, but she worked right up to the last."
+
+"To the last? I don't understand?"
+
+"Don't you know that she was to be sick? That she came here to be sick?"
+
+"To be sick?" Dorian was genuinely at loss to understand.
+
+"At first I called her a cheat, and threatened to send her away; but the
+poor child pleaded so to stay that I hadn't the heart to turn her out.
+She had no where to go, she was a long way from home, an' so I let her
+stay, an' we did the best for her."
+
+Dorian, in the simplicity of his mind, did not yet realize what the
+woman was talking about. He let her continue.
+
+"We had one of the best doctors in the city 'tend her, an' I did the
+nursing myself which I consider was as good as any of the new-fangled
+trained nurses can do; but the poor girl had been under a strain so long
+that the baby died soon after it was born."
+
+"The baby?" gasped Dorian.
+
+"Yes," went on the woman, all unconsciously that the listener had not
+fully understood. "Yes, it didn't live long, which, I suppose, in such
+cases, is a blessing."
+
+Dorian stared at the woman, then in a dazed way, he looked about the
+plain farm-house furnishings, some details of which strangely impressed
+him. The woman went on talking, which seemed easy for her, now she had
+fairly started; but Dorian did not hear all she said. One big fact was
+forcing itself into his brain, to the exclusion of all minor realities.
+
+"She left a month ago," Dorian heard the woman say when again he was in
+a condition to listen. "We did our best to get her to stay, for we had
+become fond of her. Somehow, she got the notion that the scoundrel who
+had betrayed her had found her hiding place, an' she was afraid. So she
+left."
+
+"Where did she go? Did she tell you?"
+
+"No; she wouldn't say. The fact is, she didn't know herself. I'm sure
+of that. She just seemed anxious to hide herself again. Poor girl." The
+woman wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.
+
+Dorian arose, thanked her, and went out. He looked about the
+snow-covered earth and the clouds which threatened storm. He walked on
+up to the road back to the town. He was benumbed, but not with cold. He
+went into his room, and, although it was mid-afternoon, he did not go
+out any more that day. He sat supinely on his bed. He paced the floor.
+He looked without seeing out of the window at the passing crowds. He
+could not think at all clearly. His whole being was in an uproar of
+confusion. The hours passed. Night came on with its blaze of lights in
+the streets. What could he do now? What should he do now?
+
+"Oh, God, help me," he prayed, "help me to order my thoughts, tell me
+what to do."
+
+If ever in his life Dorian had need of help from higher power, it was
+now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
+
+
+Dorian had not found Carlia Duke; instead, he had found something which
+appeared to him to be the end of all things. Had he found her dead, in
+her virginal purity, he could have placed her, with Mildred, safely away
+in his heart and his hopes; but this!... What more could he now do? That
+he did not take the first train home was because he was benumbed into
+inactivity.
+
+The young man had never before experienced such suffering of spirit. The
+leaden weight on his heart seemed to be crushing, not only his physical
+being, but his spirit also into the depths of despair. As far back in
+his boyhood as he could remember, he had been taught the enormity of
+sexual sin, until it had become second nature for him to think of it as
+something very improbable, if not impossible, as pertaining to himself.
+And yet, here it was, right at the very door of his heart, casting its
+evil shadow into the most sacred precincts of his being. He had never
+imagined it coming to any of his near and dear ones, especially not
+to Carlia--Carlia, his neighbor, his chummy companion in fields and
+highways, his schoolmate. He pictured her in many of her wild adventures
+as a child, and in her softer moods as a grown-up girl. He saw again her
+dark eyes flash with anger, and then her pearly teeth gleam in laughter
+at him. He remembered how she used to run from him, and then at other
+times how she would cling to him as if she pleaded for a protection
+which he had not given. The weak had reached out to the strong, and the
+stronger one had failed. If 'remorse of conscience' is hell, Dorian
+tasted of its bitter depths, for it came to him now that perhaps because
+of his neglect, Carlia had been led to her fall.
+
+But what could he now do? Find her. And then, what? Marry her? He
+refused to consider that for a moment. He drove the thought fiercely
+away. That would be impossible now. The horror of what had been would
+always stand as a repellent specter between them.... Yes, he had loved
+her--he knew that now more assuredly than ever; and he tried to place
+that love away from him by a play upon words in the past tense; but deep
+down in his heart he knew that he was merely trying to deceive himself.
+He loved her still; and the fact that he loved her but could not marry
+her added fuel to the flames of his torment.
+
+That long night was mostly a hideous nightmare and even after he awoke
+from a fitful sleep next morning, he was in a stupor. After a while,
+he went out into the wintry air. It was Sunday, and the town was
+comparatively quiet. He found something to eat at a lunch counter, then
+he walked about briskly to try to get his blood into active circulation.
+Again he went to his room.
+
+Presently, he heard the ringing of church bells. The folks would be
+going to Sunday school in Greenstreet. He saw in the vision of his mind
+Uncle Zed sitting with the boys about him in his class. He saw the
+teacher's lifted hand emphasize the warning against sin, and then he
+seemed to hear a voice read:
+
+"For the Son of man is come to save that which is lost.
+
+"How think ye if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone
+astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the
+mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?
+
+"And if so be that he find it, verily, I say unto you, he rejoiceth more
+of that sheep than of the ninety and nine which went not astray."
+
+Dorian seemed to awaken with a start. Donning coat and hat, he went out
+again, his steps being led down the country road toward the farmhouse.
+He wanted to visit again the house where Carlia had been. Her presence
+there and her suffering had hallowed it.
+
+"Oh, how do you do?" greeted the woman, when she saw Dorian at the door.
+"Come in."
+
+Dorian entered, this time into the parlor which was warm, and where a
+man sat comfortably with his Sunday paper.
+
+"Father," said the woman, "this is the young man who was here
+yesterday."
+
+The man shook hands with Dorian and bade him draw up his chair to the
+stove.
+
+"I hope you'll excuse me for coming again," said Dorian; "but the fact
+of the matter is I seemed unable to keep away. I left yesterday without
+properly thanking you for what you did for my friend, Miss Carlia. I
+also want to pay you a little for the expense you were put to. I haven't
+much money with me, but I will send it to you after I get home, if you
+will give me your name and address."
+
+The farmer and his wife exchanged glances.
+
+"Why, as to that," replied the man, "nothing is owing us. We liked the
+girl. We think she was a good girl and had been sinned against."
+
+"I'm sure you are right," said Dorian. "As I said, I went away rather
+abruptly yesterday. I was so completely unprepared for that which I
+learned about her. But I'm going to find her if I can, and take her home
+to her parents."
+
+"Where do you live!" asked the man.
+
+Dorian told him.
+
+"Are you a 'Mormon'?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And not ashamed of it!"
+
+"No; proud of it--grateful, rather."
+
+"Well, young man, you look like a clean, honest chap. Tell me why you
+are proud to be a 'Mormon'."
+
+Dorian did his best. He had had very little experience in presenting the
+principles of the gospel to an unbeliever, but Uncle Zed's teachings,
+together with his own studies, now stood him well in hand.
+
+"Well," commented the farmer, "that's fine. You can't be a very bad man
+if you believe in and practice all what you have been telling us."
+
+"I hope I am not a bad man. I have some light on the truth, and woe is
+me if I sin against that light."
+
+The farmer turned to his wife. "Mother," he said, "I think you may
+safely tell him."
+
+Dorian looked enquiringly at the woman.
+
+"It's this," she said. "My husband brought home a postcard from the
+office last evening after you had left--a card from Miss Davis, asking
+us to send her an article of dress which she had forgotten. Here is the
+card. The address may help you to find her. I am sure you mean no harm
+to the girl."
+
+Dorian made note of the address, as also that of the farmer's with whom
+he was visiting. Then he arose to go.
+
+"Now, don't be in such a hurry," admonished the man. "We'll have dinner
+presently."
+
+Dorian was glad to remain, as he felt quite at home with these people,
+Mr. and Mrs. Whitman. They had been good to Carlia. Perhaps he could
+learn a little more about her. The dinner was enjoyed very much.
+Afterward, Mrs. Whitman, encouraged by Dorian's attentiveness, poured
+into his willing ear all she had learned of the girl he was seeking; and
+before the woman ceased her freely-flowing talk, a most important item
+had been added to his knowledge of the case. Carlia, it seems, had gone
+literally helpless to her downfall. "Drugged" was the word Mrs. Whitman
+used. The villainy of the foul deed moved the young man's spirit to a
+fierce anger against the wretch who had planned it, and the same time
+his pity increased for the unfortunate victim. As Dorian sat there and
+listened to the story which the woman had with difficulty obtained from
+the girl, he again suffered the remorse of conscience which comes from a
+realization of neglected duty and disregarded opportunity. It was late
+in the afternoon before he got back to the town.
+
+The next day Dorian made inquiries as to how he could reach the place
+indicated by the address, and he learned that it was a ranch house well
+up in the mountains. There was a daily mail in that direction, except
+when the roads and the weather hindered; and it seemed that these would
+now be hinderances. The threatened storm came, and with it high wind
+which piled the snow into deep, hard drifts, making the mountain road
+nearly impassible. Dorian found the mail-carrier who told him that it
+would be impossible to make a start until the storm had ceased. All day
+the snow fell, and all day Dorian fretted impatiently, and was tempted
+to once more go out to Mr. and Mrs. Whitman; but he did not. Christmas
+was only three days off. He could reach home and spend the day with his
+mother, but there would be considerable expense, and he felt as if he
+must be on the ground so that at the soonest possible moment he could
+continue on the trail which he had found. The pleasure of the home
+Christmas must this time be sacrificed, for was not he in very deed
+going into the mountains to seek that which was lost.
+
+The storm ceased toward evening, but the postman would not make a start
+until next morning. Dorian joined him then, and mounted beside him. The
+sky was not clear, the clouds only breaking and drifting about as if in
+doubt whether to go or to stay. The road was heavy, and it was all the
+two horses could do to draw the light wagon with its small load. Dorian
+wondered how Carlia had ever come that way. Of course, it had been
+before the heavy snow, when traveling was not so bad.
+
+"Who lives at this place?" asked Dorian of the driver, giving the box
+number Carlia had sent.
+
+"That? Oh, that's John Hickson's place."
+
+"A rancher?"
+
+"No; not exactly. He's out here mostly for his health."
+
+"Does he live here in the mountains the year around?"
+
+"Usually he moves into town for the winter. Last year the winter was so
+mild that he decided to try to stick one through; but surely, he's got a
+dose this time. Pretty bad for a sick man, I reckon."
+
+"Anybody with him?"
+
+"Wife and three children--three of the cutest kiddies you ever saw. Oh,
+he's comfortable enough, for he's got a fine house. You know, it's great
+out here among the pine hills in the summer; but just now, excuse me."
+
+"Is it far?"
+
+"No." The driver looked with concern at the storm which was coming again
+down the mountain like a great white wave. "I think perhaps we'll have
+to stop at the Hickson's tonight," he said.
+
+The travelers were soon enwrapped in a swirling mantle of snow. Slowly
+and carefully the dug-ways had to be traversed. The sky was dense and
+black. The storm became a blizzard, and the cold became intense. The men
+wrapped themselves in additional blankets. The horses went patiently on,
+the driver peering anxiously ahead; but it must have been well after
+noon before the outlines of a large building near at hand bulked out of
+the leaden sky.
+
+"I'm glad we're here," exclaimed the driver.
+
+"Where?" asked Dorian.
+
+"At Hickson's."
+
+They drove into the yard and under a shed where the horses were
+unhitched and taken into a stable. A light as if from a wood fire in a
+grate danced upon the white curtain of the unshaded windows. With his
+mail-bag, the driver shuffled his way through the snow to the kitchen
+door and knocked. The door opened immediately and Mrs. Hickson,
+recognizing the mail-driver, bade him come in. Two children peered
+curiously from the doorway of another room. Dorian a little nervously
+awaited the possibility of Carlia's appearing.
+
+It was pleasant to get shelter and a warm welcome in such weather. After
+the travelers had warmed themselves by the kitchen stove, they were
+invited into another room to meet Mr. Hickson, who was reclining in a
+big arm chair before the grate. He welcomed them without rising, but
+pointed them to chairs by the fire. They talked of the weather, of
+course. Mr. Hickson reasoned that it was foolish to complain about
+something which they could not possible control. Dorian was introduced
+as a traveler, no explanation being asked or given as to his business.
+He was welcome. In fact, it was a pleasure, said the host, to have
+company even for an evening, as very few people ever stopped over night,
+especially in the winter. Dorian soon discovered that this man was not
+a rough mountaineer, but a man of culture, trying to prolong his
+earth-life by the aid of mountain air, laden with the aroma of the
+pines. The wife went freely in and out of the room, the children also;
+but somewhat to Dorian's surprise, no Carlia appeared. If she were there
+in the house, she surely would be helping with the meal which seemed to
+be in the way of preparation.
+
+The storm continued all afternoon. There could be no thought of moving
+on that day. And indeed, it was pleasant sitting thus by the blazing log
+in the fireplace and listening, for the most part, to the intelligent
+talk of the host. The evening meal was served early, and the two guests
+ate with the family in the dining room. Still no Carlia.
+
+When the driver went out to feed his horses and to smoke his pipe, and
+Mr. Hickson had retired, the children, having overcome some of their
+timidity, turned their attention to Dorian. The girl, the oldest, with
+dark hair and rosy cheeks, reminded him of another girl just then in his
+thoughts. The two small boys were chubby and light haired, after the
+mother. When Dorian managed to get the children close to him, they
+reminded him that Christmas was only one day distant. Did he live near
+by? Was he going home for Christmas? What was Santa Claus going to bring
+him?
+
+Dorian warmed to their sociability and their clatter. He learned from
+them that their Christmas this year would likely be somewhat of a
+failure. Daddy was sick. There was no Christmas tree, and they doubted
+Santa Claus' ability to find his way up in the mountains in the storm.
+This was the first winter they had been here. Always they had been in
+town during the holidays, where it was easy for Santa to reach them; but
+now--the little girl plainly choked back the tears of disappointment.
+
+"Why, if it's a Christmas tree you want," said Dorian, "that ought to be
+easy. There are plenty up on the nearby hills."
+
+"Yes; but neither papa nor mama nor we can get them."
+
+"But I can."
+
+"Oh, will you? Tomorrow?"
+
+"Yes; tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We'll have to have it then."
+
+The children were dancing with glee as the mother came in and learned
+what had been going on. "You mustn't bother the gentleman," she
+admonished, but Dorian pleaded for the pleasure of doing something for
+them. The mother explained that because of unforeseen difficulties the
+children were doomed to disappointment this holiday season, and they
+would have to be satisfied with what scanty preparation could be made.
+
+"I think I can help," suggested the young man, patting the littlest
+confiding fellow on the head. "We cannot go on until tomorrow, I
+understand, and I should very much like to be useful."
+
+The big pleading eyes of the children won the day. They moved into the
+kitchen. All the corners were ransacked for colored paper and cloth, and
+with scissors and flour paste, many fantastic decorations were made to
+hang on the tree. Corn was popped and strung into long white chains. But
+what was to be done for candles? Could Dorian make candles? He could do
+most everything, couldn't he? He would try. Had they some parafine, used
+to seal preserve jars. Oh, yes, large pieces were found. And this with
+some string was soon made into some very possible candles. The children
+were intensely interested, and even the mail-driver wondered at the
+young man's cleverness. They had never seen anything like this before.
+The tree and its trimmings had always been bought ready for their use.
+Now they learned, which their parents should have known long ago, that
+there is greater joy in the making of a plaything than in the possession
+of it.
+
+The question of candy seemed to bother them all. Their last hopes went
+when there was not a box of candy in the postman's bag. What should they
+do for candy and nuts and oranges and--
+
+"Can you make candy?" asked the girl of Dorian as if she was aware she
+was asking the miraculous.
+
+"Now children," warned the happy mother. "You have your hands full" she
+said to Dorian. "There's no limit to their demands."
+
+Dorian assured her that the greater pleasure was his.
+
+"Tomorrow," he told the clammering children, "we'll see what we can do
+about the candy."
+
+"Chocolates?" asked one.
+
+"Caramels," chose another.
+
+"Fudge," suggested the third.
+
+"All these?" laughed Dorian. "Well, we'll see-tomorrow," and with that
+the children went to bed tremulously happy.
+
+The next morning the sun arose on a most beautiful scene. The snow lay
+deep on mountain and in valley. It ridged the fences and trees. Paths
+and roads were obliterated.
+
+The children were awake early. As Dorian dressed, he heard them
+scampering down the stairs. Evidently, they were ready for him. He
+looked out of the window. He would have to make good about that tree.
+
+As yet, Dorian had found no traces of the object of his search. He had
+not asked direct questions about her, but he would have to before he
+left. There seemed some mystery always just before him. The mail-driver
+would not be ready to go before noon, so Dorian would have time to get
+the tree and help the children decorate it. Then he would have to find
+out all there was to know about Carlia. Surely, she was somewhere in the
+locality.
+
+After breakfast, Dorian found the axe in the wood-shed, and began to
+make his way through the deep snow up the hill toward a small grove of
+pine. Behind the shoulder of a hill, he discovered another house, not so
+large as Mr. Hickson's, but neat and comfortably looking. The blue
+smoke of a wood fire was rising from the chimney. A girl was vigorously
+shoveling a path from the house to the wood-pile. She was dressed in big
+boots, a sweater, and a red hood. She did not see Dorian until he came
+near the small clearing by the house. Straightening from her work,
+she stood for a moment looking intently at him. Then with a low, yet
+startled cry, she let the shovel fall, and sped swiftly back along the
+newly-made path and into the house.
+
+It was Carlia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
+
+
+Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into
+the house. In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand. He had found
+Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a
+cry of alarm? She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted
+thus toward a stranger. Apparently, she was not glad to see him. He
+stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came
+to him. Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be
+treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder. Well, he would not force
+himself on her. If she did not want to see him, why annoy her? He could
+go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her. He
+stood, hesitating.
+
+The door opened again and a woman looked out inquiringly at the young
+man standing in the snow with an axe on his shoulder. Dorian would have
+to offer a word of explanation to the woman, at least, so he stepped
+into the path toward the house.
+
+"Good morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm out to get a Christmas
+tree for the children over there, and it seems I have startled the young
+lady who just ran in."
+
+"Yes," said the woman.
+
+"I'm sorry to have frightened her, but I'm glad to have found her. You
+see, I've been searching for her."
+
+The woman stood in the doorway, saying nothing, but looking with some
+suspicion at the young man.
+
+"I should like to see her again," continued Dorian. "Tell her it's
+Dorian Trent."
+
+"I'll tell her," said the woman as she withdrew and closed the door.
+
+The wait seemed long, but it was only a few minutes when the door opened
+and Dorian was invited to come in. They passed through the kitchen into
+the living room where a fire was burning in a grate. Dorian was given a
+chair. He could not fail to see that he was closely observed. The woman
+went into another room, but soon returned.
+
+"She'll be in shortly," she announced.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The woman retired to the kitchen, and presently Carlia came in. She had
+taken off her wraps and now appeared in a neat house dress. As she stood
+hesitatingly by the door. Dorian came with outstretched hands to greet
+her; but she was not eager to meet him, so he went back to his chair.
+Both were silent. He saw it was the same Carlia, with something added,
+something which must have taken much experience if not much time to
+bring to her. The old-time roses, somewhat modified, were in her cheeks,
+the old-time red tinted the full lips; but she was more mature, less of
+a girl and more of a woman; and to Dorian she was more beautiful than
+ever.
+
+"Carlia," he again ventured, "I'm glad to see you; but you don't seem
+very pleased with your neighbor. Why did you run from me out there?"
+
+"You startled me."
+
+"Yes; I suppose I did. It was rather strange, this coming so suddenly on
+to you. I've been looking for you quite a while."
+
+"I don't understand why you have been looking for me."
+
+"You know why, Carlia."
+
+"I don't."
+
+"You're just talking to be talking--but here, this sounds like
+quarreling, and we don't want to do that so soon, do we?"
+
+"No, I guess not."
+
+"Won't you sit down."
+
+The girl reached for a chair, then seated herself.
+
+"The folks are anxious about you. When can you go home?"
+
+"I'm not going home."
+
+"Not going home? Why not? Who are these people, and what are you doing
+here?"
+
+"These are good people, and they treat me fine. I'm going to
+stay--here."
+
+"But I don't see why. Of course, it's none of my business; but for the
+sake of your father and mother, you ought to go home."
+
+"How--how are they!"
+
+"They are as well as can be expected. You've never written them, have
+you, nor ever told where you were. They do not know whether you are dead
+or alive. That isn't right."
+
+The girl turned her bowed head slightly, but did not speak, so he
+continued: "The whole town has been terribly aroused about you. You
+disappeared so suddenly and completely. Your father has done everything
+he could think of to find you. When he gave up, I took up the task, and
+here you are in the hills not so far from Greenstreet."
+
+Carlia's eyes swam with tears. The kitchen door opened, and the woman
+looked at Carlia and then at Dorian.
+
+"Breakfast is ready," she announced. "Come, Miss Davis, and have your
+friend come too."
+
+Dorian explained that he had already eaten.
+
+"Please excuse me just now," pleaded Carlia, to the woman. "Go eat your
+breakfast without me. Mrs. Carlston, this is Mr. Trent, a neighbor of
+ours at my home. I was foolish to be so scared of him. He--he wouldn't
+hurt anyone." She tried bravely to smile.
+
+Alone again, the two were ill at ease. A flood of memories, a confusion
+of thoughts and feelings swept over Dorian. The living Carlia in all
+her attractive beauty was before him, yet back of her stood the grim
+skeleton. Could he close his eyes to that? Could he let his love for her
+overcome the repulsion which would arise like a black cloud into his
+thoughts? Well, time alone would tell. Just now he must be kind to her,
+he must be strong and wise. Of what use is strength and wisdom if it is
+unfruitful at such times as these? Dorian arose to his feet and stood in
+the strength of his young manhood. He seemed to take Carlia with him,
+for she also stood looking at him with her shining eyes.
+
+"Well, Carlia," he said, "go get your breakfast, and I'll finish my
+errand. You see, the storm stopped the mail carrier and me and we had
+to put up at your neighbour's last night. There I found three children
+greatly disappointed in not having their usual Christmas tree. I
+promised I would get them one this morning, and that's what I was out
+for when I saw you. You know, Carlia, it's Christmas Eve this morning,
+if you'll allow that contradiction."
+
+"Yes, I know."
+
+"I'll come back for you. And mind, you do not try to escape. I'll be
+watching the house closely. Anyway," he laughed lightly, "the snow's too
+deep for you to run very far."
+
+"O, Dorian--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He came toward her, but she with averted face, slipped toward the
+kitchen door.
+
+"I can't go home, I can't go with you--really, I can't," she said. "You
+go back home and tell the folks I'm all right now, won't you, please."
+
+"We'll talk about that after a while. I must get that tree now, or those
+kiddies will think I am a rank impostor." Dorian looked at his watch.
+"Why, it's getting on toward noon. So long, for the present."
+
+Dorian found and cut a fairly good tree. The children were at the window
+when he appeared, and great was their joy when they saw him carry it to
+the woodshed and make a stand for it, then bring it in to them. The mail
+carrier was about ready to continue his journey, and he asked Dorian if
+he was also ready. But Dorian had no reason for going on further; he had
+many reasons for desiring to remain. And here was the Christmas tree,
+not dressed, nor the candy made. How could he disappoint these children?
+
+"I wonder," he said to the mother, "if it would be asking too much to
+let me stay here until tomorrow. I'm in no hurry, and I would like to
+help the children with the tree, as I promised. I've been hindered some
+this morning, and--"
+
+"Stay," shouted the children who had heard this. "Stay, do stay."
+
+"You are more than welcome," replied Mrs. Hickson; "but I fear that the
+children are imposing on you."
+
+Dorian assured her that the pleasure was his, and after the mail carrier
+had departed, he thought it wise to explain further.
+
+"A very strange thing has happened," said Dorian. "As I was going after
+the tree for the children, I met the young lady who is staying at Mrs.
+Carlston."
+
+"Miss Davis."
+
+"Yes; she's a neighbor of mine. We grew up together as boy and girl.
+Through some trouble, she left home, and--in fact, I have been searching
+for her. I am going to try to get her to go home to her parents.
+She--she could help us with our tree dressing this evening."
+
+"We'd like to have both our neighbors visit with us," said Mrs. Hickson;
+"but the snow is rather deep for them."
+
+By the middle of the afternoon Dorian cleared a path to the neighboring
+house, and then went stamping on to the porch. Carlia opened the door
+and gave him a smiling welcome. She had dressed up a bit, he could
+see, and he was pleased with the thought that it was for him. Dorian
+delivered the invitation to the two women. Carlia would go immediately
+to help, and Mrs. Carlston would come later. Carlia was greeted by the
+children as a real addition to their company.
+
+"Did you bring an extra of stockings?" asked Mrs. Hickson of her. "An
+up-to-date Santa Claus is going to visit us tonight, I am sure." She
+glanced toward Dorian, who was busy with the children and the tree.
+
+That was a Christmas Eve long to be remembered by all those present in
+that house amid solitude of snow, of mountain, and of pine forests. The
+tree, under the magic touches of Dorian and Carlia grew to be a thing
+of beauty, in the eyes of the children. The home-made candles and
+decorations were pronounced to be as good as the "boughten ones." And
+the candy--what a miracle worker this sober-laughing, ruddy-haired young
+fellow was!
+
+Carlia could not resist the spirit of cheer. She smiled with the older
+people and laughed with the children. How good it was to laugh again,
+she thought. When the tree was fully ablaze, all, with the exception of
+Mr. Hickson joined hands and danced around it. Then they had to taste
+of the various and doubtful makings of candies, and ate a bread-pan of
+snow-white popcorn sprinkled with melted butter. Then Mr. Hickson told
+some stories, and his wife in a clear, sweet voice led the children
+in some Christmas songs. Oh, it was a real Christmas Eve, made doubly
+joyful by the simple helpfulness and kindness of all who took part.
+
+At the close of the evening, Dorian escorted Mrs. Carlston and Carlia
+back to their house, and the older woman graciously retired, leaving the
+parlor and the glowing log to the young people.
+
+They sat in the big armchairs facing the grate.
+
+"We've had a real nice Christmas Eve, after all," said he.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Our Christmas Eves at home are usually quiet. I'm the only kid there,
+and I don't make much noise. Frequently, just mother and Uncle Zed and
+I made up the company; and then when we could get Uncle Zed to talking
+about Jesus, and explain who He was, and tell his story before He came
+to this earth as the Babe of Bethlehem, there was a real Christmas
+spirit present. Yes; I believe you were with us on one of these
+occasions."
+
+"Yes, I was."
+
+Dorian adjusted the log in the grate. "Carlia, when shall we go home?"
+he asked.
+
+"How can I go home?"
+
+"A very simple matter. We ride on the stage to the railroad, and then--"
+
+"O! I do not mean that. How can I face my folks, and everybody?"
+
+"Of course, people will be inquisitive, and there will be a lot of
+speculation; but never mind that. Your father and mother will be mighty
+glad to get you back home, and I am sure your father will see to it that
+you--that you'll have no more cause to run away from home."
+
+"What--what?"
+
+"Why, he'll see that you do not have so much work--man's work, to do.
+Yes, regular downright drudgery it was. Why, I hardly blame you for
+running away, that is, taking a brief vacation." He went on talking, she
+looking silently into the fire. "But now," he said finally, "you have
+had a good rest, and you are ready to go home."
+
+She sat rigidly looking at the glow in the grate. He kept on talking
+cheerfully, optimistically, as if he wished to prevent the gloom of
+night to overwhelm them. Then, presently, the girl seemed to shake
+herself free from some benumbing influence, as she turned to him and
+said:
+
+"Dorian, why, really why have you gone to all this trouble to find me?"
+
+"Why, we all wanted to know what had become of you. Your father is a
+changed man because of your disappearance, and your mother is nearly
+broken hearted."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so; but is that all?"
+
+"Isn't that enough?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, I--I--"
+
+"Dorian, you're neither dull nor stupid, except in this. Why did not
+someone else do this hunting for a lost girl? Why should it be you?"
+
+Dorian arose, walked to the window and looked out into the wintry night.
+He saw the shine of the everlasting stars in the deep blue. He sensed
+the girl's pleading eyes sinking into his soul as if to search him out.
+He glimpsed the shadowy specter lurking in her background. And yet,
+as he fixed his eyes on the heavens, his mind cleared, his purpose
+strengthened. As he turned, there was a grim smile on his face. He
+walked back to the fire-place and seated himself on the arm of Carlia's
+chair.
+
+"Carlia," he said, "I may be stupid--I am stupid--I've always been
+stupid with you. I know it. I confess it to you. I have not always
+acted toward you as one who loves you. I don't know why--lay it to my
+stupidity. But, Carlia, I do love you. I have always loved you. Yes,
+ever since we were children playing in the fields and by the creek and
+the ditches. I know now what that feeling was. I loved you then, I love
+you now."
+
+The girl arose mechanically from her chair, reached out as if
+for support to the mantle. "Why, Oh, why did you not tell me
+before--before"--she cried, then swayed as if to a fall. Dorian caught
+her and placed her back in the seat. He took her cold hands, but in a
+moment, she pulled them away.
+
+"Dorian, please sit down in this other chair, won't you?"
+
+Dorian did as she wanted him to do, but he turned the chair to face her.
+
+"I want you to believe me, Carlia."
+
+"I am trying to believe you."
+
+"Is it so hard as all that?"
+
+"What I fear is that you are doing all this for me out of the goodness
+of your heart. Listen, let me say what I want to say--I believe I can
+now.... You're the best man I know. I have never met anyone as good as
+you, no, not even my father--nobody. You're far above me. You always
+have been willing to sacrifice yourself for others; and now--what I fear
+is that you are just doing this, saying this, out of the goodness of
+your heart and not because you really--really love me."
+
+"Carlia, stop--don't."
+
+"I know you, Dorian. I've heard you and Uncle Zed talk, sometimes when
+you thought I was not listening. I know your high ideals of service, how
+you believe it is necessary for the higher to reach down to help and
+save the lower. Oh, I know, Dorian; and it is this that I think of. You
+cannot love poor me for my sake, but you are doing this for fear of not
+doing your duty. Hush--Listen! Not that I don't honor you for your high
+ideals--they are noble, and belong to just such as I believe you are.
+Yes, I have always, even as a child, looked up to you as someone big and
+strong and good--Yes, I have always worshiped you, loved you! There, you
+know it, but what's the use!"
+
+Dorian moved his chair close to her, then said:
+
+"You are mistaken, of course, in placing my goodness so high, though
+I've always tried to do the right by everybody. That I have failed with
+you is evidence that I am not so perfect as you say. But now, let's
+forget everything else but the fact that we love each other. Can't we be
+happy in that?"
+
+The roses faded from Carlia's cheeks, though coaxed to stay by the
+firelight.
+
+"My dear," he continued, "we'll go home, and I'll try to make up to you
+my failings. I think I can do that, Carlia, when you become my wife."
+
+"I can't, Dorian, Oh, I can't be that."
+
+"Why not Carlia?"
+
+"I can't marry you. I'm not--No, Dorian."
+
+"In time, Carlia. We will have to wait, of course; but some day"--he
+took her hands, and she did not seem to have power to resist--"some day"
+he said fervently, "you are going to be mine for time and for eternity."
+
+They looked into each others faces without fear. Then: "Go now, Dorian"
+she said. "I can't stand any more tonight. Please go."
+
+"Yes; I'll go. Tomorrow, the stage comes again this way, and we'll go
+with it. That's settled. Goodnight."
+
+They both arose. He still held her hands.
+
+"Goodnight," he repeated, and kissed her gently on the cheek.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINETEEN.
+
+
+The sudden return of Carlia Duke to her home created as much talk as
+her disappearance had done. Dorian was besieged with enquirers whom he
+smilingly told that he had just come across her taking a little vacation
+up in the hills. What, in the hills in the depths of winter? Why, yes;
+none but those who have tried it know the comfort and the real rest one
+may obtain shut out by the snow from the world, in the solitude of the
+hills. He told as little as possible of the details of his search, even
+to Carlia's parents. Any unpleasant disclosures would have to come from
+her to them, he reasoned. Not being able to get Dorian talking about the
+case, the good people of Greenstreet soon exhausted their own knowledge
+of the matter, so in a short time, the gossip resumed its every-day
+trend.
+
+Hardly a day passed without Dorian spending some time with Carlia. She
+would not go to Sunday School or to Mutual, and it was some time before
+he could convince her that it was a matter of wisdom as well as of right
+that she should attend some of the public ward meetings. Frequently,
+he took his book to the Duke home and read aloud to Carlia. This she
+enjoyed very much. Sometimes the book was a first class novel, but
+oftener it was a scientific text or a religions treatise. Carlia
+listened attentively to his discussion of deep problems, and he was
+agreeably surprised to learn that she could readily follow him in the
+discussion of these themes; so that the long winter evenings spent
+with her either at her home or at his own became a source of great
+inspiration to the young man who had not lost sight or the mission
+assigned to him by the beloved Uncle Zed. Dorian talked freely to Carlia
+on how he might best fulfill the high destiny which seemed to lay before
+him; and Carlia entered enthusiastically into his plans.
+
+"Fine, fine," she would say. "Carry it out. You can do it."
+
+"With your help, Carlia."
+
+"I'll gladly help you all I can; but that is so little; what can I do?"
+
+"Trust me, have faith in me; and when the time comes, marry me."
+
+This was usually the end of the conversation for Carlia; she became
+silent unless he changed the subject.
+
+Dorian, naturally undemonstrative, was now more careful than ever in
+his love making. The intimacy between them never quite returned to the
+earlier state. Complete forgetfulness of what had been, was, of course,
+impossible, either for Carlia or for Dorian; but he tried manfully not
+to let the "specter" come too often between him and the girl he loved.
+He frequently told her that he loved her, but it was done by simple word
+or act. Dorian's greater knowledge gave him the advantage over her. He
+was bound by this greater knowledge to be the stronger, the wiser, the
+one who could keep all situations well in hand.
+
+One evening, when Carlia was unusually sweet and tempting, he asked if
+he might kiss her goodnight. She set her face as if it were hard to deny
+him, but she finally said:
+
+"No; you must not."
+
+"Why not, Carlia?"
+
+"We're not engaged yet."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"We are not. I have never promised to marry you, have I?" She smiled.
+
+"No; I guess not; but that's understood."
+
+"Don't be so sure."
+
+"There are some things definitely fixed without the spoken word."
+
+"Good night, Dorian." She was smiling still.
+
+"Good night, Carlia." Their hands met and clasped, atoning the best they
+could for the forbidden kiss.
+
+One evening when the feeling of spring was in the air, Dorian was going
+to call on Carlia, when he heard the approach of an automobile. As it
+turned into the bystreet, leading to the Duke home, Dorian saw the
+driver to be Mr. Jack Lamont. Dorian kept in the road, and set his face
+hard. As the machine had to stop to prevent running over him, Dorian
+turned, walked deliberately to the side of the car, and looking steadily
+into Mr. Lamont's face, said:
+
+"I'm going to Mr. Duke's also. If I find you there, I'll thrash you
+within an inch of your life. Drive on."
+
+For a moment, the two glared at each other, then the automobile went
+on--on past the Duke house toward town. When Dorian arrived at his
+destination, Carlia greeted him with:
+
+"Dorian, what's the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," he laughed.
+
+"You're as pale as a ghost."
+
+"Am I? Well, I haven't seen any ghosts--Say, mother wants you to come to
+supper. She has something you specially like. Can you?"
+
+"Sure, she can," answered her mother, for she was glad to have Carlia
+out away from the work which she was determined to stick to closer than
+ever. Carlia was pleased to go, and kept up a merry chatter until she
+saw that Dorian was exceptionally sober-minded. She asked him what was
+the matter with him, but he evaded. His thoughts were on the man whom
+he had prevented from calling at her home that evening. What was his
+errand? What was in the scoundrel's mind? Dorian struggled to put away
+from him the dark thoughts which had arisen because of his recent
+encounter with Mr. Lamont. All the evening at home and during their walk
+back he was unusually silent, and Carlia could only look at him with
+questioning anxiety.
+
+Spring, once started, came on with a rush. The melting snow filled the
+river with a muddy flood; the grass greened the slopes; the bursting
+willows perfumed the air; the swamp awakened to the warm touch of the
+sun. Dorian's busy season also began.
+
+As soon as the roads were passible, Dorian drove up to his dry-farm. On
+one of these first trips he fell in with a company of his neighboring
+dry-farmers, and they traveled together. While they were stopping for
+noon at a small hotel in the canyon, a rain storm came up, which delayed
+them. They were not impatient, however, as the moisture was welcome; so
+the farmers rested easily, letting their horses eat a little longer than
+usual.
+
+The conversation was such which should be expected of Bishop's
+counselors, president of Elders' quorums, and class leaders in
+the Mutual, which these men were. On this occasion some of the
+always-present moral problems were discussed. Dorian was so quiet that
+eventually some one called on him for an opinion.
+
+"I don't think I can add anything to the discussion," replied Dorian.
+"Only this, however: One day in Sunday school Uncle Zed painted the
+terrors of sin to us boys in such colours that I shall never forget it.
+The result in my case is that I have a dreadful fear of moral wrong
+doing. I am literally scared, I--"
+
+Dorian turned his eyes to the darkened doorway. Mr. Jack Lamont stood
+there with a cynical expression on his face. His hat was tilted back on
+his head, and a half-smoked cigarette sagged from his lips. The genial
+warmth of the room seemed chilled by the newcomer's presence.
+
+"G'day, gentlemen," said Mr. Lamont. "Mr. Trent, here, is afraid, I
+understand."
+
+The men arose. Outside the clouds were breaking. Dorian stepped forward,
+quite close to Jack Lamont.
+
+"Yes, I am afraid," said Dorian, his face white with passion, "but not
+of what you think, not of what you would be afraid, you dirty, low,
+scoundrel!"
+
+Lamont raised a riding whip he had in his hand, but the men interfered,
+and they all moved outside into the yard. Dorian, still tense with
+anger, permitted himself to be taken to the teams where they began
+hitching up. Dorian soon had himself under control, yet he was not
+satisfied with the matter ending thus. Quietly slipping back to where
+Mr. Lamont stood looking at the men preparing to drive on, he said, "I
+want a word with you."
+
+The other tried to evade.
+
+"Don't try to get away until I'm through with you. I want to tell you
+again what a contemptible cur you are. No one but a damned scoundrel
+would take advantage of a girl as you did, and then leave her to bear
+her shame alone."
+
+"Do you mean Carlia--"
+
+"Don't utter her name from your foul lips."
+
+"For if you do, I might say, what have I got to do with that? You were
+her lover, were you not? you were out with her in the fields many times
+until midnight, you--"
+
+The accusing mouth closed there, closed by the mighty impact of Dorian's
+fist. The blood spurted from a gashed lip, and Mr. Lamont tried to
+defend himself. Again Dorian's stinging blow fell upon the other's face.
+Lamont was lighter than Dorian, but he had some skill as a boxer which
+he tried to bring into service; but Dorian, mad in his desire to
+punish, with unskilled strength fought off all attacks. They grappled,
+struggled, and fell, to arise again and give blow for blow. It was all
+done so suddenly, and the fighting was so fierce, that Dorian's fellow
+travelers did not get to the scene before Jack Lamont lay prone on the
+ground from Dorian's finishing knockout blow.
+
+"Damn him!" said Dorian, as he shook himself back into a somewhat normal
+condition and spat red on the ground. "He's got just a little of what's
+been coming to him for a long time. Let him alone. He's not seriously
+hurt. Let's go."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY.
+
+
+On a Saturday afternoon in early July Dorian and a neighbor were coming
+home from a week's absence up in the hills. They were on horseback,
+and therefore they cut across by way of the new road in course of
+construction between Greenstreet and the city.
+
+The river was high. The new bridge was not yet open for traffic, but
+horses could safely cross. As the two riders passed to the Greenstreet
+side, they saw near the bridge down on the rocks by the rushing river,
+an automobile, overturned and pretty well demolished. Evidently, someone
+had been trying to reach the bridge, had missed the road, and had gone
+over the bank, which at this point was quite steep.
+
+The two men stopped, dismounted, and surveyed the wreck. Someone was
+under the car, dead or alive, they could not tell. Dorian unslung his
+rope from his saddle, and took off his coat. "I'll go down and see," he
+said.
+
+"Be careful," admonished the other, "if you slip into the river, you'll
+be swept away."
+
+Dorian climbed down to where the broken machine lay. Pinned under it
+with his body half covered by the water was Mr. Jack Lamont. He was
+talking deliriously, calling in broken sentences for help. Dorian's
+hesitancy for an instant was only to determine what was the best thing
+to do.
+
+"Hold on a bit longer, Mr. Lamont," said Dorian; but it was doubtful
+whether the injured man understood. He glared at his rescuer with
+unseeing eyes. Part of the automobile was already being moved by the
+force of the stream, and there was danger that the whole car, together
+with the injured man, would be swept down the stream. Dorian, while
+clinging to the slippery rocks, tried to pull the man away, but he was
+so firmly pinned under the wreck that he could not be moved. Dorian then
+shouted to his companion on the bank to bring the rope and come to his
+assistance; but even while it was being done, a great rush of water
+lifted the broken car out into the stream. Lamont was released, but he
+was helpless to prevent the current from sweeping him along.
+
+Dorian reached for the man, but missed him and stepped into a deep
+place. He went in to his arms, but he soon scrambled on to a shallower
+point where he regained his balance. The unconscious Lamont was
+beginning to drift into the current and Dorian knew that if he was to
+be saved he must be prevented from getting into the grasp of the
+mid-stream. Dorian took desperate chances himself, but his mind was
+clear and his nerves were steady as he waded out into the water. His
+companion shouted a warning to him from the bank, but he heeded it not.
+Lamont's body was moving more rapidly, so Dorian plunged after it, and
+by so doing got beyond wading depths. He did not mind that as he was a
+good swimmer, and apparently, Mr. Lamont was too far gone to give any
+dangerous death grip. Dorian got a good hold of the man's long hair and
+with the free arm he managed to direct them both to a stiller pool lower
+down where by the aid of his companion, he pulled Lamont out of the
+water and laid him on the bank. He appeared to be dead, but the two
+worked over him for some time. No other help appeared, so once more they
+tried all the means at their command to resuscitate the drowned.
+
+"I think he's gone," said Dorian's companion.
+
+"It seems so. He's received some internal injury. He was not drowned."
+
+"Who is he, I wonder."
+
+"His name is Jack Lamont."
+
+"Do you know him?"
+
+"I know him. Yes; let's carry him up the bank. We'll have to notify
+somebody."
+
+The man was dead when he was laid on the soft warm grass. Dorian covered
+the lifeless form with his own coat.
+
+"I'll stay here," suggested Dorian's companion, "while you go and
+telephone the police station in the city. Then you go right on home and
+get into some dry clothes."
+
+Dorian did as he was told. After reaching the nearest telephone, and
+delivering his message, he went on home and explained to his mother what
+had happened. Then he changed his clothes.
+
+"What a terrible thing!" exclaimed his mother. "And you also might have
+been drowned."
+
+"Oh, no; I was all right. I knew just what I could do. But the poor
+fellow. I--I wish I could have saved him. It might have been a double
+salvation for him."
+
+The mother did not press him for further explanations, for she also had
+news to tell. As soon as Dorian came from his room in his dry clothes,
+she asked him if he had seen Brother Duke on the way.
+
+"No, mother; why?"
+
+"Well, he was here not long ago, asking for you. Carlia, it seems, has
+had a nervous break down, and the father thinks you can help."
+
+"I'll go immediately."
+
+"You'll have some supper first. It will take me only a moment to place
+it on the table."
+
+"No, mother, thank you; after I come back; or perhaps I'll eat over
+there. Don't wait for me." He was out of the house, and nearly running
+along the road.
+
+Dorian found Carlia's father and mother under great mental strain.
+"We're so glad you came," they said; "we're sure you can help her."
+
+"What is the matter!"
+
+"We hardly know. We don't understand. This afternoon--that Mr. Jack
+Lamont--you remember him--he used to come here. Well, he hasn't been
+around for over a year, for which we were very thankful, until this
+afternoon when he came in his automobile. Carlia was in the garden, and
+she saw him drive up to the gate. When he alighted and came toward her,
+she seemed frightened out of her wits, for she ran terror stricken into
+the house. She went up to her bedroom and would not come down."
+
+"He did not see her, then, to talk to her?"
+
+"No; he waited a few moments only, then drove off again."
+
+"Where is Carlia now?"
+
+"Still up in her room."
+
+"May I go up to her?"
+
+"Yes; but won't you have her come down?"
+
+"No, I'd rather go up there, if you don't mind."
+
+"Not at all. Dorian, you seem the only help we have."
+
+He went through the living room to the stairway. He noticed that the
+bare boards of the stairs had been covered with a carpet, which made his
+ascending steps quite noiseless. Everything was still in Carlia's room.
+The door was slightly ajar, so he softly pushed it open. Carlia was
+lying on her bed asleep.
+
+Dorian tiptoed in and stood looking about. The once bare, ugly room had
+been transformed into quite a pretty chamber, with carpet and curtains
+and wall-paper and some pretty furniture. The father had at last done a
+sensible thing for his daughter.
+
+Carlia slept on peacefully. She had not even washed away the tear-stains
+from her cheeks, and her nut-brown hair lay in confusion about her head.
+Poor, dear girl! If there ever was a suffering penitent, here was one.
+
+In a few moments, the girl stirred, then sensing that someone was in the
+room, she awoke with a start, and sprang to her feet.
+
+"It's only Dorian," said he.
+
+"Oh!" she put her hand to her head, brushing back her hair.
+
+"Dorian, is it you?"
+
+"Sure, in real flesh and blood and rusty-red hair." He tried to force
+cheerfulness into his words.
+
+"I'm so glad, so glad it's you."
+
+"And I'm glad that you're glad to see me."
+
+"Has he gone? I'm afraid of him."
+
+"Afraid of whom, Carlia?"
+
+"Don't you know? Of course you don't know. I--"
+
+"Sit down here, Carlia." He brought a chair; but she took it nearer the
+open window, and he pushed up the blind that the cool air might the more
+freely enter. The sun was nearing the western hills, and the evening
+sounds from the yard came to them. He drew a chair close to hers, and
+sat down by her, looking silently into the troubled face.
+
+"I'm a sight," she said, coming back to the common, everyday cares as
+she tried to get her hair into order.
+
+"No, you're not. Never mind a few stray locks of hair. Never mind that
+tear-stained face. I have something to tell you."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You said you were afraid, afraid of Mr. Jack Lamont."
+
+"Yes," she whispered.
+
+"Well, you never need be afraid of him again."
+
+"I--I don't understand."
+
+"Jack Lamont is dead."
+
+She gave a startled cry.
+
+"Dorian--you--?"
+
+"No; I have not killed him. He was and is in the hands of the Lord."
+Then he told her what had happened that afternoon.
+
+Carlia listened with staring eyes and bated breath. And Dorian had
+actually risked his life in an attempt to save Jack Lamont! If Dorian
+only had known! But he would never know, never now. She had heard of the
+fight between Dorian and Lamont, as that had been common gossip for a
+time; but Carlia had no way of connecting that event with herself or her
+secret, as no one had heard what words passed between them that day, and
+Dorian had said nothing. And now he had tried to save the life of the
+man whom he had so thoroughly trounced. "What a puzzle he was! And yet
+what a kind, open face was his, as he sat there in the reddening evening
+light telling her in his simple way what he had done. What did he know,
+anyway? For it would be just like him to do good to those who would
+harm him; and had she not proved in her own case that he had been more
+patient and kind to her after her return than before. What did he know?
+
+"Shall I close the window?" he asked. "Is there too much draught?"
+
+"No; I must have air or I shall stifle. Dorian, tell me, what do you
+know about this Mr. Lamont?"
+
+"Why, not much, Carlia; not much good, at any rate. You know I met him
+only a few times." He tried to answer her questions and at the same time
+give her as little information as possible.
+
+"But Dorian, why did you fight with him?"
+
+"He insulted me. I've explained that to you before."
+
+"That's not all the reason. Jack Lamont could not insult you. I mean,
+you would pay no attention to him if only yourself were involved."
+
+"Now, Carlia, don't you begin to philosophize on my reasons for giving
+Jack Lamont a licking. He's dead, and let's let him rest in as much
+peace as the Lord will allow."
+
+"All right."
+
+"Now, my dear, you feel able to go down and have some supper. Your
+father and mother should be told the news, and perhaps I can do that
+better than anybody else. I'll go with you, and, if your mother has
+something good for supper, I'll stay."
+
+But the girl did not respond to his light speech. She sat very still
+by the window. For a long, long time--ages it seemed to her, she had
+suffered in silent agony for her sin, feeling as if she were being
+smothered by her guilty secret. She could not bring herself to tell it
+even to her mother. How could she tell it to anyone eke, certainly not
+Dorian. And yet, as she sat there with him she felt as if she might
+confide in him. He would listen without anger or reproach. He would
+forgive. He--her heart soared, but her brain came back with a jolt to
+her daily thinking again. No, no, he must not know, he must never know;
+for if he knew, then all would surely be over between them, and then,
+she might as well die and be done with it!
+
+"Come, Carlia."
+
+She did not even hear him.
+
+But Dorian must know, he must know the truth before he asked her again
+to marry him. But if he knew, he would never urge that again. That
+perhaps would be for the best, anyway. And yet she could not bear the
+thought of sending him away for good. If he deserted her, who else would
+she have? No; she must have him near her, at least. Clear thinking was
+not easy for her just then, but in time she managed to say:
+
+"Dorian, sit down.... Do you remember that evening, not so long ago,
+when you let me 'browse', as you called it, among Uncle Zed's books and
+manuscripts?"
+
+"Yes; you have done that a number of times."
+
+"But there is one time which I shall remember. It was the time when I
+read what Uncle Zed had written about sin and death."
+
+"O, I had not intended you to see that."
+
+"But I did, and I read carefully every word of it. I understood most of
+it, too. 'The wages of sin is death'--That applies to me. I am a sinner.
+I shall die. I have already died, according to Uncle Zed."
+
+"No, Carlia, you misapply that. We are all sinners, and we all die in
+proportion to our sinning. That's true enough; but there is also
+the blessed privilege of repentance to consider. Let me finish the
+quotation: 'The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal
+life through Jesus Christ our Lord'; also let me add what the Lord said
+about those who truly repent; 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they
+shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be
+as wool'. That is a great comfort to all of us, Carlia."
+
+"Yes; thank you, Dorian.... but--but now I must tell you. The Lord may
+forgive me, but you cannot."
+
+"Carlia, I have long since forgiven you."
+
+"Oh, of my little foolish ways, of course; but, Dorian, you don't
+know--"
+
+"But, Carlia, I do know. And I tell you that I have forgiven you."
+
+"The terrible thing about me?"
+
+"The unfortunate thing and the great sorrow which has come to you, and
+the suffering--yes, Carlia, I know."
+
+"I can't understand your saying that."
+
+"But I understand."
+
+"Who told you?"
+
+"Mrs. Whitman."
+
+"Have you been there?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Dorian!" She stared past him through the open window into the western
+sky. The upper disk of the sun sank slowly behind the purple mountain.
+The flaming underlining of a cloud reflected on the open water of the
+marshland and faintly into the room and on to the pale face of the
+girl. Presently, she arose, swayed and held out her arms as if she was
+falling. Dorian caught her. Tears, long pent up, save in her own lonely
+hours, now broke as a torrent from her eyes, and her body shook in sobs.
+Gone was her reserve now, her holding him away, her power of resistance.
+She lay supinely in his arms, and he held her close. O, how good it was
+to cry thus! O, what a haven of rest! Would the tears and sobs never
+cease?... The sun was down, the color faded from the sky, a big shadow
+enveloped the earth.
+
+Then when she became quieter, she freed her arms, reached up and clasped
+her hands behind his neck, clinging to him as if she never wanted to
+leave him. Neither could speak. He stroked her hair, kissed her cheeks,
+her eyes, wiped away her tears, unaware of those which ran unhindered
+down his own face....
+
+"Carlia, my darling, Carlia," he breathed.
+
+"Dorian, Oh, Dorian, _how_--_good_--_you_--_are_!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
+
+
+It was a day in June--nearly a year from the time of the
+"understanding"--a day made more beautiful because of its being in the
+mountains and on a Sunday afternoon. Dorian and Carlia lived in the
+midst of its rarity, seated as they were on the grassy hill-side
+overlooking the dry-land farms near at hand and the valley below,
+through which tumbled the brook. The wild odor of hill plants mingled
+with the pungent fragrance of choke-cherry blossoms. The air was as
+clear as crystal. The mountains stood about them in silent, solemn
+watchfulness, strong and sure as the ages. The red glowed in Carlia's
+lips again, and the roses in her cheeks. The careworn look was gone from
+her face. Peace had come into her heart, peace with herself, with the
+man she loved, and with God.
+
+Dorian pointed out to her where the wild strawberries grew down in the
+valley, and where the best service berries could be found on the hills.
+He told her how the singing creek had, when he was alone in the hills,
+echoed all his varied moods.
+
+Then they were silent for a time, letting the contentment of their love
+suffice. For now all barriers between these two were down. There was no
+thought they could not share, no joy neither trouble they could not meet
+together. However, they were very careful of each other; their present
+peace and content had not easily been reached. They had come "up through
+great tribulation," even thus far in their young lives. The period of
+their purification seemed now to be drawing to a close, and they were
+entering upon a season of rest for the soul.
+
+"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." This promise is
+surely not limited to that hoped-for future time when we shall have laid
+aside mortality, but the pure in heart see much of God here and now--see
+Him in the beauty of hill and dale, in cloud and blue sky, in placid
+pool and running water, in flowers and insect, and in the wonderful
+workings of the human heart! And so Dorian Trent and Carlia Duke, being
+of the pure in heart, saw much of God and His glory that afternoon.
+
+Then they talked again of the home folks, of Mildred Brown, and of Uncle
+Zed; and at length came to their own immediate affairs.
+
+That fall Dorian was to enter the University. The farm at Greenstreet
+would have to be let to others, but he thought he could manage the
+dry-farm, as most of the work came in vacation season. Mrs. Trent did
+not want to leave her home in the country; but she would likely become
+lonesome living all by herself; so there would always be a room for her
+with Dorian and Carlia in the little house they would rent near the
+school. Then, after the University, there would be some Eastern College
+for a period of years, and after that, other work. The task Dorian had
+set before him was a big one, but it was a very important one, and no
+one seemed to be doing it as yet. He might fail in accomplishing what
+he and Uncle Zed and perhaps the Lord had in mind regarding him, but he
+would do his very best, anyway.
+
+"You'll not fail," the girl at his side assured him.
+
+"I hope not. But I know some men who have gone in for all the learning
+they could obtain, and in the process of getting the learning, they have
+lost their faith. With me, the very object of getting knowledge is to
+strengthen my faith. What would it profit if one gains the whole world
+of learning and loses his soul in the process. Knowledge is power, both
+for good and for ill. I have been thinking lately of the nature of
+faith, the forerunner of knowledge. I can realize somewhat the meaning
+of the scripture which says that the worlds were framed and all things
+in them made by the power of faith. As Uncle Zed used to say--"
+
+"You always put it that way. Don't you know anything of your own?"
+
+"No; no one does. There is no such thing as knowledge of one's own
+making. Knowledge has always existed from the time when there has been a
+mind to conceive it. The sum of truth is eternal. We can only discover
+truth, or be told it by someone who has already found it. God has done
+that. He comprehends all truth, and therefore all power and all glory is
+found in Him. It is the most natural thing in the world, then, that we
+should seek the truth from the fountain head or source to us, and that
+is God."
+
+Although it was after the usual time of the Sunday sermon, Dorian felt
+free to go on.
+
+"'When the Son of Man cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?' I hope
+to help a little to make the answer, Yes. I know of nothing which the
+world needs more than faith. Not many are specializing in that field.
+Edison is bringing forth some of the wonders of electricity; Burbank
+is doing marvelous things in the plant world; we have warriors and
+statesmen and philosophers and philanthropists and great financiers
+a-plenty; we have scientists too, and some of them are helping. Have you
+ever heard of Sir Oliver Lodge and Lord Kelvin?"
+
+No; she never had.
+
+"Well"--and Dorian laughed softly to himself at the apparent egotism of
+the proposition--"I must be greater than either of them. I must know
+all they know, and more; and that is possible, for I have the 'Key
+of Knowledge' which even the most learned scholar cannot get without
+obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel."
+
+Carlia silently worshiped.
+
+"Now," he continued in a somewhat lighter vein, "do you realize what
+you are doing when you say you will be my wife and put up with all the
+eccentricities of such a man as I am planning to be? Are you willing to
+be a poor man's wife, for I cannot get money and this knowledge I am
+after at the same time? Are you willing to go without the latest in
+dresses and shoes and hats--if necessary?"
+
+"Haven't I heard you say that the larger part of love is in giving and
+not in getting?" replied she.
+
+"Yes, I believe that's true."
+
+"Well, then, that's my answer. Don't deny me the joy I can get by the
+little I can give."
+
+The sun was nearing the western mountains, the sharpest peaks were
+already throwing shadows across the valley.
+
+"Come," said Dorian. "We had better go down. Mother has come out of the
+cabin, and I think she is looking for us. Supper must be ready."
+
+He took Carlia's hand and helped her up. Then they ran like care-free
+children down the gentler slopes.
+
+"Wait a minute," cried Carlia, "I'm out of breath. I--I want to ask you
+another question."
+
+"Ask a hundred."
+
+"Well, in the midst of all this studying, kind of in between the
+great, serious subjects, we'll find time, will we not, to read 'David
+Copperfield'--together?"
+
+He looked into her laughing eyes, and then kissed her.
+
+"Why, yes, of course," he said.
+
+Then they went on again, hand in hand, down into the valley of sunshine
+and shadow.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorian, by Nephi Anderson
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12684 ***
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+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #12684 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12684)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorian, by Nephi Anderson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Dorian
+
+Author: Nephi Anderson
+
+Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12684]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORIAN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Kevin Handy and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+DORIAN
+
+
+By
+
+Nephi Anderson
+
+
+Author of "Added Upon," "Romance of A Missionary," etc.
+
+
+
+
+    "The Keys of the Holy Priesthood unlock the Door of Knowledge and
+    let you look into the Palace of Truth."
+
+    BRIGHAM YOUNG.
+
+
+
+
+Salt Lake City, Utah
+
+1921
+
+
+
+
+Other books by Nephi Anderson.
+
+
+"ADDED UPON"--A story of the past, the present, and the future stages of
+existence.
+
+"THE CASTLE BUILDER"--The scenes and incidents are from the "Land of the
+Midnight Sun."
+
+"PINEY RIDGE COTTAGE"--A love story of a Mormon country girl.
+Illustrated.
+
+"STORY OF CHESTER LAWRENCE"--Being the completed account of one who
+played an important part in "Piney Ridge Cottage."
+
+"A DAUGHTER OF THE NORTH"--A story of a Norwegian girl's trials and
+triumphs. Illustrated.
+
+"JOHN ST. JOHN"--The story of a young man who went through the
+soul-trying scenes of Missouri and Illinois.
+
+"ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY"--A story of English life and missionary
+experiences. Illustrated.
+
+"MARCUS KING MORMON"--A story of early days in Utah.
+
+"THE BOYS OF SPRINGTOWN"--A story about boys for boys and all interested
+in boys. Illustrated.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ONE.
+
+
+Dorian Trent was going to town to buy himself a pair of shoes. He had
+some other errands to perform for himself and his mother, but the reason
+for his going to town was the imperative need of shoes. It was Friday
+afternoon. The coming Sunday he must appear decently shod, so his mother
+had told him, at the same time hinting at some other than the Sunday
+reason. He now had the money, three big, jingling silver dollars in his
+pocket.
+
+Dorian whistled cheerfully as he trudged along the road. It was a scant
+three miles to town, and he would rather walk that short distance than
+to be bothered with a horse. When he took Old Nig, he had to keep to the
+main-traveled road straight into town, then tie him to a post--and worry
+about him all the time; but afoot and alone, he could move along as
+easily as he pleased, linger on the canal bank or cut cross-lots through
+the fields to the river, cross it on the footbridge, then go on to town
+by the lower meadows.
+
+The road was dusty that afternoon, and the sun was hot. It would be
+cooler under the willows by the river. At Cottonwood Corners, Dorian
+left the road and took the cut-off path. The river sparkled cool and
+clear under the overhanging willows. He saw a good-sized trout playing
+in the pool, but as he had no fishing tackle with him, the boy could
+only watch the fish in its graceful gliding in and out of sunshine and
+shadow. A robin overhead was making a noisy demonstration as if in
+alarm about a nest. Dorian sat on the bank to look and listen for a few
+moments, then he got up again.
+
+Crossing the river, he took the cool foot-path under the willows. He
+cut down one of the smoothest, sappiest branches with which to make
+whistles. Dorian was a great maker of whistles, which he freely gave
+away to the smaller boys and girls whom he met. Just as it is more fun
+to catch fish than to eat them, so Dorian found more pleasure in giving
+away his whistles than to stuff them in his own pockets. However, that
+afternoon, he had to hurry on to town, so he caught no fish, and made
+only one whistle which he found no opportunity to give away. In the
+city, he attended to his mother's errands first. He purchased the few
+notions which the store in his home town of Greenstreet did not have,
+checking each item off on a slip of paper with a stub of a pencil. Then,
+there were his shoes.
+
+Should he get lace or button, black or tan? Were there any bargains in
+shoes that afternoon? He would look about to see. He found nothing in
+the way of footwear on Main street which appealed to him. He lingered at
+the window of the book store, looking with envious eyes at the display
+of new books. He was well known by the bookseller, for he was a frequent
+visitor, and, once in a while, he made a purchase; however, to day he
+must not spend too much time "browsing" among books. He would, however,
+just slip around to Twenty-fifth street and take a look at the
+secondhand store there. Not to buy shoes, of course, but sometimes there
+were other interesting things there, especially books.
+
+Ah, look here! Spread out on a table on the sidewalk in front of this
+second-hand store was a lot of books, a hundred or more--books of all
+kind--school books, history, fiction, all of them in good condition,
+some only a little shopworn, others just like new. Dorian Trent eagerly
+looked them over. Here were books he had read about, but had not
+read--and the prices! Dickens' "David Copperfield", "Tale of Two
+Cities", "Dombey and Son", large well-printed books, only a little
+shopworn, for thirty-five cents; Thackeray's "Vanity Fair", twenty-five
+cents; books by Mrs. Humphrey Ward and Margaret Deland; "Robinson
+Crusoe", a big book with fine pictures. Dorian had, of course, read
+"Robinson Crusoe" but he had always wanted to own a copy. Ah, what's
+this? Prescott's "Conquest of Peru", two volumes, new, fifty cents each!
+Dorian turned the leaves. A man stepped up and also began handling the
+books. Yes, here were bargains, surely. He stacked a number together as
+if he desired to secure them. Dorian becoming fearful, slipped the other
+volume of the Conquest under his arm and made as if to gather a number
+of other books under his protection. He must have some of these before
+they were all taken by others. The salesman now came up to him and
+asked:
+
+"Find something you want?"
+
+"O, yes, a lot of things I like" replied Dorian.
+
+"They're bargains."
+
+Dorian needed not to be told that.
+
+"They're going fast, too."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so."
+
+His heart fell as he said it, for he realized that he had no money to
+buy books. He had come to town to buy shoes, which he badly needed. He
+glanced down at his old shoes. They were nearly falling to pieces, but
+they might last a little longer. If he bought the "Conquest of Peru" he
+would still have two dollars left. Could he buy a pair of shoes for that
+amount? Very likely but not the kind his mother had told him to get, the
+kind that were not too heavy or "stogy" looking, but would be "nice"
+for Sundays. He held tightly on to the two books, while Dickens and
+Thackeray were still protectingly within his reach. What could he do?
+
+Down there in Peru there had been a wonderful people whom Pizarro, the
+bad, bold Spaniard had conquered and abused. Dorian knew about it all
+vaguely as a dim fairy tale; and here was the whole story, beautifully
+and minutely told. He must have these books. This bargain might never
+come again to him. But what would his mother say? She herself had added
+the last half dollar to his amount to make sure that he could get the
+nicer kind.
+
+"Well, sir, how many of these will you have?" asked the salesman.
+
+"I'll--I'll take these two, anyway"--meaning Prescott's Conquest--"and
+let me see", he looked hungrily over the titles--"And this one 'David
+Copperfield'." It was hard to select from so many tempting ones. Here
+was one he had missed: "Ben Hur"--, a fine new copy in blue and gold. He
+had read the Chariot Race, and if the whole story was as interesting as
+that, he must have it. He handed the volume to the salesman. Then his
+hand touched lovingly a number of other books, but he resisted the
+temptation, and said: "That's all--this time."
+
+The clerk wrapped the purchase in a newspaper and handed the package to
+Dorian who paid for them with his two silver dollars, receiving some
+small silver in change. Then, with his package under his arm, the boy
+walked on down the street.
+
+Well, what now? He was a little afraid of what he had done. How could
+he face his mother? How could he go home without shoes? Books might be
+useful for the head, but they would not clothe the feet. He jingled the
+coins in his pocket as he walked on down to the end of the business
+section of the city. He could not buy any kind of shoes to fit his big
+feet for a dollar and twenty cents. There was nothing more to do but to
+go home, and "face the music", so he walked on in a sort of fearsome
+elation. At a corner he discovered a new candy store. Next to books,
+Dorian liked candy. He might as well buy some candy for the twenty
+cents. He went into the store and took his time looking at the tempting
+display, finally buying ten cents worth of chocolates for himself and
+ten cents worth of peppermint lozenges for his mother.
+
+You see, Dorian Trent, though sixteen years old, was very much a child;
+he did many childish things, and yet in some ways, he was quite a man;
+the child in him and the man in him did not seem to merge into the boy,
+but were somewhat "separate and apart," as the people of Greenstreet
+would say.
+
+Dorian again took the less frequented road home. The sun was still high
+when he reached the river. He was not expected home for some time yet,
+so there was no need for hurry. He crossed the footbridge, noticing
+neither birds nor fish. Instead of following the main path, he struck
+off into a by-trail which led him to a tiny grass plat in the shade of a
+tree by the river. He sat down here, took off his hat, and pushed back
+from a freckled, sweating forehead a mop of wavy, rusty-colored hair.
+Then he untied his package of books and spread his treasures before him
+as a miser would his gold. He opened "David Copperfield", looked at the
+frontispiece which depicted a fat man making a very emphatic speech
+against someone by the name of Heep. It must all be very interesting,
+but it was altogether too big a book for him to begin to read now. "Ben
+Hur" looked solid and substantial; it would keep until next winter when
+he would have more time to read. Then he picked up the "Conquest",
+volume one. He backed up against the tree, settled himself into a
+comfortable position, took from his paper bag a chocolate at which he
+nibbled contentedly, and then away he went with Prescott to the land of
+the Inca and the glories of a vanished race!
+
+For an hour he read. Then, reluctantly, he closed his book, wrapped up
+his package again, and went on his homeward way.
+
+The new canal for which the farmers of Greenstreet had worked and waited
+so long had just been completed. The big ditch, now full of running
+water, was a source of delight to the children as well as to the more
+practical adults. The boys and girls played on its banks, and waded and
+sported in the cool stream. Near the village of Greenstreet was a big
+headgate, from which the canal branched into two divisions. As Dorian
+walked along the canal bank that afternoon, he saw a group of children
+at play near the headgate. They were making a lot of robust noise, and
+Dorian stopped to watch them. He was always interested in the children,
+being more of a favorite among them than among the boys of his own age.
+
+"There's Dorian," shouted one of the boys. "Who are you going to marry?"
+
+What in the world were the youngsters talking about, thought the young
+man, as the chattering children surrounded him.
+
+"What's all this?" asked Dorian, "a party?"
+
+"Yes; it's Carlia's birthday; we're just taking a walk by the canal to
+see the water; my, but it's nice!"
+
+"What, the party or the water?"
+
+"Why, the water."
+
+"Both" added another.
+
+"We've all told who we're going to marry," remarked a little rosy-faced
+miss, "all but Carlia, an' she won't tell."
+
+"Well, but perhaps Carlia don't know. You wouldn't have her tell a fib,
+would you?"
+
+"Oh, shucks, she knows as well as us."
+
+"She's just stubborn."
+
+She who was receiving these criticisms seemed to be somewhat older
+and larger than her companions. Just now, not deigning to notice the
+accusation of her friends, she was throwing sticks into the running
+water and watching them go over the falls at the headgate and dance on
+the rapids below. Her white party dress was as yet spotless. She swung
+her straw hat by the string. Her brown-black hair was crowned by an
+unusually large bow of red ribbon. She was not the least discomposed by
+the teasing of the other children, neither by Dorian's presence. This
+was her party, and why should not she do and say what she pleased.
+
+Carlia now led the way along the canal bank until she came to where a
+pole spanned the stream. She stopped, looked at the somewhat insecure
+footbridge, then turning to her companions, said:
+
+"I can back you out."
+
+"How? Doin' what?" they asked.
+
+"Crossing the canal on the pole."
+
+"Shucks, you can't back me out," declared one of the boys, at which he
+darted across the swaying pole, and with a jump, landed safely across.
+Another boy went at it gingerly, and with the antics of a tight-rope
+walker, he managed to get to the other side. The other boys held back;
+none of the girls ventured.
+
+"All right, Carlia," shouted the boys on the other bank.
+
+The girl stood looking at the frail pole.
+
+"Come on, it's easy," they encouraged.
+
+Carlia placed her foot on the pole as if testing it. The other girls
+protested. She would fall in and drown.
+
+"You dared us; now who's the coward," cried the boys.
+
+Carlia took a step forward, balanced herself, and took another. The
+children stood in spell-bound silence. The girl advanced slowly along
+the frail bridge until she reached the middle where the pole swayed
+dangerously.
+
+"Balance yourself," suggested the second boy.
+
+"Run," said the first.
+
+But Carlia could neither balance nor run. She stood for a moment on the
+oscillating span, then threw up her hands, and with a scream she plunged
+into the waters of the canal.
+
+No thought of danger had entered Dorian's mind as he stood watching the
+capers of the children. If any of them fell in, he thought, they would
+only get a good wetting. But as Carlia fell, he sprang forward. The
+water at this point was quite deep and running swiftly. He saw that
+Carlia fell on her side and went completely under. The children
+screamed. Dorian, startled out of his apathy, suddenly ran to the canal
+and jumped in. It was done so impulsively that he still held on to his
+package of books. With one hand he lifted the girl out of the water, but
+in her struggles, she knocked the bundle from his hand, and the precious
+books splashed into the canal and floated down the stream. Dorian made
+an effort to rescue them, but Carlia clung so to his arms that he could
+do nothing but stand and see the package glide over the falls at the
+headgate and then go dancing over the rapids, even as Carlia's sticks
+had done. For a moment the young man's thoughts were with his books, and
+it seemed that he stood there in the canal for quite a while in a sort
+of daze, with the water rushing by his legs. Then mechanically he
+carried the girl to the bank and would have set her down again with her
+companions, but she clung to him so closely and with such terror in her
+eyes that he lifted her into his arms and talked reassuringly to her:
+
+"There, now," he said, "you're only a bit wet. Don't cry."
+
+"Take me home. I--I want to go home," sobbed the girl.
+
+"Sure," said Dorian. "Come on everybody."
+
+He led the way, and the rest of the children followed.
+
+"I suppose the party's about over, anyway," suggested he.
+
+"I--I guess so."
+
+They walked on in silence for a time; then Carlia said:
+
+"I guess I'm heavy."
+
+"Not at all", lied the young man bravely, for she was heavier than he
+had supposed; but she made no offer to walk. By the time they reached
+the gate, Carlia was herself again, and inclined to look upon her
+wetting and escape as quite an adventure.
+
+"There," said Dorian as he seated the girl on the broad top of the gate
+post; "I'll leave you there to dry. It won't take long."
+
+He looked at his own wet clothes, and then at his ragged, mud-laden
+shoes. He might as well carry the girl up the path to her home, but
+then, that was not necessary. The day was warm, there was no danger of
+colds, and she could run up the path in a few minutes.
+
+"Well, I'll go now. Goodby," he said.
+
+"Wait a minute--Say, I'm glad you saved me, but I'm sorry you lost your
+package. What was in it?"
+
+"Only books."
+
+"I'll get you some more, when I get the money, yes I will. Come here and
+lift me down before you go."
+
+He obeyed. She put a wet arm about his neck and cuddled her dark, damp
+curls against his russet mop. He lifted her lightly down, and then he
+slipped a chocolate secretly into her hand.
+
+"Oh girls," exclaimed one of the party, "I know now."
+
+"Know what?" asked Carlia.
+
+"I know who you are going to marry."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"You're going to marry Dorian."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWO.
+
+
+The disposition to lie or evade never remained long with Dorian Trent;
+but that evening as he turned into the lane which led up to the house,
+he was sorely-tempted. Once or twice only, as nearly as he could
+remember, had he told an untruth to his mother with results which he
+would never forget. He must tell her the truth now.
+
+But he would put off the ordeal as long as possible. There could be no
+harm in that. Everything was quiet about the house, as his mother was
+away. He hurriedly divested himself of his best clothes and put on
+his overalls. He took the milk pail and hung it on the fence until he
+brought the cows from the pasture. After milking, he did his other
+chores. There were no signs of mother. The dusk turned to darkness, yet
+no light appeared in the house. Dorian went in and lighted the lamp and
+proceeded to get supper.
+
+The mother came presently, carrying a bag of wool. "A big herd of sheep
+went by this afternoon," she explained, "and they left a lot of fine
+wool on the barbed-wire fences. See, I have gathered enough for a pair
+of stockings." She seated herself.
+
+"You're tired," said Dorian.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you sit and rest; I'll soon have the supper on the table." This
+was no difficult task, as the evening meal was usually a very simple
+one, and Dorian had frequently prepared it. This evening as the mother
+sat there quietly she looked at her son with admiring eyes. What a big
+boy he was getting to be! He had always been big, it seemed to her. He
+had been a big baby and a big little boy, and now he was a big young
+man. He had a big head and big feet, big hands. His nose and mouth were
+big, and big freckles dotted his face--yes, and a big heart, as his
+mother very well knew. Along with his bigness of limb and body there was
+a certain awkwardness. He never could run as fast as the other boys,
+and he always fumbled the ball in their games though he could beat them
+swimming. So far in his youthful career he had not learned to dance. The
+one time he had tried, his girl partner had made fun of his awkwardness,
+so that ended his dancing. But Dorian was not clumsy about his mother's
+home and table. He handled the dishes as daintily as a girl, and the
+table was set and the food served in a very proper manner.
+
+"Did you get your shoes, Dorian?"
+
+Dorian burned his fingers on a dish which was not at all hot.
+
+"Mother, sit up; supper is ready."
+
+They both drew up their chairs. Dorian asked the blessing, then became
+unusually solicitous in helping his mother, continually talking as he
+did so.
+
+"That little Duke girl was nearly drowned in the canal, this afternoon,"
+he told her, going on with the details. "She's a plucky little thing.
+Ten minutes after I had her out of the canal, she was as lively as
+ever."
+
+The mother liked to hear him talk, so she did not interrupt him. After
+they had eaten, he forced her to take her rocking-chair while he cleared
+the table and washed the few dishes. She asked no more questions about
+shoes, but leaned back in her chair with half-closed eyes. Dorian
+thought to give her the mint lozenges, but fearing that it might lead to
+more questions, he did not.
+
+Mrs. Trent was not old in years, but hard work had bent her back and
+roughened her hands. Her face was pleasant to look upon, even if there
+were some wrinkles now, and the hair was white at the temples. She
+closed her eyes as if she were going to sleep.
+
+"Now, mother, you're going to bed", said Dorian. "You have tired
+yourself out with this wool picking. I thought I told you before that I
+would gather what wool there was."
+
+"But you weren't here, and I could not stand to see the wind blowing it
+away. See, what a fine lot I got." She opened her bundle and displayed
+her fleece.
+
+"Well, put it away. You can't card and spin and knit it tonight."
+
+"It will have to be washed first, you foolish boy."
+
+Dorian got his mother to bed without further reference to shoes. He went
+to his own room with a conscience not altogether easy. He lighted his
+lamp, which was a good one, for he did a lot of reading by it. The
+electric wires had not yet reached Greenstreet. Dorian stood looking
+about his room. It was not a very large one, and somewhat sparsely
+furnished. The bed seemed selfishly to take up most of the space.
+Against one wall was set some home-made shelving containing books. He
+had quite a library. There were books of various kinds, gathered with no
+particular plan or purpose, but as means and opportunity afforded. In
+one corner stood a scroll saw, now not very often used. Pictures of a
+full-rigged sailing vessel and a big modern steamer hung on the wall
+above his books. On another wall were three small prints, landscapes
+where there were great distances with much light and warmth. Over his
+bed hung an artist's conception of "Lorna Doone," a beautiful face,
+framed in a mass of auburn hair, with smiling lips, and a dreamy look in
+her eyes.
+
+"That's my girl," Dorian sometimes said, pointing to this picture. "No
+one can take her from me; we never quarrel; and she never scolds or
+frowns."
+
+On another wall hung a portrait of his father, who had been dead nine
+years. His father had been a teacher with a longing to be a farmer.
+Eventually, this longing had been realized in the purchase of the twenty
+acres in Greenstreet, at that time a village with not one street which
+could be called green, and without a sure water supply for irrigation,
+at least on the land which would grow corn and potatoes and wheat. To
+be sure, there was water enough of its kind down on the lower slopes,
+besides saleratus and salt grass and cattails and the tang of marshlands
+in the air. Schoolmaster Trent's operations in farming had not been very
+successful, and when he died, the result of his failure was a part of
+the legacy which descended to his wife and son.
+
+Dorian took a book from the shelf as if to read; but visions intruded
+of some beautiful volumes, now somewhere down the canal, a mass of
+water-soaked paper. He could not read. He finished his last chocolate,
+said his prayers, and went to bed.
+
+Saturday was always a busy day with Dorian and his mother; but that
+morning Mrs. Trent was up earlier than usual. The white muslin curtains
+were already in the wash when Dorian looked at his mother in the summer
+kitchen.
+
+"What, washing today!" he asked in surprise. Monday was washday.
+
+"The curtains were black; they must be clean for tomorrow."
+
+"You can see dirt where I can't see it."
+
+"I've been looking for it longer, my boy. And, say, fix up the line you
+broke the other day."
+
+"Sure, mother."
+
+The morning was clear and cool. He did his chores, then went out to his
+ten-acre field of wheat and lucerne. The grain was heading beautifully;
+and there were prospects of three cuttings of hay; the potatoes were
+doing fine, also the corn and the squash and the melons. The young
+farmer's heart was made glad to see the coming harvest, all the work of
+his own hands.
+
+For this was the first real crop they had raised. For years they had
+struggled and pinched. Sometimes Dorian was for giving up and moving
+to the city; but the mother saw brighter prospects when the new canal
+should be finished. And then her boy would be better off working for
+himself on the farm than drudging for others in the town; besides, she
+had a desire to remain on the spot made dear by her husband's work; and
+so they struggled along, making their payments on the land and later on
+the canal stock. The summit of their difficulties seemed now to have
+passed, and better times were ahead. Dorian looked down at his ragged
+shoes and laughed to himself good-naturedly. Shucks, in a few months he
+would have plenty of money to buy shoes, perhaps also a Sunday suit for
+himself, and everything his mother needed. And if there should happen to
+be more book bargains, he might venture in that direction again.
+
+Breakfast passed without the mention of shoes. What was his mother
+thinking about! She seemed uncommonly busy with cleaning an uncommonly
+clean house. When Dorian came home from irrigating at noon, he kicked
+off his muddy shoes by the shanty door, so as not to soil her cleanly
+scrubbed floor or to stain the neat home-made rug. There seemed to be
+even more than the extra cooking in preparation for Sunday.
+
+The mother looked at Dorian coming so noiselessly in his stocking feet.
+
+"You didn't show me your new shoes last night," she said.
+
+"Say, mother, what's all this extra cleaning and cooking about?"
+
+"We're going to have company tomorrow."
+
+"Company? Who?"
+
+"I'll tell you about it at the table."
+
+"Do you remember," began the mother when they were seated, "a lady and
+her little girl who visited us some two years ago?"
+
+Yes, he had some recollection of them. He remembered the girl,
+specially, spindle-legged, with round eyes, pale cheeks, and an
+uncommonly long braid of yellow hair hanging down her back.
+
+"Well, they're coming to see us tomorrow. Mrs. Brown is an old-time
+friend of mine, and Mildred is an only child. The girl is not strong,
+and so I invited them to come here and get some good country air."
+
+"To stay with us, mother?" asked the boy in alarm.
+
+"Just to visit. It's terribly hot in the city. We have plenty of fresh
+eggs and good milk, which, I am sure is just what the child needs. Mrs.
+Brown cannot stay more than the day, so she says, but I am going to ask
+that Mildred visits with us for a week anyway. I think I can bring some
+color into her cheeks."
+
+"Oh, gee, mother!" he remonstrated.
+
+"Now, Dorian, be reasonable. She's such a simple, quiet girl. She will
+not be in the way in the least. I want you to treat her nicely."
+
+Dorian had finished his dinner and was gazing out of the window. There
+was an odd look on his face. The idea of a girl living right here with
+them in the same house startled and troubled him. His mother had called
+her a little girl, but he remembered her as being only a year or two
+younger than he. Gee!
+
+"That's why I wanted you to get a pair of decent shoes for tomorrow,"
+said the mother, "and I told you to get a nice pair. I have brushed and
+pressed your clothes, but you must get a new suit as soon as possible.
+Where are your shoes! I couldn't find them."
+
+"I--didn't get any shoes, mother."
+
+"Didn't get any! Why not?"
+
+"Well, you see--I didn't know about these visitors coming, mother, and
+so I--bought some books for most of my money, and so; but mother, don't
+get mad--I--"
+
+"Books? What books? Where are they?"
+
+And then Dorian told her plainly the whole miserable story. At first the
+mother was angry, but when she saw the troubled face of her boy, she
+relented, not wishing to add to his misery. She even smiled at the
+calamitous ending of those books.
+
+"My boy, I see that you have been sorely tempted, and I am sorry that
+you lost your books. The wetting that Carlia gave you did no harm ...
+but you must have some shoes by tomorrow. Wait."
+
+The mother went to the bureau drawer, opened the lid of a little box,
+drew from the box a purse, and took from the purse two silver dollars.
+She handed them to Dorian.
+
+"Go to town again this afternoon and get some shoes."
+
+"But, mother, I hate to take your money. I think I can black my old ones
+so that they will not look so bad."
+
+"Blacking will not fill the holes. Now, you do as I say. Jump on Nig and
+go right away."
+
+Dorian put the money in his pocket, then went out to the yard and
+slipped a bridle on his horse, mounted, and was back to the house.
+
+"Now, Dorian, remember what I say. Get you a nice pair, a nice Sunday
+pair."
+
+"All right, mother, I will."
+
+He rode off at a gallop. He lingered not by creeks or byways, but went
+directly to the best shoe store in the city, where he made his purchase.
+He stopped neither at book store or candy shops. His horse was sweating
+when he rode in at the home yard. His mother hearing him, came out.
+
+"You made quick time," she said.
+
+"Yes; just to buy a pair of shoes doesn't take long."
+
+"You got the right kind?"
+
+"Sure. Here, look at 'em." He handed her the package.
+
+"I can't look at them now. Say, Dorian--" she came out nearer to
+him--"They are here."
+
+"Who, mother?"
+
+"Mrs. Brown and her daughter. They got a chance to ride out this
+afternoon, so they did not wait until tomorrow. Lucky I cleaned up this
+morning. Mildred is not a bit well, and she is lying down now. Don't
+make any more noise than you can help."
+
+"Gee--but, mother, gosh!" He was very much disturbed.
+
+"They are dear, good people. They know we are simple farmers. Just you
+wash yourself and take off those dirty overalls before you come in. And
+then you just behave yourself. We're going to have something nice for
+supper. Now, don't be too long with your hoeing or with your chores,
+for supper will be early this evening."
+
+Dorian hoed only ten rows that afternoon for the reason that he sat down
+to rest and to think at the end of each row. Then he dallied so with his
+chores that his mother had to call him twice. At last he could find no
+more excuses between him and the strange company. He went in with much
+fear and some invisible trembling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THREE.
+
+
+About six o'clock in the afternoon, Mildred Brown went down through the
+fields to the lower pasture. She wore a gingham apron which covered her
+from neck to high-topped boots. She carried in one hand an easel and
+stool and in the other hand a box of colors. Mildred came each day to a
+particular spot in this lower pasture and set up her easel and stool in
+the shade of a black willow bush to paint a particular scene. She did
+her work as nearly as possible at the same time each afternoon to get
+the same effect of light and shade and the same stretch of reflected
+sunlight on the open water spaces in the marshland.
+
+And the scene before her was worthy of a master hand, which, of course,
+Mildred Brown was not as yet. From her position in the shade of the
+willow, she looked out over the flat marshlands toward the west. Nearby,
+at the edge of the firmer pasture lands, the rushes grew luxuriously,
+now crowned with large, glossy-brown "cat-tails." The flats to the left
+were spotted by beds of white and black saleratus and bunches of course
+salt grass. Openings of sluggish water lay hot in the sun, winding in
+and out among reeds, and at this hour every clear afternoon, shining
+with the undimmed reflection of the burning sun. The air was laden
+with salty odors of the marshes. A light afternoon haze hung over the
+distance. Frogs were lazily croaking, and the killdeer's shrill cry came
+plaintively to the ear. A number of cows stood knee-deep in mud and
+water, round as barrels, and breathing hard, with tails unceasingly
+switching away the flies.
+
+Dorian was in the field turning the water on his lucerne patch when he
+saw Mildred coming as usual down the path. He had not expected her that
+afternoon as he thought the picture which she had been working on
+was finished; but after adjusting the flow of water, he joined her,
+relieving her of stool and easel. They then walked on together, the
+big farm boy in overalls and the tall graceful girl in the enveloping
+gingham.
+
+Mildred's visit had now extended to ten days, by which time Dorian had
+about gotten over his timidity in her presence. In fact, that had not
+been difficult. The girl was not a bit "stuck up," and she entered
+easily and naturally into the home life on the farm. She had changed
+considerably since Dorian had last seen her, some two years ago. Her
+face was still pale, although it seemed that a little pink was now
+creeping into her cheeks; her eyes were still big and round and blue;
+her hair was now done up in thick shining braids. She talked freely to
+Dorian and his mother, and at last Dorian had to some extent been able
+to find his tongue in the presence of a girl nearly his own age.
+
+The two stopped in the shade of the willow. He set up the easel and
+opened the stool, while she got out her colors and brushes.
+
+"Thank you," she said to him. "Did you get through with your work in the
+field?"
+
+"I was just turning the water on the lucerne. I got through shocking the
+wheat some time ago."
+
+"Is there a good crop! I don't know much about such things, but I want
+to learn." She smiled up into his ruddy face.
+
+"The wheat is fine. The heads are well developed. I wouldn't be
+surprised if it went fifty bushels to the acre."
+
+"Fifty bushels?" She began to squeeze the tubes of colors on to the
+palette.
+
+Dorian explained; and as he talked, she seated herself, placed the
+canvas on the easel, and began mixing the colors.
+
+"I thought you finished that picture yesterday," he said.
+
+"I was not satisfied with it, and so I thought I would put in another
+hour on it. The setting sun promises to be unusually fine today, and I
+want to put a little more of its beauty into my picture, if I can."
+
+The young man seated himself on the grass well toward the rear where he
+could see her at work. He thought it wonderful to be able thus to make a
+beautiful picture out of such a commonplace thing as a saleratus swamp.
+But then, he was beginning to think that this girl was capable of
+endless wonders. He had met no other girl just like her, so young and so
+beautiful, and yet so talented and so well-informed; so rich, and yet
+so simple in manner of her life; so high born and bred, and yet so
+companionable with those of humbler station.
+
+The painter squeezed a daub of brilliant red on to her palette. She
+gazed for a moment at the western sky, then turning to Dorian, she
+asked:
+
+"Do you think I dare put a little more red in my picture?"
+
+"Dare?" he repeated.
+
+The young man followed the pointing finger of the girl into the flaming
+depths of the sky, then came and leaned carefully over the painting.
+
+"Tell me which is redder, the real or the picture?" she asked.
+
+Dorian looked critically back and forth. "The sky is redder," be
+decided.
+
+"And yet if I make my picture as red as the sky naturally is, many
+people would say that it is too red to be true. I'll risk it anyway."
+Then she carefully laid on a little more color.
+
+"Nature itself, our teacher told us, is always more intense than any
+representation of nature."
+
+She worked on in silence for a few moments, then without looking from
+her canvas, she asked: "Do you like being a farmer?"
+
+"Oh, I guess so," he replied somewhat indefinitely. "I've lived on a
+farm all my life, and I don't know anything else. I used to think I
+would like to get away, but mother always wanted to stay. There's been a
+lot of hard work for both of us, but now things are coming more our way,
+and I like it better. Anyway, I couldn't live in the city now."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, I don't seem able to breathe in the city, with its smoke and its
+noise and its crowding together of houses and people."
+
+"You ought to go to Chicago or New York or Boston," she replied. "Then
+you would see some crowds and hear some noises."
+
+"Have you been there?"
+
+"I studied drawing and painting in Boston. Next to farming, what would
+you like to do?"
+
+He thought for a moment--"When I was a little fellow--"
+
+"Which you are not," she interrupted as she changed brushes.
+
+"I thought that if I ever could attain to the position of standing
+behind a counter in a store where I could take a piece of candy whenever
+I wanted it, I should have attained to the heights of happiness. But,
+now, of course--"
+
+"Well, and now?"
+
+"I believe I'd like to be a school teacher."
+
+"Why a teacher?"
+
+"Because I'd then have the chance to read a lot of books."
+
+"You like to read, don't you? and you like candy, and you like
+pictures."
+
+"Especially, when someone else paints them."
+
+Mildred arose, stepped back to get the distance for examination. "I
+don't think I had better use more color," she commented, "but those
+cat-tails in the corner need touching up a bit."
+
+"I suppose you have been to school a lot?" he asked.
+
+"No; just completed the high school; then, not being very strong, mother
+thought it best not to send me to the University; but she lets me dabble
+a little in painting and in music."
+
+Dorian could not keep his eyes off this girl who had already completed
+the high school course which he had not yet begun; besides, she had
+learned a lot of other things which would be beyond him to ever reach.
+Even though he were an ignoramus, he could bask in the light of her
+greater learning. She did not resent that.
+
+"What do you study in High School!" he asked.
+
+"Oh, a lot of things--don't you know?" She again looked up at him.
+
+"Not exactly."
+
+"We studied algebra and mathematics and English and English literature,
+and French, and a lot of other things."
+
+"What's algebra like?"
+
+"Oh dear, do you want me to draw it?"
+
+"Can you draw it?"
+
+"About as well as I can tell it in words. Algebra is higher mathematics;
+yes, that's it."
+
+"And what's the difference between English and English literature?"
+
+"English is grammar and how sentences are or should be made. English
+literature is made up mostly of the reading of the great authors, such
+as Milton and Shakespeare,"
+
+"Gee!" exclaimed Dorian, "that would be great fun."
+
+"Fun? just you try it. Nobody reads these writers now only in school,
+where they have to. But say, Dorian"--she arose to inspect her work
+again. "Have I too much purple in that bunch of salt-grass on the left?
+What do you think?"
+
+"I don't see any purple at all in the real grass," he said.
+
+"There is purple there, however; but of course, you, not being an
+artist, cannot see it." She laughed a little for fear he might think her
+pronouncement harsh.
+
+"What--what is an artist?"
+
+"An artist is one who has learned to see more than other people can in
+the common things about them."
+
+The definition was not quite clear to him. He had proved that he
+could see farther and clearer than she could when looking at trees or
+chipmunks. He looked critically again at the picture.
+
+"I mean, of course," she added, as she noted his puzzled look, "that an
+artist is one who sees in nature the beauty in form, in light and shade,
+and in color."
+
+"You haven't put that tree in the right place," he objected! "and you
+have left out that house altogether."
+
+"This is not a photograph," she answered. "I put in my picture only that
+which I want there. The tree isn't in the right place, so I moved it.
+The house has no business in the picture because I want it to represent
+a scene of wild, open lonesomeness. I want to make the people who look
+at it feel so lonesome that they want to cry!"
+
+She was an odd girl!
+
+"Oh, don't you understand. I want them only to feel like it. When you
+saw that charcoal drawing I made the other day, you laughed."
+
+"Well, it was funny."
+
+"That's just it. An artist wants to be able to make people feel like
+laughing or crying, for then he knows he has reached their soul."
+
+"I've got to look after the water for a few minutes, then I'll come back
+and help you carry your things," he said. "You're about through, aren't
+you?"
+
+"Thank you; I'll be ready now in a few minutes. Go see to your water.
+I'll wait for you. How beautiful the west is now!"
+
+They stood silently for a few moments side by side, looking at the glory
+of the setting sun through banks of clouds and then down behind the
+purple mountain. Then Dorian, with shovel on shoulder, hastened to his
+irrigating. The blossoming field of lucerne was usually a common enough
+sight, but now it was a stretch of sweet-scented waves of green and
+purple.
+
+Mildred looked at the farmer boy until he disappeared behind the willow
+fence, then she began to pack up her things. Presently, she heard some
+low bellowing, and, looking up, she saw a number of cows, with tails
+erect, galloping across the fields. They had broken the fence, and were
+now having a gay frolic on forbidden grounds. Mildred saw that they were
+making directly for the corner of the pasture where she was. She was
+afraid of cows, even when they were within the quiet enclosure of the
+yard, and here was a wild lot apparently coming upon her to destroy her.
+She crouched, terror stricken, as if to take shelter behind the frail
+bulwark of her easel.
+
+Then she saw a horse leap through the gap in the fence and come
+galloping after the cows. On the horse was a girl, not a large girl, but
+she was riding fearlessly, bare-back, and urging the horse to greater
+strides. Her black hair was trailing in the wind as she waved a willow
+switch and shouted lustily at the cows. She managed to head the cows off
+before they had reached Mildred, rounding them up sharply and driving
+them back through the breach into the road which they followed quietly
+homeward. The rider then galloped back to the frightened girl.
+
+"Did the cows scare you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," panted Mildred. "I'm so frightened of cows, and these were so
+wild."
+
+"They were just playing. They wouldn't hurt you; but they did look
+fierce."
+
+"Whose cows were they?"
+
+"They're ours. I have to get them up every day. Sometimes when the flies
+are bad they get a little mad, but I'm not afraid of them. They know me,
+you bet. I can milk the kickiest one of the lot."
+
+"Do you milk the cows?"
+
+"Sure--but what is that?" The rider had caught sight of the picture.
+"Did you make that?"
+
+"Yes; I painted it."
+
+"My!" She dismounted, and with arm through bridle, she and the horse
+came up for a closer view of the picture. The girl looked at it mutely
+for a moment. "It's pretty" she said; "I wish I could make a picture
+like that."
+
+Mildred smiled at her. She was such a round, rosy girl, so full of
+health and life and color. Not such a little girl either, now a nearer
+view was obtained. She was only a year or two younger than Mildred
+herself.
+
+"I wish I could do what you can," said the painter of pictures.
+
+"I--what? I can't do anything like that."
+
+"No; but you can ride a horse, and stop runaway cows. You can do a lot
+of things that I cannot do because you are stronger than I am. I wish I
+had some of that rosy red in your cheeks."
+
+"You can have some of mine," laughed the other, "for I have more than
+enough; but you wouldn't like the freckles."
+
+"I wouldn't mind them, I'm sure; but let me thank you for what you did,
+and let's get acquainted." Mildred held out her hand, which the other
+took somewhat shyly. "Don't you have to go home with your cows?"
+
+"Yes, I guess so."
+
+"Then we'll go back together." She gathered her material and they walked
+on up the path, Mildred ahead, for she was timid of the horse which the
+other led by the bridle rein. At the bars in the corner of the upper
+pasture the horse was turned loose into his own feeding ground, and the
+girls went on together.
+
+"You live near here, don't you?" inquired Mildred.
+
+"Yes, just over there."
+
+"Oh, are you Carlia Duke?"
+
+"Yes; how did you know?"
+
+"Dorian has told me about you."
+
+"Has he? We're neighbors; an' you're the girl that's visiting with the
+Trent's?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I'm glad to meet you. Dorian has told me about you, too."
+
+Thus these two, meeting for the first time, went on chatting together;
+and thus Dorian saw them. He had missed Mildred at the lower pasture,
+and so, with shovel again on shoulder, he had followed up the homeward
+path. The girls were some distance ahead, so he did not try to overtake
+them. In fact, he slackened his pace a little, so as not to get too
+close to them to disturb them; but he saw them plainly walk close
+together up the road in the twilight of the summer evening, the tall,
+light-haired Mildred, and the shorter, dark-haired Carlia; and the child
+in Dorian seemed to vanish, and the man in him asserted himself in
+thought and feelings which it would have been hard for him to describe
+in words.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOUR.
+
+
+Indian summer lay drowsily over the land. It had come late that season,
+but its rare beauty compensated for its tardiness. Its golden mellowness
+permeating the hazy air, had also, it seems, crept into the heart of
+Dorian Trent. The light coating of frost which each morning lay on the
+grass, had by noon vanished, and now the earth was warm and dry.
+
+Dorian was plowing, and he was in no great haste with his work. He did
+not urge his horses, for they also seemed imbued with the languidness of
+the season. He let them rest frequently, especially at the end of the
+furrow where there was a grassy bank on which the plowman could lie
+prone on his back and look into the dreamy distances of the hills or up
+into the veiling clouds.
+
+Dorian could afford to take it a little easy that afternoon, so he
+thought. The summer's work was practically over: the wheat had been
+thrashed; the hay was in the stacks; the potatoes were in the pit;
+the corn stood in Indian wigwam bunches in the yard; the fruit and
+vegetables, mostly of the mother's raising, had been sufficient for
+their simple needs. They were well provided for the winter; and so
+Dorian was happy and contented as everyone in like condition should be
+on such an Indian summer afternoon.
+
+Mildred Brown's visit to the farm had ended some weeks ago; but only
+yesterday his mother had received a note from Mrs. Brown, asking if her
+daughter might not come again. Her former visit had done her so much
+good, and now the beautiful weather was calling her out into the
+country. It was a shame, Mildred had said, that Indian summer should
+"waste its sweetness on the desert air of the city."
+
+"What do you say?" Mrs. Trent had asked Dorian.
+
+"Why--why--of course, mother, if she doesn't make too much work for
+you."
+
+And so Mildred had received the invitation that she was very welcome to
+come to Greenstreet and stay as long as she desired. Very likely, she
+would be with them in a day or two, thought Dorian. She would draw and
+paint, and then in the soft evening dusk she would play some of those
+exquisite melodies on her violin. Mildred did not like people to speak
+of her beloved instrument as a fiddle, and he remembered how she had
+chastised him on one occasion for so doing. Yes, she would again enter
+into their daily life. Her ladylike ways, her sweet smile, her golden
+beauty would again glorify their humble home. Why, if she came often
+enough and remained long enough, she might yet learn how to milk a cow,
+as she had threatened to do. At the thought, the boy on the grass by the
+nodding horses, laughed up into the sky. Dorian was happy; but whether
+he preferred the somewhat nervous happiness of Mildred's presence or the
+quiet longing happiness of her absence, he could not tell.
+
+The plain truth of the matter was, that Dorian had fallen deeply in love
+with Mildred. This statement may be scoffed at by some people whose eyes
+have been dimmed by age so that they cannot see back into that time of
+youth when they also were "trailing clouds of glory" from their heavenly
+home. There is nothing more wholesomely sweet than this first boy and
+girl affection. It is clean and pure and undefiled by the many worldly
+elements which often enter into the more mature lovemaking.
+
+Perhaps Mildred Brown's entrance into Dorian's life did not differ from
+like incidents in many lives, but to him it was something holy. Dorian
+at this time never admitted to himself that he was in love with the
+girl. He sensed very well that she was far above him in every way. The
+thought that she might ever become his wife never obtained foothold in
+him more than for a fleeting moment: that was impossible, then why think
+of it. But there could be no harm in loving her as he loved his mother,
+or as he loved the flowers, the clear-flowing water, the warm sun and
+the blue sky. He could at least cast adoring eyes up to her as he did to
+the stars at night. He could also strive to rise to her level, if that
+were possible. He was going to the High school the coming winter, then
+perhaps to the University. He could get to know as much of school
+learning as she, anyway. He never would become a painter of pictures
+or a musician, but surely there were other things which he could learn
+which would be worth while.
+
+There came to Dorian that afternoon as he still lay on the grass, his
+one-time effort to ask a girl to a dance. He recalled what care he
+had taken in washing and combing and dressing, how he had finally cut
+cross-lots to the girl's home for fear of being seen, for surely he had
+thought, everybody must know what he was up to!--how he had lingered
+about the back door, and had at last, when the door opened, scudded back
+home as fast as his legs could carry him! And now, the finest girl he
+had ever seen was chumming with him, and he was not afraid, that is, not
+very much afraid.
+
+When Mildred had packed up to go home on the occasion of her former
+visit she had invited Mrs. Trent to take her pick of her drawings for
+her own.
+
+"All but this," Mildred had said. "This which I call 'Sunset in the
+Marshland' I am going to give to Dorian."
+
+The mother had looked over the pile of sketches. There was a panel in
+crayon which the artist said was the big cottonwood down by the Corners.
+Mrs. Trent remarked that she never would have known it, but then, she
+added apologetically, she never had an eye for art. There was a winter
+scene where the houses were so sunk into the earth that only the roofs
+were visible. (Mrs. Trent had often wondered why the big slanting roofs
+were the only artistic thing about a house). Another picture showed a
+high, camel-backed bridge, impossible to cross by anything more real
+than the artist's fancy. Mrs. Trent had chosen the bridge because of its
+pretty colors.
+
+"Where shall we hang Dorian's picture?" Mildred had asked.
+
+They had gone into his room. Mildred had looked about.
+
+"The only good light is on that wall." She had pointed to the space
+occupied by Dorian's "best girl."
+
+And so Lorna Doone had come down and Mildred's study of the marshlands
+glowed with its warmer colors in its place.
+
+The plowboy arose from the grass. "Get up there," he said to his horses.
+"We must be going, or there'll be very little plowing today."
+
+Carlia Duke was the first person to greet Mildred as she alighted at the
+Trent gate. Carlia knew of her coming and was waiting. Mildred put her
+arm about her friend and kissed her, somewhat to the younger girl's
+confused pleasure. The two girls went up the path to the house where
+Mrs. Trent met them.
+
+"Where's your baggage?" asked the mother of the arrival, seeing she
+carried only a small bag and her violin case.
+
+"This is all. I'm not going to paint this time--just going to rest,
+mother said, so I do not need a lot of baggage."
+
+"Well, come in Honey; and you too, Carlia. Dinner is about ready, an'
+you'll stay."
+
+By a little urging Carlia remained, and pretty soon, Dorian came
+stamping in to be surprised.
+
+"Yes; we're all here," announced Carlia, as she tossed her black curls
+and laughed at his confusion.
+
+"I see you are," he replied, as he shook hands with Mildred. After which
+ceremony, it did not just look right to slight the other girl, so he
+shook hands with her also, much to her amusement.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Trent" she said.
+
+"Carlia is such a tease," explained the mother.
+
+"For which I like her," added Mildred.
+
+"We all do. Even Dorian here, who is usually afraid of girls, makes
+quite a chum of her."
+
+"Well, we're neighbors," justified the girl.
+
+After dinner Carlia took Mildred home with her. It was not far, just
+around the low ridge which hid the house from view. There Mildred met
+Pa Duke, Ma Duke and Will Duke, Carlia's older brother. Pa Duke was a
+hard-working farmer, Ma Duke was likewise a hard-working farmer's wife,
+and Will Duke should have been a hard-working farmer's boy, but he was
+somewhat a failure, especially regarding the hard work part. Carlia,
+though so young, was already a hardworking farmer girl, with no chance
+of escape, as far as she could see, from the hard-working part. The Duke
+house, though clean and roomy, lacked the dainty home touches which
+mean so much. There were no porch, no lawn, no trees. The home was bare
+inside and out.
+
+In deference to the "company" Carlia was permitted to "visit" with her
+friend that afternoon. Apparently, these two girls had very little in
+common, but when left to themselves they found many mutual interests.
+
+Toward the close of the afternoon, Dorian appeared. He found the girls
+out in the yard, Carlia seated on the topmost pole of the corral fence,
+and Mildred standing beside her.
+
+"Hello girls," Dorian greeted. "I've come to give you an invitation."
+
+"What, a party!" exclaimed Carlia, jumping down from her perch.
+
+"Not a dancing party, you little goose--just a surprise party."
+
+"On who?"
+
+"On Uncle Zed."
+
+"Uncle Zed. O, shucks!"
+
+"Well, of course, you do not have to go," said Dorian.
+
+"I think you're mean. I do want to go if Mildred is going."
+
+"I don't know Uncle Zed," said Mildred, "but if Mrs. Trent and Dorian
+wish me to go, I shall be pleased; and of course, you will go with us."
+
+"She's invited," repeated Dorian. "It's Uncle Zed's seventy-fifth
+birthday. Mother keeps track of them, the only one who does, I guess,
+for he doesn't do it himself. We're just going down to visit with him
+this evening. He's a very fine old man, is Uncle Zed," this last to
+Mildred.
+
+"Is he your uncle?"
+
+"Oh, no; he's just uncle to everybody and no one in particular. He's all
+by himself, and has no folks?"
+
+Just before the dusk of the evening, the little party set out for the
+home of Zedekiah Manning, generally and lovingly known as Uncle Zed. He
+lived about half a mile down the road in a two-roomed log house which
+had a big adobe chimney on one side. His front yard was abloom with the
+autumn flowers. The path leading to his door was neatly edged by small
+cobble stones. Autumn tinted ivy embowered his front door and climbed
+over the wall nearly to the low roof.
+
+Uncle Zed met the visitors at the door. "Well, well," he exclaimed,
+"come right in. I'll light the lamp." Then he assisted them to find
+seats.
+
+Mildred looked keenly at Uncle Zed, whom she found to be a little frail
+old man with clean white hair and beard, and kindly, smiling face. He
+sat down with his company and rubbed his hands in a way which implied:
+"And what does all this mean?" Mildred noted that the wall, back of his
+own chair, was nearly covered with books, and a number of volumes lay
+on the table. The room was furnished for the simple needs of the lone
+occupant. A fire smouldered in the open grate.
+
+"Now, Uncle Zed, have you forgotten again?" inquired Mrs. Trent.
+
+"Forgotten what? I suppose I have, for my memory is not so good as it
+used to be."
+
+"Your memory never was good regarding the day of the year you were
+born."
+
+"Day when I was born? What, has my birthday come around again? Well,
+sure; but I had quite forgotten. How these birthdays do pile up on one."
+
+"How old are you today?" asked Dorian.
+
+"How old? Let me see. I declare, I must be seventy-five."
+
+"Isn't he a funny man," whispered Carlia to Mildred, who appeared not to
+hear the comment, so interested was she in the old man.
+
+"And so you've come to celebrate," went on Uncle Zed, "come to
+congratulate me that I am one year nearer the grave."
+
+"Now, Uncle Zed, you know--"
+
+"Yes; I know; forgive me for teasing; I know why you come to wish me
+well. It is that I have kept the faith one year more, and that I am
+twelve months nearer my heavenly reward. That's it, isn't it?"
+
+Uncle Zed pushed his glasses up on his forehead to better see his
+company, especially Mildred. Mrs. Trent made the proper introduction,
+then lifted the picnic basket from the table to a corner.
+
+"We're just going to spend an hour or so with you," explained Mrs.
+Trent. "We want you to talk, Mildred to play, and then we'll have a bite
+to eat. We'll just sit about your grate, and look into the glow of the
+fire while you talk." However, Dorian and Mildred were scanning the
+books.
+
+"What's this set?" the young girl asked.
+
+Dorian bent down to read the dim titles. "The Millennial Star" he said.
+
+"And here's another set."
+
+"The Journal of Discourses" he replied.
+
+"My, all sermons? they must be dry reading."
+
+Uncle Zed heard their conversation, and stepped over to them. "Are
+you also interested in books?" he asked. "Dorian and I are regular
+book-worms, you know."
+
+Oh, yes, she was interested in books.
+
+"But there are books and books, you know," went on Uncle Zed. "You like
+story books, no doubt. So do I. There's nothing better than a rattling
+good love story, eh, young lady?"
+
+Mildred hardly knew just how to take this remark, so she did not reply.
+
+"Here's the most wonderful love story ever written." He took from
+the shelf a very ordinary looking volume, called the "Doctrine and
+Covenants." Carlia and Mrs. Trent now joined the other three. They also
+were interested.
+
+"You wouldn't be looking in the 'Doctrine and Covenants' for love
+stories, would you; but here in the revelation on the eternity of
+the marriage covenant we find that men and women, under the proper
+conditions and by the proper authority, may be united as husbands and
+wives, not only for time, but for eternity. Most love stories end when
+the lovers are married; but think of the endlessness of life and love
+under this new and everlasting covenant of marriage--but I mustn't
+preach so early in the evening."
+
+"But we like to hear it, Uncle Zed," said Dorian.
+
+"Indeed, we do," added Mildred. "Tell us more about your books."
+
+"Here is one of my precious volumes--Orson Pratt's works. When I get
+hungry for the solid, soul-satisfying doctrines of the kingdom, I read
+Orson Pratt. Parley Pratt also is good. Here is a book which is nearly
+forgotten, but which contains beautiful presentations of the gospel,
+'Spencer's Letters'. Dorian, look here." He handed the young man a
+small, ancient-looking, leather bound book. "I found it in a second-hand
+store and paid fifteen cents for it. Yes, it's a second edition of
+the 'Doctrine and Covenants,' printed by John Taylor in Nauvoo in 1844.
+The rest of my collection is familiar to you, I am sure. Here is a
+complete set of the 'Contributor' and this is my 'Era' shelf, and here
+are most of the more modern church works. Let us now go back to the
+fire."
+
+After they were again seated, Mildred asked him if he had known Brigham
+Young. She always liked to hear the pioneers talk of their experiences.
+
+"No" replied Uncle Zed, "I never met President Young, but I believe I
+know him as well as many who had that pleasure. I have read everything
+that I could get in print which Brigham Young ever said. I have read
+all his discourses in those volumes. He was not a polished speaker, I
+understand, and he did not often follow a theme; but mixed with the more
+commonplace subjects of irrigation, Indian troubles, etc., which, in his
+particular day had to be spoken of, are some of the most profound gospel
+truths in any language. Gems of thought shine from every page of his
+discourses."
+
+Carlia was nodding in a warm corner. Uncle Zed rambled on reminiscently
+until Mrs. Trent suddenly arose, spoke sharply to Carlia, and lifted the
+basket of picnic on to the table.
+
+"We'll have our refreshments now," she said, "and then we must be going.
+Uncle Zed goes early to bed, and so should we."
+
+The table was spread: roast chicken, brought by Carlia; dainty
+sandwiches, made by Mildred; apple pie from Mrs. Trent's cupboard; a jar
+of apricot preserves, suggested by Dorian. Uncle Zed asked a blessing
+not only on the food, but on the kind hands which had provided it. Then
+they ate heartily, and yet leaving a generous part to be left in Uncle
+Zed's own cupboard.
+
+Then Dorian had a presentation to make. He took from the basket a small
+package, unwrapped it, and handed a book to the man who was seventy-five
+years old.
+
+"I couldn't do much by way of the eats," said Dorian, "so my present is
+this."
+
+"'Drummond's Natural Law in the Spiritual World'" read Uncle Zed. "Why,
+Dorian, this is fine of you. How could you guess my wishes so nicely.
+For a long time, this is just the book I have wanted."
+
+"I'm glad. I thought you'd like it."
+
+"Fine, fine," said the old man, fondling the volume as he would some
+dear object, as indeed, every good book was to him.
+
+Then Mildred got out her violin, and after the proper tuning of the
+strings, she placed it under her shapely chin. She played without music
+some of the simple heart melodies, and then some of the Sunday School
+songs which the company softly accompanied by words.
+
+Carlia poked the log in the grate into a blaze, then slyly turned the
+lamp wick down. When detected and asked why she did that she replied:
+
+"I wanted to make it appear more like a picnic party around a camp fire
+in the hills."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIVE.
+
+
+Dorian's high school days in the city began that fall, a little late
+because he had so many things to set right at home; but he soon made up
+the lost time, for he was a student not afraid of hard work. He walked
+back and forth the three miles. Mrs. Brown offered him a room at her
+large city residence, but he could not accept it because of his daily
+home chores. However, he occasionally called on the Brown's who tried to
+make him feel as much at home as they did at Greenstreet.
+
+Never before were days so perfect to Dorian, never before had he so
+enjoyed the fleeting hours. For the first week or two, he was a little
+shy, but the meeting each morning with boys and girls of his own age and
+mingling with them in their studies and their recreations, soon taught
+him that they were all very much alike, just happy, carefree young
+people, most of them trying to get an education. He soon learned, also,
+that he could easily hold his own in the class work with the brightest
+of them. The teachers, and students also, soon learned to know this.
+Boys came to him for help in problems, and the younger girls chattered
+about him with laughing eyes and tossing curls. What a wonder it was! He
+the simple, plainly-dressed country boy, big and awkward and ugly as he
+thought himself to be, becoming a person of some importance. And so
+the days went all too swiftly by. Contrary to his younger boyhood's
+experience, the closing hour came too soon, when it was time to go home
+to mother and chores and lessons.
+
+And the mother shared the boy's happiness, for she could see the added
+joy of living and working which had come into his life by the added
+opportunities and new environment. He frequently discussed with his
+mother his lessons. She was not well posted in the knowledge derived
+from books, and sometimes she mildly resented this newer learning which
+he brought into the home and seemed to intrude on her old-established
+ideas. For instance, when the cold winter nights came, and Dorian kept
+open his bedroom window, the mother protested that he would "catch his
+death of cold." Night air and drafts are very dangerous, especially if
+let into one's bedroom, she held.
+
+"But, mother, I must have air to breathe," said Dorian, "and what other
+kind of air can I have at night? I might store a little day-air in my
+room, but I would soon exhaust its life-giving qualities at night.
+You know, mother," he went on in the assurance of his newly acquired
+knowledge, "I guess the Lord knew what He was about when He enveloped
+the earth with air which presses down nearly fifteen pounds to the
+square inch so that it might permeate every possible nook and corner of
+the globe." Then he went on to explain the wonderful process of blood
+purification in the lungs, and demonstrated to her that the breath is
+continually throwing off foul matter. He did this by breathing into a
+fruit jar, screwing on the lid for a little while, and then having the
+nose make the test.
+
+"Some bed rooms I've gone into smell just like that," he said.
+
+"Here, mother is a clipping from a magazine. Listen:
+
+"'Of all the marvels of God's workmanship, none is more wondrous than
+the air. Think of our all being bathed in a substance so delicate as to
+be itself unperceived, yet so dense as to be the carriage to our senses
+of messages from the world about us! It is never in our way; it does not
+ask notice; we only know it is there by the good it does us. And this
+exquisitely soft, pure, yielding, unseen being, like a beautiful and
+beneficent fairy, brings us blessings from all around. It has the skill
+to wash our blood clean from all foulness. Its weight keeps us from
+tumbling to pieces. It is a reservoir where the waters lie stored, until
+they fall and gladden the earth. It is a great-coat that softens to us
+the heat of the day, and the cold of the night. It carries sounds to
+our ears and smells to our nostrils. Its movements fill Nature with
+ceaseless change; and without their aid in wafting ships over the sea,
+commerce and civilization would have been scarce possible. It is of all
+wonders the most wonderful.'"
+
+At another time when Dorian had a cold, and consequently, a loss of
+appetite, his mother urged him to eat more, saying that he must have
+strength to throw off his cold.
+
+"What is a cold?" he smilingly asked.
+
+"Why, a cold is--a cold, of course, you silly boy."
+
+"What does it do to the activities of the body?"
+
+"I'm not a doctor; how can I tell."
+
+"All mothers are doctors and nurses; they do a lot of good, and some
+things that are not so good. For instance, why should I eat more when I
+have a cold?" She did not reply, and so he went on: "The body is very
+much like a stove or a furnace; it is burning material all the time.
+Sometimes the clinkers accumulate and stop the draft, both in the human
+as well as the iron stove. When that happens, the sensible thing to do
+is not to throw in more fuel but to clean out the clinkers first."
+
+"Where did you get all that wisdom, Dorian?"
+
+"I got it from my text book on hygiene, and I think it's true because it
+seems so reasonable."
+
+"Well, last night's talk led me to believe that you would become a
+philosopher; now, the trend is more toward the doctor; tomorrow I'll
+think you are studying law."
+
+"Oh, but we are, mother; you ought to hear us in our civil government
+class. We have organized into a Congress of the United States, and we
+are going to make laws."
+
+"You'll be elected President, I suppose."
+
+"I'm one of the candidates."
+
+"Well, my boy" she smiled happily at him, "I hope you will be elected to
+every good thing, and that you will fill every post with honor; and now,
+I would like you to read to me from the 'Lady of the Lake' while I darn
+your stockings. Your father used to read the story to me a long, long
+time ago, and your voice is very much like his when you read."
+
+And thus with school and home and ward duties the winter passed. Spring
+called him again to the fields to which he went with new zeal, for life
+was opening to him in a way which life is in the habit of doing to the
+young of his age. Mildred Brown and her mother were in California. He
+heard from her occasionally by way of postcards, and once she sent him
+one of her sketches of the ocean. Carlia Duke also was not forgotten by
+Mildred. Dorian and Carlia met frequently as neighbors will do, and they
+often spoke of their mutual friend. The harvest was again good that
+fall, and Dorian once more took up his studies at the high school in the
+city. Carlia finished the grades as Dorian completed his second year,
+and the following year Carlia walked with Dorian to the high school.
+That was no great task for the girl, now nearly grown to young
+womanhood, and it was company for both of them. During these walks
+Carlia had many questions to ask about her lessons, and Dorian was
+always pleased to help her.
+
+"I am such a dunce," she would say, "I wish I was as smart as you."
+
+"You must say 'were' when you wish. I were as smart as you," he
+corrected.
+
+"O, yes: I forgot. My, but grammar is hard, especially to a girl
+which--"
+
+"No--a girl who; which refers to objects and animals, who to persons."
+
+Carlia laughed and swung her books by the strap. Dorian was not carrying
+them that day. Sometimes he was absentminded regarding the little
+courtesies.
+
+The snow lay hard packed in the road and it creaked under their feet.
+Carlia's cheeks glowed redder than ever in contact with the keen winter
+air. They walked on in silence for a time.
+
+"Say, Dorian, why do you not go and see Mildred?" asked Carlia, not
+looking at him, but rather at the eastern mountains.
+
+"Why? Is she not well?"
+
+"She is never well now. She looks bad to me."
+
+"When did you see her?"
+
+"Last Saturday. I called at the house, and she asked about you--Poor
+girl!"
+
+"What do you mean by that?"
+
+"You are very smart in some things, but are a stupid dunce in other
+things. Mildred is like an angel both in looks and--everything. I wish I
+was--were half as good."
+
+"But how am I such a dunce, Carlia?"
+
+"In not seeing how much Mildred thinks of you."
+
+"Thinks of me? Mildred?"
+
+"She just loves you."
+
+Carlia still looked straight ahead as though fearful to see the
+agitation she had brought to the young man; but he looked at her, with
+cheeks still aflame. He did not understand Carlia. Why had she said
+that? Was she just teasing him? But she did not look as if she were
+teasing. Silently they walked on to the school house door.
+
+But Dorian could not forget what Carlia had said. All day it intruded
+into his lessons. "She said she loves me" he whispered to his heart
+only. Could it be possible? Even if she did, what final good would come
+of it? The distance between them was still too great, for he was only a
+poor farmer boy. Dear Mildred--his heart did not chide him for thinking
+that--so frail, so weak, so beautiful. What if she--should die! Dorian
+was in a strange state of mind for a number of days. He longed to visit
+the Brown home, yet he could not find excuse to go. He could not talk
+to anybody about what was in his mind and heart, not even to his mother
+with whom he always shared his most hidden thoughts.
+
+One evening he visited Uncle Zed, ostensibly, to talk about a book.
+Uncle Zed was deep in the study of "Natural Law in the Spiritual World"
+and would have launched into a discussion of what he had found, but
+Dorian did not respond; he had other thoughts in mind.
+
+"Uncle Zed," he said, "how can I become something else than a farmer?"
+
+The old man looked questioningly at his young friend. "What's the matter
+with being a farmer?" he asked.
+
+"Well, a farmer doesn't usually amount to much, I mean in the eyes of
+the world. Farmers seem to be in a different class from merchants, for
+example, or from bankers or other more genteel workers."
+
+"Listen to me, Dorian Trent." Uncle Zed laid down his book as if he had
+a serious task before him. "Let me tell you something. If you haven't
+done so before, begin now and thank the Lord that you began life on this
+globe of ours as a farmer's child and boy. Whatever you do or become in
+the future, you have made a good beginning. You have already laid away
+in the way of concepts, we may say, a generous store of nature's riches,
+for you have been in close touch with the earth, and the life which
+teems in soil and air and the waters. Pity the man whose childish eyes
+looked out on nothing but paved streets and brick walls or whose young
+ears heard nothing but the harsh rumble of the city, for his early
+conceptions from which to interpret his later life is artificial and
+therefore largely untrue."
+
+Uncle Zed smiled up into the boy's face as if to ask, Do you get that?
+Dorian would have to have time to assimilate the idea; meanwhile, he had
+another question:
+
+"Uncle Zed, why are there classes among members of our Church?"
+
+"Classes? What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, the rich do not associate with the poor nor the learned with
+the unlearned. I know, of course, that this is the general rule in the
+world, but I think it should be different in the Church."
+
+"Yes; it ought to be and is different. There are no classes such as you
+have in mind in the Church, even though a few unthinking members seem to
+imply it by their actions; but there is no real class distinction in the
+Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, only such that are based on
+the doing of the right and the wrong. Character alone is the standard of
+classification."
+
+"Yes, I see that that should be true."
+
+"It is true. Let me illustrate: The presiding authority in the Church
+is not handed down from father to son, thus fostering an aristocratic
+tendency; also this authority is so wide-spread that anything like a
+"ruling family" would be impossible. In a town where I once lived, the
+owner of the bank and the town blacksmith were called on missions. They
+both were assigned to the same field, and the blacksmith was appointed
+to preside over the banker. The banker submitted willingly to be
+directed in his missionary labors by one who, judged by worldly
+standards, was far beneath him in the social scale. I know a shoemaker
+in the city who is a teacher in the theological class of his ward,
+whose membership consists of merchants, lawyers, doctors, and the like.
+Although he is poor and earns his living by mending shoes, he is greatly
+respected for his goodness and his knowledge of Scriptural subjects and
+doctrine."
+
+"So you think--that a young fellow might--that it would not be wrong--or
+foolish for a poor man to think a lot of--of a rich girl, for instance."
+
+Uncle Zed peered at Dorian over his glasses. The old man took him gently
+by the shoulders. Ah, that's what's back of all this, he thought; but
+what he said was:
+
+"My boy, Emerson said, 'Hitch your wagon to a star,' and I will add,
+never let go, although the rocks in the road may bump you badly. Why,
+there's nothing impossible for a young man like you. You may be rich, if
+you want to; I expect to see you learned; and the Priesthood which you
+have is your assurance, through your diligence and faithfulness, to any
+heights. Yes, my boy; go ahead--love Mildred Brown all you want to;
+she's fine, but not a bit finer than you."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Zed," Dorian somewhat protested; but, nevertheless, he went
+home that evening with his heart singing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIX.
+
+
+Some days later word came to Mrs. Trent that Mildred was very ill. "Call
+on them after school," she said to Dorian, "to see just how she is, and
+ask Mrs. Brown if I can do anything for her."
+
+Dorian did as he was directed. He went around to the back door for fear
+he might disturb the sick girl. Mrs. Brown herself, seeing him coming,
+met him and let him in.
+
+Yes, Mildred was very ill. Mrs. Brown was plainly worried. Could he
+or his mother do anything to help? No; only to lend their faith and
+prayers. Would he come into the sick room to see her for a few minutes?
+Yes, if she desired it.
+
+Dorian followed the mother into the sick room. Mildred lay well propped
+up by pillows in a bed white as snow. She was thinner and paler than
+ever, eyes bigger, hair heavier and more golden. When she saw Dorian,
+she smiled and reached out her hand, letting it lie in the big strong
+one.
+
+"How are you?" she said, very low.
+
+"Well and fine, and how are you?"
+
+She simply shook her head gently and closed her eyes, seeming content to
+touch the strong young manhood beside her. The mother went quietly from
+the room, and all became quite still. Speech was difficult for the sick
+girl, and equally hard for the young man. But he looked freely at the
+angel-like face on the pillow without rebuke from the closed eyes. He
+glanced about the room, beautifully clean and airy. All her books and
+her working material had been carried away as if she were through with
+them for good. In a corner on an easel stood an unfinished copy of
+"Sunset in Marshland." Dorian's eyes rested for a moment on the picture,
+and as he again looked at the girl, he saw a smile pass over the
+marble-like face.
+
+That was all. Presently, he left the room, and without many words, the
+house.
+
+Each day after that Dorian managed to learn of the girl's condition,
+though he did not go into the sick chamber. On the sixth day word came
+to Dorian at school that Mildred was dying. He looked about for Carlia
+to tell her, but she was nowhere to be found. Dorian could not go home.
+Mildred was dying! The one girl--yes, the only one in all the world who
+had looked at him with her heart in the look, was leaving the world, and
+him. Why could she not live, if only for his sake? He sat in the school
+room until all had gone, and he was alone with the janitor. His open
+book was still before him, but he saw not the printed page. Then the
+short winter day closed. Dusk came on. The janitor had finished sweeping
+the room and was ready to leave. Dorian gathered up his books, put on
+his overcoat, and went out. Mildred was dying! Perhaps she was about to
+begin that great journey into the unknown. Would she be afraid? Would
+she not need a strong hand to help her? "Mildred," he whispered.
+
+He walked on slowly up the street toward the Brown's. Darkness came
+on. The light gleamed softly through the closed blinds of the house.
+Everything was very still. He did not try to be admitted, but paced back
+and forth on the other side of the street. Back and forth he went for a
+long time, it seemed. Then the front door opened, and the doctor passed
+out. Mildred must either be better or beyond all help. He wanted to ask
+the doctor, but he could not bring himself to intercept him. The house
+remained quiet. Some of the lights were extinguished. Dorian crossed the
+street. He must find out something. He stood by the gate, not knowing
+what to do. The door opened again, and a woman, evidently a neighbor,
+came out. She saw the young man and stopped.
+
+"Pardon me," said Dorian, "but tell me how Mildred--Miss Brown is?"
+
+"She just died."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The woman went into a nearby house. Dorian moved away, benumbed with the
+despair which sank into his heart at the final setting of his sun. Dead!
+Mildred was dead! He felt the night wind blow cold down the street, and
+he saw the storm clouds scudding along the distant sky. In the deep blue
+directly above him a star shone brightly, but it only reminded him of
+what Uncle Zed had said about hitching to a star; yes, but what if the
+star had suddenly been taken from the sky!
+
+A form of a girl darted across the street toward him. He stopped and saw
+that it was Carlia.
+
+"Dorian" she cried, "how is she?"
+
+"She has just died."
+
+"Dead! O, dear," she wailed.
+
+They stood there under the street light, the girl looking with great
+pity into the face of the young man. She was only a girl, and not a very
+wise girl, but she saw how he suffered, and her heart went out to his
+heart. She took his hand and held it firmly within her warmer grasp; and
+by that simple thing the young man seemed again to get within the reach
+of human sympathy. Then they walked on without speaking, and she led him
+along the streets and on to the road which led to Greenstreet.
+
+"Come on, Dorian, let's go home," she said.
+
+"Yes; let's go home, Carlia."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVEN.
+
+
+The death of Mildred Brown affected Dorian Trent most profoundly. Not
+that he displayed any marked outward signs of his feelings, but his very
+soul was moved to its depths, sometimes as of despair, sometimes as
+of resentment. Why, he asked himself, should God send--he put it this
+way--send to him this beautiful creature who filled his heart so
+completely, why hold her out to him as if inviting him to take her, and
+then suddenly snatch her away out of his life--out of the life of the
+world!
+
+For many days Dorian went about as if in a pained stupor. His mother,
+knowing her boy, tried in a wise way to comfort him; but it was not
+altogether a success. His studies were neglected, and he had thoughts of
+quitting school altogether; but he did not do this. He dragged through
+the few remaining days until spring, when he eagerly went to work on the
+open reaches of the farm, where he was more away from human beings and
+nearer to that something in his heart. He worked long and hard and
+faithfully that spring.
+
+On the upper bank of the canal, where the sagebrush stood untouched,
+Dorian that summer found the first sego blossoms. He had never observed
+them so closely before nor seen their real beauty. How like Mildred they
+were! He gathered a bouquet of them that Saturday afternoon as he went
+home, placed them in a glass of water, and then Sunday afternoon he
+wrapped them in a damp newspaper and took the bouquet with him to town.
+His Sunday trips to the city were usually for the purpose of visiting
+Mildred's grave. The sun shone warm that day from a blue sky as Dorian
+came slowly and reverently to the plot where lay all that was earthly of
+one whom he loved so well. The new headstone gleamed in white marble and
+the young grass stood tender and green. Against the stone lay a bunch of
+withered wild roses. Someone had been there before him that day. Whom
+could it be? Her mother was not in the city, and who else would remember
+the visit of the angel-being who had returned to her eternal home? A
+pang shot through his heart, and he was half tempted to turn without
+placing his own tribute on the grave, then immediately he knew the
+thought was foolish. He took off the wrapping and placed his fresher
+flowers near the more withered ones. Later that summer, he learned
+only incidently that it had been Carlia who had been before him that
+afternoon.
+
+During those days, Carlia kept out of Dorian's way as much as possible.
+She even avoided walking to and from school with him. He was so
+absentminded even with her that she in time came to resent it in her
+feelings. She could not understand that a big, very-much-alive boy
+should have his mind so fixed on a dead girl that he should altogether
+forget there were living ones about, especially one, Carlia Duke.
+
+One evening Dorian met Uncle Zed driving his cow home from the pasture,
+and the old man invited the younger man to walk along with him. Dorian
+always found Uncle Zed's company acceptable.
+
+"Why haven't you come to me with your trouble?" abruptly asked Uncle
+Zed.
+
+Dorian started, then hung his head.
+
+"We never have any unshared secrets, you know, and I may have been able
+to help you."
+
+"I couldn't talk to anybody."
+
+"No; I suppose not."
+
+The cow was placed in the corral, and then Uncle Zed and Dorian sat
+down on a grassy bank. The sun was painting just such a picture of the
+marshlands as Dorian knew so well.
+
+"But I can talk to you" continued the old man as if there had been no
+break in his sentences. "Death, I know, is a strange and terrible thing,
+for youth; when you get as old as I, I hope you will look on death as
+nothing more than a release from mortality, a moving from one sphere to
+another, a step along the eternal line of progress. I suppose that it
+is just as necessary that we pass out of the world by death as that we
+enter it by birth; and I further suppose that the terror with which
+death is vested is for the purpose of helping us to cling to this
+earth-life until our mission here is completed."
+
+Dorian did not speak; his eyes were on the marshlands.
+
+"Imagine, Dorian, this world, just as it is, with all its sin and misery
+and without any death. What would happen? We would all, I fear, become
+so self-centered, so hardened in selfishness that it would be difficult
+for the gentle power of love to reach us; but now there is hardly a
+family that has not one or more of its members on the other side. And
+these absent loved ones are anchors to our souls, tied to us by the
+never-ending cords of love and affection. You, yourself, my boy, never
+have had until now many interests other than those of this life; now
+your interests are broadened to another world, and that's something
+worth while.... Now, come and see me often." They arose, each to go to
+his home.
+
+"I will, Uncle Zed. Thank you for what you have said."
+
+Dorian completed his four years high school. Going to the University
+might come later, but now he was moved by a spirit of activity to do
+bigger things with his farm, and to enlarge it, if possible.
+
+About this time, dry-farming had taken the attention of the farmers
+in his locality, and many of them had procured lands on the sloping
+foothills. Dorian, with a number of other young men had gone up the
+nearby canyon to the low hills of the valley beyond and had taken up
+lands. That first summer Dorian spent much of his time in breaking up
+the land. As timber was not far away, he built himself a one-roomed log
+house and some corrals and outhouses. A mountain stream rushed by the
+lower corner of his farm, and its wild music sang him to sleep when he
+spent the night in the hills. He furnished his "summer residence" with a
+few simple necessities so that he could live there a number of days at a
+time. He minded not the solitude. The wild odorous verdure of the hills,
+the cool breezes, the song of the distant streams, the call of the
+birds, all seemed to harmonize with his own feelings at that time. He
+had a good kerosene lamp, and at nights when he was not too tired, he
+read. On his visits to the city he usually had an eye for book bargains,
+and thus his board shelving came to be quite a little library. He had no
+method in his collecting, no course of connected study. At one time he
+would leisurely read one of Howell's easy-going novels, at another time
+he would be kept wide-eyed until midnight with "Lorna Doone" or with
+"Ben Hur."
+
+Dorian had heard of Darwin, of Huxley, of Ingersol and of Tom Payne, but
+he had never read anything but selections from these writers. Now he
+obtained a copy of the "Origin of Species" and a book by Ingersol.
+These he read carefully. Darwin's book was rather heavy, but by close
+application, the young student thought he learned what the scientist was
+"driving at." This book disturbed him somewhat. There seemed to be much
+truth in it, but also some things which did not agree with what he had
+been taught to be true. In this he realized his lack of knowledge. More
+knowledge must clear up any seeming contradiction, he reasoned. Ingersol
+was more readable, snappy, witty, hitting the Bible in a fearless way.
+Dorian had no doubt that all of Ingersol's points could be answered, as
+he himself could refute many of them.
+
+One day as Dorian was browsing as usual in a book store he came across a
+cheap copy of Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World," the book
+which he had given Uncle Zed. As he wanted a copy himself, he purchased
+this one and took it with him to his cabin in the hills. Immediately he
+was interested in the book, and he filled its pages with copious notes
+and marks of emphasis.
+
+It was Sunday afternoon in mid-summer at Greenstreet. The wheat again
+stood in the shock. The alfalfa waved in scented purple. Dorian and the
+old philosopher of Greenstreet sat in the shade of the cottonwood and
+looked out on the farm scene as they talked.
+
+"I've also been reading 'Natural Law in the Spiritual World'" said
+Dorian.
+
+"Good," replied Uncle Zed. "I was going to lend you my copy, so we could
+talk about it intelligently. What message have you found in it for you?"
+
+"Message?"
+
+"Yes; every book should have a message and should deliver it to the
+reader. Drummond's book thundered a message to me, but it came too late.
+I am old, and past the time when I could heed any such call. If I were
+young, if I--if I were like you, Dorian, you who have life before you,
+what might not I do, with the help of the Lord!"
+
+"What, Uncle Zed?"
+
+"Drummond was a clergyman and a professor of natural history and
+science. As such, he was a student of the laws of God as revealed both
+through the written word of inspiration and in nature about him. In his
+book he aims to prove that the spiritual world is controlled by the same
+laws which operate in the natural wold; and as you perhaps discovered in
+your reading, he comes very nearly proving his claim. He presents some
+wonderfully interesting analogies. Of course, much of his theology is
+of the perverted sectarian kind, and therein lies the weakness of his
+argument. If he had had the clear truth of the restored gospel, how much
+brighter would his facts have been illumed, how much stronger would have
+been his deductions. Why, even I with my limited scientific knowledge
+can set him right in many places. So I say, if I were but a young man
+like you, do you know what I'd do?"
+
+"What?" again questioned Dorian.
+
+"I would devote all my mind, might and strength to the learning of
+truth, of scientific truth. I would cover every branch of science
+possible in the limits of one life, especially the natural sciences.
+Then with my knowledge of the gospel and the lamp of inspiration which
+the priesthood entitles me to, I could harmonize the great body of truth
+coming from any and every source. Dorian, what a life work that would
+be!"
+
+The old man looked smilingly at his companion with a strange, knowing
+intimation. He spoke of himself, but he meant that Dorian should take
+the suggestion. Dorian could pick up his beautiful dream and make it
+come true. Dorian, with life and strength, and a desire for study and
+truth could accomplish this very desirable end. The old man placed his
+hand lovingly on the young man's shoulder, as he continued:
+
+"You are the man to do this, Dorian--you, not I."
+
+"I--Uncle Zed, do you believe that?"
+
+"I do. Listen, my boy. I see you looking over the harvested field. It is
+a fine work you are doing; thousands can plant and harvest year after
+year; but few there are who can and will devote their lives to the
+planting of faith and the nourishing and the establishing of faith in
+the hearts of men; and that's what we need now to properly answer the
+Lord's cry that when He cometh shall He find faith on the earth?... Let
+the call come to you--but there, in the Lord's own good time. Come into
+the house. I have a new book to show you, also I have a very delicious
+cherry pie."
+
+They went into the house together, where they inspected both book and
+pie. Dorian weakly objected to the generous portion which was cut for
+him, but Uncle Zed explained that the process of division not only
+increased the number of pieces of pie, but also added to its tastiness.
+Dorian led his companion to talk about himself.
+
+"Yes," he said in reply to a question, "I was born in England and
+brought up in the Wesleyan Methodist church. I was a great reader ever
+since I can remember. I read not only history and some fiction, but
+even the dry-as-dust sermons were interesting to me. But I never seemed
+satisfied. The more I read, the deeper grew the mysteries of life.
+Nowhere did I find a clear, comprehendible statement of what I, an
+entity with countless other entities, was doing here. Where had I come
+from, where was I going? I visited the churches within my reach. I heard
+the preachers and read the philosophers to obtain, if possible, a clue
+to the mystery of life. I studied, and prayed, and went about seeking,
+but never finding."
+
+"But you did find the truth at last?"
+
+"Yes; thank the Lord. I found the opening in the darkness, and it came
+through the simple, humble, and not very learned elders of the Church of
+Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints."
+
+"What is the principle trouble with all this learning of the world that
+it does not lead to the truth?"
+
+"The world's ignorance of God. Eternal life consists in knowing the only
+true God, and the world does not know Him; therefore, all their systems
+of religion are founded on a false basis. That is the reason there is so
+much uncertainty and floundering when philosophers and religionists try
+to make a known truth agree with their conceptions of God."
+
+"Explain that a little more to me, Uncle Zed."
+
+"Some claim that Nature is God, others that God only manifests Himself
+through nature. I read this latter idea many places. For instance, Pope
+says:
+
+  "'All are but parts of one stupendous whole
+  Whose body nature is, and God the soul.'
+
+"Also Tennyson:
+
+  'The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and plains
+  Are not these, O soul, the vision of Him who reigns?
+  Speak to Him there, for He hears, and spirit with spirit can meet,
+  Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.'
+
+"This, no doubt, is beautiful poetry, but it tells only a part of the
+truth. God, by His Spirit is, and can be all the poet here describes.
+'Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy
+presence?' exclaims the Psalmist. 'In him we live and move and have our
+being' declares Paul; but these statements alone are not enough for our
+proper understanding of the subject. We try to see God behind the veil
+of nature, in sun and wind and flower and fruit; but there is something
+lacking. Try now to formulate some distinct idea of what this universal
+and almighty force back of nature is. We are told that this force is
+God, whom we must love and worship and serve. We want the feeling
+of nearness to satisfy the craving for love and protection, but our
+intellect and our reason must also be somewhat satisfied. We must
+have some object on which to rest--we cannot always be floating about
+unsuspended in time and space.
+
+"Then there is some further confusion: Christian philosophers have tried
+to personify this 'soul of the universe,' for God, they say, thinks and
+feels and knows. They try to get a personality without form or bounds or
+dimentions, but it all ends in vagueness and confusion. As for me, and I
+think I am not so different from other men,--for me to be able to think
+of God, I must have some image of Him. I cannot think of love or good,
+or power or glory in the abstract. These must be expressed to me by
+symbols at least as eminating from, or inherent in, or exercised by some
+person. Love cannot exist alone: there must be one who loves and one
+who is being loved. God is love. That means to me that a person, a
+beautiful, glorified, allwise, benevolent being exercises that divine
+principle which is shed forth on you and me.
+
+"Now, if the world would only leave all this metaphysical meandering and
+come back to the simple truth, what a clearing of mists there would
+be! All their philosophies would have a solid basis if they would only
+accept the truth revealed anew to us through the Prophet Joseph Smith
+that God is one of a race, the foremost and first, if you wish it, but
+still one of a race of beings who inhabit the universe; that we humans
+are His children, begotten of Him in the pre-mortal world in His image;
+that we are on the upward path through eternity, following Him who has
+gone before and has marked out the way; that if we follow, we shall
+eventually arrive at the point where He now is. Ignorance of these
+things is what I understand to be ignorance of God."
+
+"In England I lost my wife and two children. The gospel came to me
+shortly after, I am sure, to comfort me in the depths of my despair. Not
+one church on earth that I knew of, Catholic or Protestant, would hold
+out any hope of my ever being reunited with wife and children as such.
+There is no family life in heaven, they teach. At that time I went about
+listening to the preachers, and I delved into books. I made extensive
+copyings in my note books. I have them yet, and some day when you are
+interested I will show them to you."
+
+"I am interested now," said Dorian.
+
+"But I'm not going to talk to you longer on this theme, even though it
+is Sunday and time for sermonizing. I'm going to meeting, where you also
+ought to go. You are not attending as regularly as you should."
+
+"No, but I've been very busy."
+
+"No excuse that. There is danger in remaining away too long from the
+established sources of spiritual inspiration and uplift, especially when
+one is reading Ingersol and Tom Paine. I have no fault to find with your
+ambition to get ahead in the world, but with it 'remember thy creator in
+the days of thy youth.' Are you neglecting your mother?"
+
+"No; I think not, Uncle Zed; but what do you mean about mother?"
+
+"You are all she has. Are you making her days happy by your personal
+care and presence. Are you giving of yourself to her?"
+
+"Well, perhaps I am not so considerate as I might be; I am away quite a
+lot; thank you for calling my attention to it."
+
+"Are you neglecting anybody else?"
+
+"Not that I know."
+
+"Good. Now I must clear away my table and get ready for meeting. You'll
+go with me."
+
+"I can't. I haven't my Sunday clothes."
+
+"The Lord will not look at your clothes."
+
+"No; but a lot of people will."
+
+"We go to meeting to worship the Lord, not to be looked at by others. Go
+home and put on your Sunday best; there is time." The old man was busy
+between table and cupboard as he talked. "Have you seen Carlia lately?"
+
+"No," replied Dorian.
+
+"The last time she was here I thought she was a little peaked in the
+face, for you know she has such a rosy, roly-poly one."
+
+"Is that so? She comes to see you, then?"
+
+"Yes; oftener than you do."
+
+"I never meet her here."
+
+"No; she manages that, I surmise."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I tell you Carlia is a lovely girl," continued Uncle Zed, ignoring his
+direct question. "Have you ever eaten butter she has churned?"
+
+"Not that I know."
+
+"She used to bring me a nice pat when my cow was dry; and bread of her
+own baking too, about as good as I myself make." He chuckled as he wiped
+the last dish and placed it neatly in the rack.
+
+Dorian arose to go. "Remember what I have told you this evening" said
+Uncle Zed. The old man from behind his window watched his young friend
+walk leisurely along the road until he reached the cross-lots path which
+led to the Duke home. Here he saw him pause, go on again, pause once
+more, then jump lightly over the fence and strike out across the field.
+Uncle Zed then went on finishing his preparations for meeting.
+
+As Dorian walked across the field, he did think of what Uncle Zed had
+said to him. Dorian had built his castles, had dreamed his dreams; but
+never before had the ideas presented to him by Uncle Zed that afternoon
+ever entered in them. The good old man had seemed so eager to pass on
+to the young man an unfulfilled work, yes, a high, noble work. Dorian
+caught a glimpse of the greatness of it and the glory of it that
+afternoon, and his soul was thrilled. Was he equal to such a task?... He
+had wanted to become a successful farmer, then his vision had gone on
+to the teaching profession; but beyond that he had not ventured. He was
+already well on the way to make a success of his farms. He liked the
+work. He could with pleasure be a farmer all his life. But should a
+man's business be all of life? Dorian realized, not of course in its
+fuller meaning, that the accumulating of worldly riches was only a means
+to the accomplishing of other and greater ends of life; and here was
+before him something worthy of any man's best endeavors. Here was a
+life's work which at its close would mean something to him and to the
+world. With these thoughts in his mind he stepped up to the rear of the
+Duke place where he saw someone in the corral with the cows, busy with
+her milking.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHT.
+
+
+"Hello, Carlia", greeted Dorian as he stopped at the yard and stood
+leaning against the fence.
+
+Carlia was just finishing milking a cow. As she straightened, with a
+three-legged stool in one hand and a foaming milk pail in the other, she
+looked toward Dorian. "O, is that you? You scared me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"A stranger coming so suddenly."
+
+The young man laughed. "Nearly through?" he asked.
+
+"Just one more--Brindle, the kickey one."
+
+"Aren't you afraid of her?"
+
+Carlia laughed scornfully. The girl had beautiful white teeth. Her red
+cheeks were redder than ever. Her dark hair coiled closely about her
+shapely head. And she had grown tall, too, the young man noticed, though
+she was still plump and round-limbed.
+
+"My buckets are full, and I'll have to take them to the house before I
+can finish," she said. "You stay here until I come back--if you want
+to."
+
+"I don't want to--here, let me carry them." He took the pails from her
+hand, and they went to the house together.
+
+The milk was carried into the kitchen where Mrs. Duke was busy with pots
+and pans. Mr. Duke was before the mirror, giving the finishing touches
+to his hair. He was dressed for meeting. As he heard rather than saw his
+daughter enter, he asked:
+
+"Carlia, have you swilled the pigs?"
+
+"Not yet," she replied.
+
+"Well, don't forget--and say, you'd better give a little new milk to the
+calf. It's not getting along as well as it should--and, if you have time
+before meetin', throw a little hay to the horses."
+
+"All right, father, I'll see to all of it. As I'm not going to meeting,
+I'll have plenty of time."
+
+"Not goin'?" He turned, hair brush in hand, and saw Dorian. "Hello,
+Dorian," he greeted, "you're quite a stranger. You'll come along to
+meetin' with Carlia, I suppose. We will be late if we don't hurry."
+
+"Father, I told you I'm not going. I--" she hesitated as if not quite
+certain of her words--"I had to chase all over the hills for the cows,
+and I'm not through milking yet. Then there are the pigs and the calves
+and the horses to feed. But I'll not keep Dorian. You had better go with
+father"--this to the young man who still stood by the kitchen door.
+
+"Leave the rest of the chores until after meetin'," suggested the
+father, somewhat reluctantly, to be sure, but in concession to Dorian's
+presence.
+
+"I can't go to meeting either," said Dorian. "I'm not dressed for it, so
+I'll keep Carlia company, if you or she have no objections."
+
+"Well, I've no objections, but I don't like you to miss your meetin's."
+
+"We'll be good," laughed Dorian.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Come, father," the mother prompted, "you know I can't walk fast in this
+hot weather."
+
+Carlia got another pail, and she and Dorian went back to the corral.
+
+"Let me milk," offered Dorian.
+
+"No; you're strange, and she'd kick you over the fence."
+
+"O, I guess not," he remarked; but he let the girl finish her milking.
+He again carried the milk back; he also took the "slop" to the pigs and
+threw the hay to the horses, while the girl gave the new milk to the
+butting calf; then back to the house where they strained the milk. Then
+the young man was sent into the front room while the girl changed from
+work to Sunday attire.
+
+The front room was very hot and uncomfortable. The young man looked
+about on the familiar scene. There were the same straight-backed chairs,
+the same homemade carpet, more faded and threadbare than ever, the
+same ugly enlarged photographs within their massive frames which the
+enterprising agent had sold to Mrs. Duke. There was the same lack of
+books or music or anything pretty or refined; and as Dorian stood and
+looked about, there came to him more forcibly than ever the barrenness
+of the room and of the house in general. True, his own home was very
+humble, and yet there was an air of comfort and refinement about it. The
+Duke home had always impressed him as being cold and cheerless and ugly.
+There were no protecting porches, no lawn, no flowers, and the barn yard
+had crept close up to the house. It was a place to work. The eating and
+the sleeping were provided, so that work could be done, farm and kitchen
+work with their dirt and litter. The father and the mother and the
+daughter were slaves to work. Only in work did the parents companion
+with the daughter. The visitors to the house were mostly those who came
+to talk about cattle and crops and irrigation.
+
+As a child, Carlia was naturally cheerful and loving; but her sordid
+environment seemed to be crushing her. At times she struggled to get out
+from under; but there seemed no way, so she gradually gave in to
+the inevitable. She became resentful and sarcastic. Her black eyes
+frequently flashed in scorn and anger. As she grew in physical
+strength and beauty, these unfortunate traits of character became more
+pronounced. The budding womanhood which should have been carefully
+nurtured by the right kind of home and neighborhood was often left to
+develop in wild and undirected ways. Dorian Trent as he stood in that
+front room awaiting her had only a dim conception of all this.
+
+Carlia came in while he was yet standing. She had on a white dress and
+had placed a red rose in her hair.
+
+"O, say, Carlia!" exclaimed Dorian at sight of her.
+
+"What's the matter?" she asked.
+
+"Here you go dolling up, and look at me."
+
+"You're all right. Open the door, it's terribly stuffy in here."
+
+Dorian opened the tightly stuck door. Then he turned and stood looking
+at the girl before him. It seemed to him that he had never seen her so
+grown-up and so beautiful.
+
+"Say, Carlia, when did you grow up?" he asked.
+
+"While you have been away growing up too."
+
+"It's the long dress, isn't it?"
+
+"And milking cows and feeding pigs and pitching hay." She gave a toss to
+her head and held out her roughened red hands as proof of her assertion.
+He stepped closer to her as if to examine them more carefully, but she
+swiftly hid them behind her back. The rose, loosened from the tossing
+head, fell to the floor, and Dorian picked it up. He sniffed at it then
+handed it to her.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked.
+
+She reddened. "None of your--Say, sit down, can't you."
+
+Dorian seated himself on the sofa and invited her to sit by him, but she
+took a chair by the table.
+
+"You're not very neighborly," he said.
+
+"As neighborly as you are," she retorted.
+
+"What's the matter with you, Carlia?"
+
+"Nothing the matter with me. I'm the same; only I must have grown up, as
+you say."
+
+A sound as of someone driving up the road came to them through the
+open door. Carlia nervously arose and listened. She appeared to be
+frightened, as she looked out to the road without wanting to be seen. A
+light wagon rattled by, and the girl, somewhat relieved, went back to
+her chair.
+
+"Isn't it warm in here?" she asked.
+
+"It's warm everywhere."
+
+"I can't stay here. Let's go out--for a walk."
+
+"All right--come on."
+
+They closed the door, and went out at the rear. He led the way around to
+the front, but Carlia objected.
+
+"Let's go down by the field," she said. "The road is dusty."
+
+The day was closing with a clear sky. A Sunday calm rested over meadow
+and field, as the two strolled down by the ripening wheat. The girl
+seemed uneasy until the house was well out of sight. Then she seated
+herself on a grassy bank by the willows.
+
+"I'm tired," she said with a sigh of relief.
+
+Dorian looked at her with curious eyes. Carlia, grown up, was more of a
+puzzle than ever.
+
+"You are working too hard," he ventured.
+
+"Hard work won't kill anybody--but it's the other things."
+
+"What other things?"
+
+"The grind, the eternal grind--the dreary sameness of every day."
+
+"You did not finish the high school. Why did you quit?"
+
+"I had to, to save mother. Mother was not only doing her usual house
+work, but nearly all the outside choring besides. Father was away most
+of the time on his dry farm too, and he's blind to the work at home. He
+seems to think that the only real work is the plowing and the watering
+and the harvesting, and he would have let mother go on killing herself.
+Gee, these men!" The girl viciously dug the heel of her shoe into the
+sod.
+
+"I'm sorry you had to quit school, Carlia."
+
+"Sorry? I wanted to keep on more than I ever wanted anything in my life;
+but--"
+
+"But I admire you for coming to the rescue of your mother. That was fine
+of you."
+
+"I'm glad I can do some fine thing."
+
+Dorian had been standing. He now seated himself on the bank beside
+her. The world about them was very still as they sat for a few moments
+without speaking.
+
+"Listen," said he, "I believe Uncle Zed is preaching. The meeting house
+windows are wide open, for a wonder.
+
+"He can preach," she remarked.
+
+"He told me you visit him frequently."
+
+"I do. He's the grandest man, and I like to talk to him."
+
+"So do I. I had quite a visit with him this afternoon. I rather fooled
+him, I guess."
+
+"How?"
+
+"He told me to go home and change my clothes, and then go to meeting;
+but I came here instead."
+
+"Why did you do that?"
+
+"To see you, of course."
+
+"Pooh, as if I was anything to look at."
+
+"Well, you are, Carlia," and his eyes rested steadily on her to prove
+his contention. "Why didn't you want to go to meeting this evening?"
+
+"You heard me tell father."
+
+"That wasn't the whole truth. I was not the reason because you had
+decided not to go before I came."
+
+"Well--how do you know that? but, anyway, it's none of your business,
+where I go, is it?" She made an effort to stare him out of countenance,
+but it ended in lowered head and eyes.
+
+"Carlia! No, of course, it isn't. Excuse me for asking."
+
+There was another period of silence wherein Dorian again wondered at the
+girl's strange behavior. Was he annoying her? Perhaps she did not care
+to have him paying his crude attentions to her; and yet--
+
+"Tell me about your dry farm," she said.
+
+"I've already plowed eighty acres," he informed her. "The land is rich,
+and I expect to raise a big crop next year. I've quite a cosy house, up
+there, not far from the creek. The summer evenings are lovely and cool.
+I can't get mother to stay over night. I wish you would come and go with
+her, and stay a few days."
+
+"How could I stay away from home that long? The heavens would fall."
+
+"Well, that might help some. But, honestly, Carlia, you ought to get
+away from this grind a little. It's telling on you. Don't you ever get
+into the city?"
+
+"Sometimes Saturday afternoons to deliver butter and eggs."
+
+"Well, some Saturday we'll go to see that moving picture show that's
+recently started in town. They say it's wonderful. I've never been.
+We'll go together. What do you say?"
+
+"I would like to."
+
+"Let's move on. Meeting is out, and the folks are coming home."
+
+They walked slowly back to the house. Mr. and Mrs. Duke soon arrived and
+told of the splendid meeting they had had.
+
+"Uncle Zed spoke," said Mr. Duke, "and he did well, as usual. He's a
+regular Orson Pratt."
+
+"The people do not know it," added Dorian; "perhaps their children or
+their children's children will."
+
+"Well, what have you two been doing?" enquired the father of Carlia.
+
+"We've just been taking a walk," answered Dorian. "Will it be alright
+if Carlia and I go to the new moving picture theatre in town some
+Saturday?"
+
+Neither parent made any objection. They were, in fact, glad to have this
+neighbor boy show some interest in their daughter.
+
+"Your mother was at meeting," said Mrs. Duke; "and she was asking about
+you."
+
+"Yes; I've neglected her all afternoon; so I must be off. Good night
+folks."
+
+Carlia went with him to the gate, slipping her arm into his and
+snuggling closely as if to get the protection of good comradship. The
+movement was not lost on Dorian, but he lingered only for a moment.
+
+"Goodnight, Carlia; remember, some Saturday."
+
+"I'll not forget. Goodnight" she looked furtively up and down the road,
+then sped back into the house.
+
+Dorian walked on in the darkening evening. A block or so down the road
+he came on to an automobile. No one in Greenstreet owned one of
+these machines as yet, and there were but few in the city. As Dorian
+approached, he saw a young man working with the machinery under the
+lifted hood.
+
+"Hello," greeted Dorian, "what's the trouble?"
+
+"Damned if I know. Been stalled here for an hour." The speaker
+straightened from his work. His hands were grimy, and the sweat was
+running down his red and angry face. He held tightly the stump of a
+cigarette between his lips.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't help you," said Dorian, "but I don't know the first
+thing about an automobile."
+
+"Well, I thought I knew a lot, but this gets me." He swore again, as if
+to impress Dorian with the true condition of his feelings. Then he
+went at the machinery again with pliers and wrenches, after which he
+vigorously turned the crank. The engine started with a wheeze and then a
+roar. The driver leaped into the car and brought the racing engine to a
+smoother running. "The cursed thing" he remarked, "why couldn't it have
+done that an hour ago. O, say, excuse me, have you just been at the
+house up the road?"
+
+"The Duke house? yes."
+
+"Is the old man--is Mr. Duke at home?"
+
+"Yes; he's at home."
+
+"Thank you." The car moved slowly up the road until it reached the Duke
+gate where it stopped; but only for a moment, for it turned and sped
+with increasing hurry along the road leading to the city.
+
+Dorian stood and watched it until its red light disappeared. He wondered
+why the stranger wanted to know why Mr. Duke was at home, then on
+learning that he was, why he turned about as if he had no business with
+him.
+
+Later, Dorian learned the reason.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINE.
+
+
+Dorian was twenty-one years old, and his mother had planned a little
+party in honor of the event. The invited guests were Uncle Zed, Bishop
+Johnson and wife, the teacher of the district school, and Carlia Duke.
+These arrived during the dusk of the evening, all but Carlia. They
+lingered on the cool lawn under the colored glow of the Chinese
+lanterns.
+
+Mrs. Trent realized that it would be useless to make the party a
+surprise, for she had to have Dorian's help in hanging out the lanterns,
+and he would necessarily see the unusual activity in front room and
+kitchen. Moreover, Dorian, unlike Uncle Zed, had not lost track of his
+birthdays, and especially this one which would make him a full-fledged
+citizen of these United States.
+
+The little party chatted on general topics for some time until Mrs.
+Trent, in big white apron, announced that supper was ready, and would
+they all come right in. Mrs. Trent always served her refreshments at the
+regular supper time and not near midnight, for she claimed that people
+of regular habits, which her guests were, are much better off by not
+having those habits broken into.
+
+"Are we all here?" she asked, scanning them as they passed in. "All but
+Carlia," she announced. "Where's Carlia?"
+
+No one knew. Someone proffered the explanation that she was usually late
+as she had so many chores to do, at which the Bishop's wife shook her
+head knowingly, but said nothing.
+
+"Well, she'll be along presently," said Mrs. Trent. "Sit down all of
+you. Bishop, will you ask the blessing?"
+
+The hostess, waitress, and cook all combined in the capable person of
+Mrs. Trent, sat at the table with her party. Everything which was to be
+served was on the table in plain sight, so that all could nicely guage
+their eating to various dishes. When all were well served and the eating
+was well under way, Mrs. Trent said:
+
+"Brothers and sisters, this is Dorian's birthday party. He has been a
+mighty good boy, and so--"
+
+"Mother," interrupted the young man.
+
+"Now, you never mind--you be still. Dorian is a good boy, and I want all
+of you to know it."
+
+"We all do, Sister Trent," said the Bishop; "and it is a good thing to
+sometimes tell a person of his worthiness to his face."
+
+"But if we say more, he'll be uncomfortable," remarked the mother, "so
+we had better change the subject. The crops are growing, the weather is
+fine, and the neighbors are all right. That disposes of the chief
+topics of conversation, and will give Uncle Zed a chance. He always has
+something worth listening to, if not up his sleeve, then in his white
+old head. But do not hurry, Uncle Zed; get through with your supper."
+
+The old man was a light eater, so he finished before the others. He
+looked smilingly about him, noting that those present were eager to
+listen. He took from his pocket a number of slips of paper and placed
+them on the table beside his plate. Then he began to talk, the others
+leisurely finishing their dessert.
+
+"The other evening," he said, "Dorian and I had a conversation which
+interested us very much, and I think it would interest all of us here.
+I was telling him my experience in my search for God and the plan of
+salvation, and I promised him I would read to him some of the things I
+found. Here is a definition of God which did not help me very much." He
+picked up one of the slips of paper and read: "'God is the integrated
+harmony of all potentialities of good in every actual and possible
+rational agent.' What do you think of that?"
+
+The listeners knitted their brows, but no one spoke. Uncle Zed
+continued: "Well, here is a little more. Perhaps this will clear it up:
+'The greatest of selves, the ultimate Self of the universe, is God....
+My God is my deeper self and yours too. He is the self of the universe,
+and knows all about it.... By Deity we mean the all-controling
+consciousness of the universe, as well as the unfathomable, all
+unknowable, and unknowable abyss of being beyond'."
+
+Uncle Zed carefully folded his papers and placed them back in his
+pocket. He looked about him, but his friends appeared as if they had had
+a volley of Greek fired at them. "Well" he said, "why don't some of you
+say something?"
+
+"Please pass the pickles," responded Mrs. Trent.
+
+When the merriment had ceased, uncle Zed continued: "There is some truth
+in these definitions. God is all that which they try to express, and
+vastly more. The trouble is these men talk about the attributes of God,
+and confound these with the being and personality of the Great Parent.
+I may describe the scent of the rose, but that does not define the rose
+itself. I cannot separate the rose from its color or form or odor, any
+more than I can divorce music from the instrument. These vague and
+incomplete definitions have had much to do with the unbelief in the
+world. Tom Paine wrote a book which he called the 'Age of Reason' on the
+premise that reason does away with God. Isn't that it, Dorian?"
+
+"All agnostic writers seem to think that there is no reason in religion,
+and at times they come pretty near proving it too," replied Dorian.
+
+"That is because they base their arguments on the religions of the
+world; but the restored gospel of Jesus Christ rests largely on reason.
+Why, I can prove, contrary to the generally accepted opinion, by reason
+alone that there must be a God."
+
+"We shall be glad to hear it," said the school teacher. The eating was
+about over, and so they all sat and listened attentively.
+
+"We do not need to quote a word of scripture," continued Uncle Zed. "All
+we need to know is a little of the world about us, a little of the race
+and its history, and a little of the other worlds out in space, all of
+which is open to anybody who will seek it. The rest is simply a little
+connected thought. Reason tells me that there can be no limits to time
+or space or intelligence. Time always has been, there can be no end to
+space, and intelligence cannot create itself. Now, with limitless time
+and space and intelligence to work with, what have we? The human mind,
+being limited, cannot grasp the limitless; therefore, we must make
+arbitrary points of beginning and ending. Now, let us project our
+thought as far back into duration as we can--count the periods by any
+thinkable measurements, years, centuries, ages, aeons, anything you
+please that will help. Have we arrived at a point when there is no
+world, no life, no intelligence? Certainly not. Somewhere in space, all
+that we see here and now will be seen to exist. Go back from this point
+to a previous period, and then count back as far as you wish; there is
+yet time and space and intelligence.
+
+"There is an eternal law of progress which holds good always and
+everywhere. It has been operating all through the ages of the past. Now,
+let us take one of these Intelligences away back in the far distance
+past and place him in the path of progress so that the eternal law of
+growth and advancement will operate on him. I care not whether you apply
+the result to Intelligences as individuals or as the race. Given time
+enough, this endless and eternal advancement must result in a state of
+perfection that those who attain to it may with truth and propriety be
+called Gods. Therefore, there must be a God, yes, many Gods living and
+reigning throughout the limitless regions of glorified space.
+
+"Here is corroborative evidence: I read in the Doctrine and Covenants,
+Section 88: 'All kingdoms have a law given; and there are many kingdoms;
+for there is no space in the which there is no kingdom; and there is
+no kingdom in which there is no space, either a greater or a lesser
+kingdom. And unto every kingdom is given a law; and unto every law there
+are certain bounds also and conditions.'
+
+"There is a hymn in our hymn book in which W.W. Phelps expresses this
+idea beautifully. Let me read it:
+
+  'If you could hie to Kolob,
+    In the twinkling of an eye,
+  And then continue onward,
+    With that same speed to fly.
+
+  'Do you think that you could ever,
+    Through all eternity,
+  Find out the generation
+    Where Gods began to be?
+
+  'Or see the grand beginning
+    Where space did not extend?
+  Or view the last creation,
+    Where Gods and matter end?
+
+  'Methinks the Spirit whispers:
+    No man has found "pure space,"
+  Nor seen the outside curtains,
+    Where nothing has a place.
+
+  'The works of God continue,
+    And worlds and lives abound;
+  Improvement and progression
+    Have one eternal round.
+
+  'There is no end to matter,
+    There is no end to space,
+  There is no end to spirit,
+    There is no end to race.
+
+  'There is no end to virtue,
+    There is no end to might,
+  There is no end to wisdom,
+    There is no end to light.
+
+  'There is no end to union,
+    There is no end to youth,
+  There is no end to priesthood,
+    There is no end to truth.
+
+  'There is no end to glory,
+    There is no end to love,
+  There is no end to being,
+    Grim death reigns not above.'
+
+"The Latter-day Saints have been adversely criticized for holding out
+such astounding hopes for the future of the human race; but let
+us reason a little more, beginning nearer home. What has the race
+accomplished, even within the short span of our own recollection? Man is
+fast conquering the forces of nature about him, and making these forces
+to serve him. Now, we must remember that duration extends ahead of us in
+the same limitless way in which it reaches back. Give, then, the race
+today all the time necessary, what cannot it accomplish? Apply it again
+either to an individual or to the race, in time, some would attain to
+what we conceive of as perfection, and the term by which such beings are
+known to us is God. I can see no other logical conclusion."
+
+The chairs were now pushed back, and Mrs. Trent threw a cloth over the
+table just as it stood, explaining that she would not take the time from
+her company to devote to the dishes. She invited them into Dorian's
+little room, much to that young man's uneasiness.
+
+His mother had tidied the room, so it was presentable. His picture,
+"Sunset in Marshland" had been lowered a little on the wall, and
+directly over it hung a photograph of Mildred Brown. To Dorian's
+questioning look, Mrs. Trent explained, that Mrs. Brown had sent it just
+the other day. Dorian looked closely at the beautiful picture, and a
+strange feeling came over him. Had Mildred gone on in this eternal
+course of progress of which Uncle Zed had been speaking? Was she still
+away ahead of him? Would he ever reach her?
+
+On his study table were a number of books, birthday presents. One was
+from Uncle Zed's precious store, and one--What? He picked it up--"David
+Copperfield." He opened the beautiful volume and read on the fly leaf:
+"From Carlia, to make up a little for your loss." He remembered now that
+Carlia, some time before, had asked him what books were in the package
+which had gone down the canal at the time when he had pulled her out of
+the water. Carlia had not forgotten; and she was not here; the supper
+was over, and it was getting late. Why had she not come?
+
+The party broke up early, as it was a busy season with them all. Dorian
+walked home with Uncle Zed, then he had a mind to run over to Carlia's.
+He could not forget about her absence nor about the present she had
+sent. He had never read the story, and he would like to read it to
+Carlia. She had very little time, he realized, which was all the more
+reason for his making time to read it to her.
+
+As every country boy will, at every opportunity, so Dorian cut crosslots
+to his objective. He now leaped the fence, and struck off through the
+meadow up into the corn field. Mr. Duke had a big, fine field that
+season, the growing corn already reaching to his shoulder. The night was
+dark, save for the twinkling stars in the clear sky; it was still, save
+for the soft rustling of the corn in the breeze.
+
+Dorian caught sight of a light as of a lantern up by the ditch from
+which the water for irrigating was turned into the rows of corn and
+potatoes. He stopped and listened. A tool grated in the gravelly soil.
+Mr. Duke was no doubt using his night turn at the water on his corn
+instead of turning it on the hay-land as was the custom. He would
+inquire of him about Carlia.
+
+As he approached the light, the scraping ceased, and he saw a dark
+figure dart into the shelter of the tall corn. When he reached the
+lantern, he found a hoe lying in the furrow where the water should have
+been running. No man irrigates with a hoe; that's a woman's tool. Ah,
+the secret was out! Carlia was 'tending' the water. That's why she was
+not at the party.
+
+He stood looking down into the shadows of the corn rows, but for the
+moment he could see or hear nothing. He had frightened her, and yet
+Carlia was not usually afraid. He began to whistle softly and to walk
+down into the corn. Then he called, not loudly, "Carlia".
+
+There was no response. He quickened his steps. The figure ran to another
+shelter. He could see her now, and he called again, louder than before.
+She stopped, and then darted through the corn into the more open potatoe
+patch. Dorian followed.
+
+"Hello, Carlia," he said, "what are you doing?"
+
+The girl stood before him, bareheaded, with rough dress and heavy boots.
+She was panting as if with fright. When she caught a full sight of
+Dorian she gave a little cry, and when he came within reach, she grasped
+him by the arm.
+
+"Oh, is it you, Dorian?"
+
+"Sure. Who else did you think it was? Why, you're all of a tremble. What
+are you afraid of?"
+
+"I--I thought it was--was someone else. Oh, Dorian, I'm so glad it is
+you!"
+
+She stood close to him as if wishing to claim his protection. He
+instinctively placed his arm about her shoulders. "Why, you silly girl,
+the dark won't hurt you."
+
+"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of--Oh, Dorian, don't let him
+hurt me!" There was a sob in her voice.
+
+"What are you talking about? I believe you're not well. Are your feet
+wet? Have you a fever?" He put his hand on her forehead, brushing back
+the dark, towsled hair. He took her plump, work-roughened hand in his
+bigger and equally rough one. "And this is why you were not to my
+party," he said.
+
+"Yes; I hated to miss it, but father's rheumatism was so bad that he
+could not come out. So it was up to me. We haven't any too much water
+this summer. I'd better turn the water down another row; it's flooding
+the corn."
+
+They went to the lantern on the ditch bank. Dorian picked up the hoe and
+made the proper adjustment of the water flow. "How long will it take for
+the water to reach the bottom of the row?" he asked.
+
+"About fifteen minutes."
+
+"And how many rows remain?"
+
+Carlia counted. "Twelve," she said.
+
+"All right. This is a small stream and will only allow for three rows at
+a time. Three into twelve is four, and four times fifteen is sixty. It
+is now half past ten. We'll get through by twelve o'clock easy."
+
+"You'd better go home. I'm all right now. I'm not afraid."
+
+"I said we will get home. Sit down here on the bank. Are you cold?"
+He took off his coat and placed it about her shoulders. She made no
+objections, though in truth she was not cold.
+
+"Tell me about the party," she said.
+
+He told her who were there, and how they had missed her.
+
+"And did Uncle Zed preach?"
+
+"Preach? O, yes, he talked mighty fine. I wish I could tell you what he
+said."
+
+"What was it about?"
+
+"About God," he answered reverently.
+
+"Try to tell me, Dorian. I need to know. I'm such a dunce."
+
+Dorian repeated in his way Uncle Zed's argument, and he succeeded fairly
+well in his presentation of the subject. The still night under the
+shining stars added an impressive setting to the telling, and the girl
+close by his side drank in hungrily every word. When the water reached
+the end of the rows, it was turned into others, until all were
+irrigated. When that was accomplished, Dorian's watch showed half past
+eleven. He picked up the lantern and the hoe, and they walked back to
+the house.
+
+"The party was quite complete, after all," he said at the door. "I've
+enjoyed this little after-affair as much as I did the party."
+
+"I'm glad," she whispered.
+
+"And it was wonderfully good of you to give me that present."
+
+"I'm glad," she repeated.
+
+"Do you know what I was thinking about when I opened the book and saw it
+was from you?"
+
+"No; what?"
+
+"Why, I thought, we'll read this book together, you and I."
+
+"Wouldn't that be fine!"
+
+"We can't do that now, of course; but after a while when we get more
+time. I'll not read it until then.... Well, you're tired. Go to bed.
+Good night, Carlia."
+
+"Goodnight, Dorian, and thank you for helping me."
+
+They stood close together, she on the step above him. The lamp, placed
+on the kitchen table for her use, threw its light against the glass door
+which formed a background for the girl's roughened hair, soiled and
+sweat-stained face, and red, smiling lips.
+
+"Goodnight," he said again; and then he leaned forward and kissed her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TEN.
+
+
+That goodnight's kiss should have brought Dorian back to Carlia sooner
+than it did; but it was nearly a month before he saw her again. The fact
+that it was the busiest time of the year was surely no adequate excuse
+for this neglect. Harvest was on again, and the dry-farm called for much
+of his attention. Dorian prospered, and he had no time to devote to the
+girls, so he thought, and so he said, when occasion demanded expression.
+
+One evening while driving through the city and seeing the lights of the
+moving picture theatre, he was reminded of his promise to Carlia. His
+conscience pricked him just a little, so the very next evening he drove
+up to Farmer Duke's. Seeing no one choring about, he went into the house
+and inquired after Carlia. Mrs. Duke told him that Carlia had gone to
+the city that afternoon. She was expected back any minute, but one could
+never tell, lately, when she would get home. Since this Mr. Lamont had
+taken her to the city a number of times, she had been late in getting
+home.
+
+"Mr. Lamont?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes; haven't you met him? Don't you know him?"
+
+"No; who is he?"
+
+"Dorian, I don't know. Father seems to think he's all right, but I don't
+like him. Oh, Dorian, why don't you come around oftener?"
+
+Mrs. Duke sank into a chair and wiped away the tears from her eyes with
+the corner of her apron. Dorian experienced a strange sinking of the
+heart. Again he asked who this Mr. Lamont was.
+
+"He's a salesman of some kind, so he says. He drives about in one of
+those automobiles. Surely, you have seen him--a fine-looking fellow with
+nice manners and all that, but--"
+
+"And does Carlia go out with him?"
+
+"He has taken her out riding a number of times. He meets her in the city
+sometimes. I don't know what to make of it, Dorian. I'm afraid."
+
+Dorian seemed unable to say anything which would calm the mother's
+fears. That Carlia should be keeping company with someone other than
+himself, had never occurred to him. And yet, why not? she was aid enough
+to accept attention from young men. He had certainly neglected her, as
+the mother had implied. The girl had such few opportunities for going
+out, why should she not accept such as came to her. But this stranger,
+this outsider! Dorian soon took his departure.
+
+He went home, unhitched, and put up his horse; but instead of going into
+the house, he walked down to the post office. He found nothing in his
+box. He felt better in the open, so he continued to walk. He had told
+his mother he was going to the city, so he might as well walk that way.
+Soon the lights gleamed through the coming darkness. He went on with his
+confused thoughts, on into the city and to the moving picture show. He
+bought a ticket and an attendant led him stumbling in the dark room to a
+seat.
+
+It was the first time he had been there. He and Carlia were going
+together. It was quite wonderful to the young man to see the actors
+moving about lifelike on the white screen. The story contained a number
+of love-making scenes, which, had they been enacted in real life, in
+public as this was, they would certainly have been stopped by the
+police. Then there was a comic picture wherein a young fellow was
+playing pranks on an old man. The presentation could hardly be said to
+teach respect for old age, but the audience laughed uproariously at it.
+
+When the picture closed and the lights went on, Dorian turned about to
+leave, and there stood Carlia. A young man was assisting her into her
+light wraps. She saw him, so there was no escape, and they spoke to each
+other. Carlia introduced her escort, Mr. Lamont.
+
+"Glad to know you," said Mr. Lamont, in a hearty way. "I've known of you
+through Miss Duke. Going home now?"
+
+"Yes," said Dorian.
+
+"Drive?"
+
+"No; I'm walking."
+
+"Then you'll ride with us. Plenty of room. Glad to have you."
+
+"Thank you, I--"
+
+"Yes, come," urged Carlia.
+
+Dorian hesitated. He tried to carry an independent manner, but Mr.
+Lamont linked his arm sociably with Dorian's as he said:
+
+"Of course you'll ride home with us; but first we'll have a little ice
+cream."
+
+"No thanks," Dorian managed to say. What more did this fellow want of
+him?
+
+However, as Dorian could give no good reason why he should not ride home
+with them, he found no way of refusing to accompany them to a nearby
+ice-cream parlor. Mr. Lamont gave the order, and was very attentive to
+Carlia and Dorian. It was he who kept the flow of conversation going.
+The other two, plainly, were not adept at this.
+
+"What did you think of the show, Mr. Trent?"
+
+"The moving pictures are wonderful, but I did not like the story very
+much."
+
+"It was rotten," exclaimed the other in seeming disgust. I did not
+know what was on, or I should not have gone. Last week they had a fine
+picture, a regular classic. Did you see it?
+
+"No; in fact, this is my first visit."
+
+"Oh, indeed. This is Miss Duke's second visit only."
+
+Under the bright lights Carlia showed rouge on her cheeks, something
+Dorian had never seen on her before. Her lips seemed redder than ever,
+and he eyes shone with a bright luster. Mr. Lamont led them to his
+automobile, and then Dorian remembered the night when this same young
+man with the same automobile had stopped near Carlia's home. Carlia
+seated herself with the driver, while Dorian took the back seat. They
+were soon speeding along the road which led to Greenstreet. The cool
+night air fanned Dorian's hot face. Conversation ceased. Even Carlia
+and the driver were silent. The moon peeped over the eastern hills. The
+country-side was silent. Dorian thought of the strange events of the
+evening. This Mr. Lamont had not only captured Carlia but Dorian also.
+"If I were out with a girl," reasoned Dorian, "I certainly wouldn't want
+a third person along if I could help it." Why should this man be so
+eager to have his company? Dorian did not understand, not then.
+
+In a short time they drove up to Carlia's gate, and she and Dorian
+alighted. The driver did not get out. The machine purred as if impatient
+to be off again and the lamps threw their streams of light along the
+road.
+
+"Well, I shall have to be getting back," said Mr. Lamont. "Goodnight,
+Miss Duke. Thanks for your company. Goodnight, Mr. Trent; sure glad to
+have met you."
+
+The machine glided into the well-worn road and was off. The two stood
+looking at it for a moment. Then Carlia moved toward the house.
+
+"Come in" she said.
+
+He mechanically followed. He might as well act the fool to the end of
+the chapter, he thought. It was eleven by the parlor clock, but the
+mother seemed greatly relieved when she saw Dorian with her daughter.
+Carlia threw off her wraps. She appeared ill at ease. Her gaiety was
+forced. She seemed to be acting a part, but she was doing it poorly.
+Dorian was not only ill at ease himself, but he was bewildered. He
+seated himself on the sofa. Carlia took a chair on the other side of the
+room and gazed out of the window into the night.
+
+"Carlia, why did you--why do you," he stammered.
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" she replied, somewhat defiantly as if she understood
+his unfinished question.
+
+"You know you should not. It's wrong. Who is he anyway?"
+
+"He at least thinks of me and wants to show me a good time, and that's
+more than anybody else does."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"Well, that's the truth." She arose, walked to the table in the middle
+of the room and stood challengingly before him. "Who are you to find
+fault? What have you done to--"
+
+"I'll admit I've done very little; but you, yourself."
+
+"Never mind me. What do you care for me? What does anybody care?"
+
+"Your mother, at least."
+
+"Yes, mother; poor, dear mother.... Oh, my God, I can't stand it, I
+can't stand it!" With a sob she broke and sank down by the table, hiding
+her face in her arms. Dorian arose to go to her. The door opened, and
+the mother appeared.
+
+"What is it, Carlia," she asked in alarm.
+
+The girl raised her head, swiftly dashed the tears from her eyes, then
+with a sad effort to smile, said:
+
+"Nothing, mother, nothing at all. I'm going to bed. Where's father?"
+
+"He was called out to Uncle Zed's who is sick. Dorian's mother is there
+with him too, I understand."
+
+"Then I'd better go for her," said the young man. "I'll say goodnight.
+Poor Uncle Zed; he hasn't been well lately. Goodnight Sister Duke,
+goodnight Carlia."
+
+Carlia stood in the doorway leading to the stairs. "Goodnight, Dorian,"
+she said. "Forgive me for being so rude."
+
+He stepped toward her, but she motioned him back, and than ran up the
+carpetless stairs to her room. Dorian went out in the night. With a
+heavy heart he hurried down the road in the direction of Uncle Zed's
+home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER ELEVEN.
+
+
+Uncle Zed's illness did not prove fatal, though it was serious enough.
+In a few days he was up and about again, slowly, quietly providing for
+his simple needs. However, it was plainly evident that he had nearly
+come to the end of his earthly pilgrimage.
+
+After the most pressing fall work had been disposed of, Dorian spent as
+much of his spare time as possible with the old man, who seemed to like
+the company of the younger man better than anyone else in the village;
+and Dorian, for his part, took delight in visiting with him, in helping
+him with the heaviest of his not heavy chores. Especially, was it
+pleasant during the lengthening evening with a small fire and the lamp
+newly trimmed. Uncle Zed reclined in his easy chair, while Dorian sat by
+the table with books and papers. Their conversations ranged from flower
+gardens to dry-farms, and from agnosticism to the highest degrees of the
+celestial glory. And how they both reveled in books and their
+contents on the occasions when they were alone and unhampered by the
+unsympathetic minds of others.
+
+"As you see, Dorian," said Uncle Zed on one such Sunday evening, "my
+collection of books is not large, but they are such that I can read and
+read again."
+
+"Where is your 'Drummond's Natural Law'?" asked Dorian.
+
+Uncle Zed looked about. "I was reading it this morning. There it is on
+the window." Dorian fetched him the volume.
+
+"When I read Drummond's work," continued the old man, "I feel keener
+than ever my lack of scientific knowledge. I have always had a desire
+to delve into nature's laws through the doors of botany, zoology,
+mineralogy, chemistry, and all the other sciences. I have obtained a
+smattering only through my reading. I realize that the great ocean of
+truth is yet before me who am now an old man and can never hope in this
+life to explore much further."
+
+"But how is it, Uncle Zed," enquired Dorian, "that so many scientists
+have such little faith?"
+
+"'The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life,' The Spirit has taught
+us Dorian, that this world is God's world, and that the laws which
+govern here and now are the same eternal laws which have always been in
+operation; that we have come to this world of element to get in touch
+with earthly forms of matter, and become acquainted with the laws which
+govern them. Drummond has attempted to prove that the laws which prevail
+in the temporal world about us also hold good in the spiritual world,
+and he has made out a very good case, I think; but neither Drummond nor
+anybody else not endowed by the gift of the Holy Ghost, can reach the
+simple ultimate truth. That's why I have been looking for some young man
+in the Church who could and would make it his life's mission and work to
+learn the truths of science and harmonize them where necessary with the
+revealed truth--in fact, to complete what Henry Drummond has so well
+begun." The old man paused, then looking steadily at Dorian, said:
+"That's what I expect you to do."
+
+"I? Oh, do you think I could?"
+
+"Yes; it would not be easy, but with your aptness and your trend of
+mind, and your ability to study long and hard, you could, with the
+assistance of the Spirit of God, accomplish wonders by the time you are
+as old as I."
+
+The young man mildly protested, although the vision of what might be
+thrilled his being.
+
+"Don't forget what I am telling you, Dorian. Think and pray and dream
+about it for a time, and the Lord will open the way. Now then, we are to
+discuss some of Drummond's problems, were we not?"
+
+"Yes; I shall be glad to. Are you comfortable? Shall I move your
+pillow?"
+
+"I'm resting very easily, thank you. Just hand me the book. Drummond's
+chapter on Biogenesis interests me very much. I cannot talk very
+scientifically, Dorian, on these things, but I hope to talk
+intelligently and from the large viewpoint of the gospel. Here is
+a paragraph from my book which I have marked and called 'The Wall
+Between.' I'm sure you will remember it. Let us read it again:
+
+"'Let us first place," he read from the book, 'vividly in our
+imagination the picture of the two great Kingdoms of Nature, the
+inorganic and the organic, as these now stand in the light of the Law
+of Biogenesis. What essentially is involved in saying that there is no
+Spontaneous Generation of Life? It is meant that the passage from the
+mineral world is hermetically sealed on the mineral side. This inorganic
+world is staked off from the living world by barriers which have never
+yet been crossed from within. No change of substance, no modification of
+environment, no chemistry, no electricity, nor any form of energy, nor
+any evolution can endow any single atom of the mineral world with the
+attribute of life. Only by bending down into this dead world of some
+living form can these dead atoms be gifted with the properties of
+vitality, without this preliminary contact with life they remain fixed
+in the inorganic sphere forever. It is a very mysterious Law which
+guards in this way the portals of the living world. And if there is
+one thing in Nature more worth pondering for its strangeness it is the
+spectacle of this vast helpless world of the dead cut off from the
+living by the law of Biogenesis and denied forever the possibility of
+resurrection within itself. So very strange a thing, indeed, is this
+broad line in Nature, that Science has long sought to obliterate it.
+Biogenesis stands in the way of some forms of Evolution with such stern
+persistency that the assaults upon this law for number and thoroughness
+have been unparalleled. But, as we have seen, it has stood the test.
+Nature, to the modern eye, stands broken in two. The physical laws
+may explain the inorganic world; the biological laws may account for
+inorganic. But of the point where they meet, of that living borderland
+between the dead and the living, Science is silent. It is as if God had
+placed everything in earth and in heaven in the hands of Nature, but
+reserved a point at the genesis of Life for His direct appearing.'
+
+"Drummond goes on to prove by analogy that the same law which makes such
+a separation between the higher and the lower in the natural world holds
+good in the spiritual realm, and he quotes such passages as this to
+substantiate his argument: 'Except a man is born again, he cannot enter
+the kingdom of God'. Man must be born from above. 'The passage from
+the natural world to the spiritual world is hermetically sealed on the
+natural side.' that is, man cannot by any means make his own unaided way
+from the lower world to the higher. 'No mental energy, no evolution, no
+moral effort, no evolution of character, no progress of civilization'
+can alone lift life from the lower to the higher. Further, the lower can
+know very little about the higher, for 'the natural man receiveth not
+the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness to him;
+neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned'. All
+of which means, I take it, that the higher must reach down to the lower
+and lift it up. Advancement in any line of progress is made possible by
+some directing power either seen or unseen. A man cannot simply grow
+better and better until in his own right he enters the kingdom of God'."
+
+"But, Uncle Zed, are we not taught that we must work out our own
+salvation?" asked Dorian. "That is also scriptural."
+
+"Yes; but wait; I shall come to that later. Let us go on with our
+reasoning and see how this law which Drummond points out--how it fits
+into the larger scheme of things as revealed to us Latter-day Saints.
+You remember some time ago in our talk on the law of eternal progress we
+established the truth that there always have been intelligences evolving
+from lower to higher life, which in the eternity of the past would
+inevitably lead to the perfection of Gods. This is plainly taught in
+Joseph Smith's statement that God was once a man like us, perhaps on an
+earth like this, working out His glorious destiny. He, then, has gone on
+before into higher worlds, gaining wisdom, power, and glory. Now, there
+is another law of the universe that no advancing man can live to himself
+alone. No man can grow by taking selfish thought to the process. He
+grows by the exercise of his faculties and powers for the benefit of
+others. Dorian, hand me the 'Pearl of Great price'."
+
+Dorian found the book and handed it to the old man, who, finding the
+passage he wanted, continued: "Listen to this remarkable statement by
+the Lord: 'For behold, this is my work and my glory--to bring to pass
+the immortality and eternal life of man.' Just think what that means."
+
+"What does it mean?"
+
+"It means, my boy, that the way of progress is the way of unselfish
+labor. 'This is my work,' says the Lord, to labor for those who are yet
+on the lower rungs of the ladder, to institute laws whereby those below
+may climb up higher; (note I used the word climb, not float); to use His
+greater experience, knowledge, and power for others; to pass down
+to those in lower or primary stages that which they cannot get by
+self-effort alone. Let me say this in all reverence, they who attain to
+All Things do not greedily and selfishly cling to it, but pass it on
+to others. 'As one lamp lights another nor grows less, So kindliness
+enkindleth kindliness.' Yes; through great stress and sacrifice, they
+may do this, as witnessed in what our Father has done by endowing His
+Beloved Son with eternal life, and then giving Him to us. That Son was
+the 'Prince of Life.' He was the Resurrection and the Life.' He brought
+Life from the higher kingdom to a lower, its natural course through the
+ages. That is the only way through which it can come. And herein, to
+my humble way of thinking is the great error into which the modern
+evolutionist has fallen. He reasons that higher forms evolve from the
+initial and unaided movements of the lower. That is as impossible as
+that a man can lift himself to the skies by his boot-straps."
+
+Dorian smiled at the illustration.
+
+"Now, my boy, I want to make an application of these divine truths to us
+here and now. I'm not going to live here much longer."
+
+"Uncle Zed!"
+
+"Now, wait; it's a good thing that you nor anybody else can prevent me
+from passing on. I've wanted to live long enough to get rid of the fear
+of death. I have reached that point now, and so I am ready at any time,
+thank the Lord."
+
+Uncle Zed was beautiful to look upon in the clear whiteness of his
+person and the peaceful condition of his spirit. The young listener
+was deeply impressed by what he was hearing. (He never forgot that
+particular Sunday afternoon).
+
+"You asked me about working out our own salvation," continued Uncle Zed.
+"Let me answer you on that. There are three principles in the law of
+progress, all of them important: First, there must be an exercise of the
+will by the candidate for progression. He must be willing to advance and
+have a desire to act for himself. That is the principle of free agency.
+Second, he must be willing to receive help from a higher source; that
+is, he must place himself in a condition to receive life and light from
+the source of life and light. Third, he must be unselfish, willing,
+eager to share all good with others. The lack of any of these will prove
+a serious hindrance. We see this everywhere in the world.
+
+"Coming back now to the application I mentioned. If it is God's work
+and glory to labor for those below Him, why should not we, His sons
+and daughters, follow His example as far as possible in our sphere of
+action? If we are ever to become like Him we must follow in His steps
+and do the things which He has done. Our work, also must be to help
+along the road to salvation those who are lower down, those who are more
+ignorant and are weaker than we."
+
+"Which, Uncle Zed, you have been doing all your life."
+
+"Just trying a little, just a little."
+
+"And this will be as it already has been, your glory. I see that
+plainly."
+
+"Why shouldn't it be everybody's work and glory! What a beautiful world
+this would be if this were the case!"
+
+"Yes, truly."
+
+"And see, Dorian, how this principle ties together the race from the
+beginning to the end, comparatively speaking. Yes, in this way will men
+and families and races and worlds be linked together in chains of love,
+which cannot be broken, worlds without end."
+
+The old man's voice became sweet and low. Then there was silence for a
+few minutes. The clock struck ten.
+
+"I must be going," said Dorian. "I am keeping you out of bed."
+
+"You'll come again?"
+
+"Oh, yes."
+
+"Come soon, my boy. I have so much to tell you. I can talk so freely to
+you, something I cannot do to all who come here, bless their hearts. But
+you, my boy--"
+
+He reached out his hand, and Dorian took it lovingly. There were tears
+in the old man's eyes.
+
+"I'll not forget you," said Dorian, "I'll come soon and often."
+
+"Then, good night."
+
+"Good night," the other replied from the door as he stepped out into the
+night. The cool breeze swept over meadow and field. The world was open
+and big, and the young man's heart expanded to it. What a comfort to
+feel that the Power which rules the world and all the affairs of men is
+unfailing in its operations! What a joy to realize that he had a loving
+Father to whom he could go for aid! And then also, what a tremendous
+responsibility was on him because of the knowledge he already had and
+because of his God-given agency to act for himself. Surely, he would
+need light from on High to help him to choose the right!
+
+Surely, he would.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWELVE.
+
+
+At the coming of winter, Uncle Zed was bedfast. He was failing rapidly.
+Neighbors helped him. Dorian remained with him as much as he could. The
+bond which had existed between these two grew stronger as the time
+of separation became nearer. The dying man was clear-minded, and he
+suffered very little pain. He seemed completely happy if he could have
+Dorian sitting by him and they could talk together. And these were
+wonderful days to the young man, days never to be forgotten.
+
+Outside, the air was cold with gusts of wind and lowering clouds.
+Inside, the room was cosy and warm. A few of the old man's hardiest
+flowers were still in pots on the table where the failing eyes could see
+them. That evening Mrs. Trent had tidied up the room and had left Dorian
+to spend the night with the sick man. The tea-kettle hummed softly on
+the stove. The shaded lamp was turned down low.
+
+"Dorian."
+
+"Yes, Uncle Zed."
+
+"Turn up the lamp a little. It's too dark in here."
+
+"Doesn't the light hurt your eyes!"
+
+"No; besides I want you to get me some papers out of that drawer in my
+desk."
+
+Dorian fetched a large bundle of clippings and papers and asked if they
+were what he wanted.
+
+"Not all of them just now; but take from the pile the few on top. I want
+you to read them to me. They are a few selections which I have culled
+and which have a bearing on the things we have lately been talking
+about."
+
+The first note which Dorian read was as follows. "'The keys of the holy
+priesthood unlock the door of knowledge to let you look into the palace
+of truth'."
+
+"That's by Brigham Young. You did not know that he was a poet as well as
+a prophet," commented the old man. "The next one is from him also."
+
+"'There never was a time when there were not Gods and worlds, and when
+men were not passing through the same ordeals that we are now passing
+through. That course has been from all eternity and it is and will be to
+all eternity'."
+
+"Now you know, Dorian, where I get my inspiration from. Read the next,
+also from President Young."
+
+"'The idea that the religion of Christ is one thing, and science is
+another, is a mistaken idea, for there is no true science without
+religion. The fountain of knowledge dwells with God, and He dispenses it
+to His children as He pleases, and as they are prepared to receive it;
+consequently, it swallows up and circumscribes all'."
+
+"Take these, Dorian; have them with you as inspirational mottoes for
+your life's work. Go on, there are a few more."
+
+Dorian read again: "'The region of true religion and the region of a
+completer science are one.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+"You see one of the foremost scientists of the day agrees with Brigham
+Young," said Uncle Zed. "I think the next one corroborates some of our
+doctrine also."
+
+Dorian read: "'We do not indeed remember our past, we are not aware of
+our future, but in common with everything else we must have had a past
+and must be going to have a future.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+Again he read: "'We must dare to extend the thought of growth and
+progress and development even up to the height of all that we can
+realize of the Supreme Being--In some part of the universe perhaps
+already the ideal conception has been attained; and the region of such
+attainment--the full blaze of self-conscious Deity--is too bright for
+mortal eyes, is utterly beyond our highest thoughts.'--Oliver Lodge."
+
+Uncle Zed held out his hand and smiled. "There," he said in a whisper,
+"is a hesitating suggestion of the truth which we boldly proclaim."
+
+"Now you are tired, Uncle Zed," said Dorian. "I had best not read more."
+
+"Just one--the next one."
+
+Dorian complied:
+
+  "'There are more lives yet, there are more worlds waiting,
+    For the way climbs up to the eldest sun,
+  Where the white ones go to their mystic mating,
+     And the holy will is done.
+  I'll find you there where our love life heightens--
+     Where the door of the wonder again unbars,
+  Where the old love lures and the old fire whitens,
+     In the stars behind the stars'."
+
+Uncle Zed lay peacefully on his pillow, a wistful look on his face. The
+room became still again, and the clock ticked away the time. Dorian
+folded up the papers which he had been told to keep and put them in his
+pocket. The rest of the package he returned to the drawer. He lowered
+the lamp again. Then he sat down and watched. It seemed it would not be
+long for the end.
+
+"Dorian."
+
+"Yes, Uncle Zed, can I do anything for you?"
+
+"No"--barely above a whisper--"nothing else matters--you're a good
+boy--God bless you."
+
+The dying man lay very still. As Dorian looked at the face of his friend
+it seemed that the mortal flesh had become waxen white so that the
+immortal spirit shone unhindered through it. The young man's heart was
+deeply sorrowful, but it was a sanctified sorrow. Twice before had death
+come near to him. He had hardly realized that of his father's and he was
+not present when Mildred had passed away; but here he was again with
+death, and alone. It seemed strange that he was not terrified, but he
+was not--everything seemed so calm, peaceful, and even beautiful in its
+serene solemnity.
+
+Dorian arose, went softly to the window and looked out. The wind had
+quieted, and the snow was falling slowly, steadily in big white flakes,
+When Dorian again went back to the bedside and looked on the stilled
+face of his friend, he gave a little start. He looked again closely,
+listening, and feeling of the cold hands. Uncle Zed was dead.
+
+The Greenstreet meeting house was filled to overflowing at the funeral.
+Uncle Zed had gone about all his days in the village doing good. All
+could tell of some kind deed he had done, with the admonition that it
+should not be talked about. He always seemed humiliated when anyone
+spoke of these things in his hearing; but now, surely, there could be no
+objection to letting his good deeds shine before men.
+
+Uncle Zed had left with the Bishop a written statement, not in the form
+of a will, wherein he told what disposition was to be made of his simple
+belongings. The house, with its few well tilled acres, was to go to the
+ward for the use of any worthy poor whom the Bishop might designate.
+Everything in the house should be at the disposal of Dorian Trent. The
+books, especially, should belong to him "to have and to hold and to
+study." Such books which Dorian did not wish to keep were to be given
+to the ward Mutual Improvement Library. This information the Bishop
+publicly imparted on the day of the funeral.
+
+"These are the times," said the Bishop, "when the truth comes forcibly
+to us all that nothing in this world matters much or counts for much in
+the end but good deeds, kind words, and unselfish service to others. All
+else is now dross.... The mantle of Brother Zed seems to have fallen on
+Dorian Trent. May he wear it faithfully and well."
+
+A few days after the funeral Dorian and his mother went to Uncle Zed's
+vacant home. Mrs. Trent examined the furnishings, while Dorian looked
+over the books.
+
+"Is there anything here you want, mother? he asked.
+
+"No; I think not; better leave everything, which isn't much, for those
+who are to live here. What about the books?'
+
+"I'm going to take most of them home, for I am sure Uncle Zed would not
+want them to fall into unappreciating hands; but there's no hurry about
+that. We'll just leave everything as it is for a few days."
+
+The next evening Dorian returned to look over again his newly-acquired
+treasures. The ground was covered with snow and the night was cold. He
+thought he might as well spend the evening, and be comfortable, so he
+made a fire in the stove.
+
+On the small home-made desk which stood in the best-lighted corner, near
+to the student's hand were his well-worn Bible, his Book of Mormon, and
+Doctrine and Covenants. He opened the drawers and found them filled with
+papers and clippings, covering, as Dorian learned, a long period of
+search and collecting. He opened again the package which he had out the
+evening of Uncle Zed's death, and looked over some of the papers. These,
+evidently, had been selected for Dorian's special benefit, and so he
+settled himself comfortably to read them. The very first paper was in
+the old man's own hand, and was a dissertation on "Faith." and read
+thus: "Some people say that they can believe only what they can perceive
+with the senses. Let us see: The sun rises, we say. Does it? The earth
+is still. Is it? We hear music, we see beauty. Does the ear hear or the
+eye see? We burn our fingers. Is the pain in our fingers? I cut the
+nerves leading from the brain to these various organs, and then I
+neither hear nor see nor feel."
+
+"How can God keep in touch with us?" was answered thus: "A ray of light
+coming through space from a star millions of miles away will act on a
+photographic plate, will eat into its sensitive surface and imprint the
+image of the star. This we know, and yet we doubt if God can keep in
+touch with us and answer our prayers."
+
+Many people wondered why a man like Uncle Zed was content to live in the
+country. The answer seemed to be found in a number of slips:
+
+  "How peaceful comes the Sabbath, doubly blessed,
+  In giving hope to faith, to labor rest.
+  Most peaceful here:--no city's noise obtains,
+  And God seems reverenced more where silence reigns."
+
+Once Dorian had been called a "Clod hopper." As he read the following,
+he wondered whether or not Uncle Zed had not also been so designated,
+and had written this in reply:
+
+"Mother Earth, why should not I love you? Why should not I get close to
+you? Why should I plan to live always in the clouds above you, gazing at
+other far-distant worlds, and neglecting you? Why did I, with others,
+shout with joy when I learned that I was coming here from the world of
+spirits? I answer, because I knew that 'spirit and element inseparately
+connected receiveth a fullness of joy.' I was then to get in touch with
+'element' as I had been with 'spirit.' This world which I see with my
+natural eyes is the 'natural' part of Mother Earth, even as the
+flesh and bones and blood of my body is the element of myself, to be
+inseparately connected with my spirit and to the end that I might
+receive a fullness of joy. The earth and all things on it known by the
+term nature is what I came here to know. Nature, wild or tamed, is my
+schoolroom--the earth with its hills and valleys and plains, with its
+clouds and rain, with its rivers and lakes and oceans, with its trees
+and fruits and flowers, its life--about all these I must learn what I
+can at first hand. Especially, should I learn of the growing things
+which clothe the earth with beauty and furnish sustenance to life. Some
+day I hope the Lord will give me a small part of this earth, when it is
+glorified. Ah, then, what a garden shall I have!"
+
+No one in Greenstreet had ever known Uncle Zed as a married man. His
+wife had died long ago, and he seldom spoke of her. Dorian had wondered
+whether he had ever been a young man, with a young man's thoughts and
+feelings; but here was evidence which dispelled any doubt. On a slip of
+paper, somewhat yellow with age, were the following lines, written in
+Uncle Zed's best hand:
+
+  "In the enchanted air of spring,
+  I hear all Nature's voices sing,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  By bursting buds, by sprouting grass,
+  I hear the bees hum as I pass,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  The waking earth, the sunny sky
+  Are whispering the same as I,
+        'I love you'.
+
+  The song of birds in sweetest notes
+  Comes from their bursting hearts and throats,
+        'I love you'."
+
+"Oh, Uncle Zed!" said Dorian, half aloud, "who would have thought it!"
+
+Near the top of the pile of manuscript Dorian found an envelope with "To
+Dorian Trent," written on it. He opened it with keen interest and found
+that it was a somewhat newly written paper and dealt with a subject they
+had discussed in connection with the chapter on Death in Drummond's
+book. Uncle Zed had begun his epistle by addressing it, "Dear Dorian"
+and then continued as follows:
+
+"You remember that some time ago we talked on the subject of sin and
+death. Since then I have had some further thought on the subject which I
+will here jot down for you. You asked me, you remember, what sin is, and
+I tried to explain. Here is another definition: Man belongs to an order
+of beings whose goal is perfection. The way to that perfection is long
+and hard, narrow and straight. Any deviation from that path is sin. God,
+our Father, has reached the goal. He has told us how we may follow Him.
+He has pointed out the way by teaching us the law of progress which
+led Him to His exalted state. Sin lies in not heeding that law, but in
+following laws of our own making. The Lord says this in the Doctrine and
+Covenants, Section 88:
+
+'That which breaketh a law, and abideth not by law, but seeketh to
+become a law unto itself, and willeth to abide in sin, and altogether
+abideth in sin, cannot be sanctified by law, neither by mercy, justice,
+nor judgement. Therefore, they must remain filthy still.'
+
+"Now, keeping in mind that sin is the straying from the one straight,
+progressive path, let us consider this expression: 'The wages of sin is
+death'. This leads us to the question: what is death? Do you remember
+what Drummond says? He first explains in a most interesting way what
+life is, using the scientist's phrasing. A human being, for instance,
+is in direct contact with all about him--earth, air, sun, other human
+beings, etc. In biological language he is said to be 'in correspondence
+with his environment,' and by virtue of this correspondence is said to
+be alive. To live, a human being must continue to adjust himself to his
+environment. When he fails to do this, he dies. Thus we have also a
+definition of death. 'Dying is that breakdown in an organization
+which throws it out of correspondence with some necessary part of the
+environment.'
+
+"Of course, these reasonings and deductions pertain to what we term he
+physical death; but Drummond claims that the same law holds good in the
+spiritual world. Modern revelation seems to agree with him. We have an
+enlightening definition of death in the following quotation from the
+Doctrine and Covenants, Section 29: 'Wherefore I the Lord God caused
+that he (Adam) should be cast out from the Garden of Eden, from my
+presence, because of his transgression, wherein he became spiritually
+dead, which is the first death, even that same death, which is the last
+death, which is spiritual, which shall be pronounced upon the wicked
+when I shall say Depart ye cursed'.
+
+"It seems to me that there is a most interesting agreement here.
+Banishment from the place where God lives is death. By the operations
+of a natural law, a person who fails to correspond with a celestial
+environment dies to that environment and must go or be placed in some
+other, where he can function with that which is about him. God's
+presence is exalted, holy, glorified. He who is not pure, holy,
+glorified cannot possibly live there, is dead to that higher world.
+A soul who cannot function in the celestial glory, may do so in the
+terrestrial glory; one who cannot function in the terrestrial, may in
+the telestial; and one who cannot 'abide the law' or function in the
+telestial must find a place of no glory. This is inevitable--it cannot
+be otherwise. Immutable law decrees it, and not simply the ruling of an
+all wise power. The soul who fails to attain to the celestial glory,
+fails to walk in the straight and narrow path which leads to it. Such a
+person wanders in the by-paths called sin, and no power in the universe
+can arbitrarily put him in an environment with which he cannot function.
+'To be carnally minded is death', said Paul. 'The wages of sin is
+death', or in other words, he who persistently avoids the Celestial
+Highway will never arrive at the Celestial Gate. He who works evilly
+will obtain evil wages. Anyway, what would it profit a man with dim
+eyesight to be surrounded with ineffable glory? What would be the music
+of the spheres to one bereft of hearing? What gain would come to a man
+with a heart of stone to be in an environment of perfect and eternal
+love!"
+
+Dorian finished the reading and laid the paper on the desk. For some
+time he sat very still, thinking of these beautiful words from his dear
+friend to him. Surely, Uncle Zed was very much alive in any environment
+which his beautiful life had placed him. Would that he, Dorian, could
+live so that he might always be alive to the good and be dead to sin.
+
+The stillness of the night was about him. The lamplight grew dim,
+showing the oil to be gone, so he blew out the smoking wick. He opened
+the stove door, and by the light of the dying fire he gathered up some
+books to take home. He heard a noise as if someone were outside. He
+listened. The steps were muffled in the snow. They seemed to approach
+the house and then stop. There was silence for a few minutes, then
+plainly he heard sobbing close to the door.
+
+What could it mean? who could it be? Doubtless, some poor soul to whom
+Uncle Zed had been a ministering angel, had been drawn to the vacant
+house, and could not now control her sorrow. Then the sobbing ceased,
+and Dorian realized he had best find out who was there and give what
+help he could. He opened the door, and a frightened scream rang out from
+the surprised Carlia Duke who stood in the faint light from the open
+doorway. She stood for a second, then as if terror stricken, she fled.
+
+"Carlia," shouted Dorian. "Carlia!"
+
+But the girl neither stopped nor looked back. Across the pathless,
+snow-covered fields she sped, and soon became only a dark-moving object
+on the white surface. When she had entirely disappeared, Dorian went
+back, gathered up his bundles, locked the door, and went wonderingly and
+meditatingly home.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
+
+
+It is no doubt a wise provision of nature that the cold of winter closes
+the activity in field and garden, thus allowing time for study by the
+home fire. Dorian Trent's library, having been greatly enlarged, now
+became to him a source of much pleasure and profit. Books which he never
+dreamed of possessing were now on his shelves. In some people's opinion,
+he was too well satisfied to remain in his cosy room and bury himself in
+his books; but his mother found no fault. She was always welcome to come
+and go; and in fact, much of the time he sat with her by the kitchen
+fire, reading aloud and discussing with her the contents of his book.
+
+Dorian found, as Uncle Zed had, wonderful arguments for the truth of
+the gospel in Orson and Parley P. Pratt's works. In looking through
+the "Journal of Discourses," he found markings by many of the sermons,
+especially by those of Brigham Young. Dorian always read the passages
+thus indicated, for he liked to realize that he was following the
+former owner of the book even in his thinking. The early volumes of the
+"Millennial Star" contained some interesting reading. Very likely, the
+doctrinal articles of these first elders were no better than those of
+more recent writers, but their plain bluntness and their very age seemed
+to give them charm.
+
+By his reading that winter Dorian obtained an enlarged view of his
+religion. It gave him vision to see and to comprehend better the whole
+and thus to more fully understand the details. Besides, he was laying a
+broad and firm foundation for his faith in God and the restored gospel
+of Jesus Christ, a faith which would stand him well in need when he came
+to delve into a faithless and a Godless science.
+
+Not that Dorian became a hermit. He took an active part in the
+Greenstreet ward organizations. He was secretary of the Mutual, always
+attended Sunday School, and usually went to the ward dances. As he
+became older he overcame some of his shyness with girls; and as
+prosperity came to him, he could dress better and have his mass of
+rusty-red hair more frequently trimmed by the city barber. More than
+one of the discerning Greenstreet girls laid their caps for the big,
+handsome young fellow.
+
+And Dorian's thoughts, we must know, were not all the time occupied with
+the philosophy of Orson Pratt. He was a very natural young man, and
+there were some very charming girls in Greenstreet. When, arrayed in
+their Sunday best, they sat in the ward choir, he, not being a member of
+the choir, could look at them to his heart's content, first at one and
+then at another along the double row. Carlia Duke usually sat on the
+front row where he could see her clearly and compare her with the
+others--and she did not suffer by the comparison.
+
+Dorian now begin to realize that it was selfish, if not foolish, to
+think always of the dead Mildred to the exclusion of the very much alive
+Carlia. Mildred was safe in the world of spirits, where he would some
+day meet her again; but until that time, he had this life to live and
+those about him to think of. Carlia was a dear girl, beautiful, too, now
+in her maturing womanhood. None of the other girls touched his heart as
+Carlia. He had taken a number of them to dances, but he had always come
+back, in his thought, at least, to Carlia. But her actions lately had
+been much of a puzzle. Sometimes she seemed to welcome him eagerly when
+he called, at other times she tried to evade him. No doubt this Mr. Jack
+Lamont was the disturbing element. That winter he could be seen coming
+quite openly to the Duke home, and when the weather would permit, Carlia
+would be riding with him in his automobile. The neighbors talked, but
+the father could only shake his head and explain that Carlia was a
+willful girl.
+
+Now when it seemed that Carlia was to be won by this very gallant
+stranger, Dorian began to realize what a loss she would be to him. He
+was sure he loved the girl, but what did that avail if she did not love
+him in return. He held to the opinion that such attractions should be
+mutual. He could see no sense in the old-time custom of the knight
+winning his lady love by force of arms or by the fleetness of horse's
+legs.
+
+However, Dorian was not easy in his mind, and it came to the point when
+he suffered severe heartaches when he knew of Carlia's being with the
+stranger. The Christmas holidays that season were nearly spoiled for
+him. He had asked Carlia a number of times to go to the parties with
+him, but she had offered some excuse each time.
+
+"Let her alone," someone had told him.
+
+"No; do not let her alone," his mother had counseled; and he took his
+mother's advice.
+
+Carlia had been absent from the Sunday meetings for a number of weeks,
+so when she appeared in her place in the choir on a Sunday late in
+January, Dorian noticed the unusual pallor of her face. He wondered if
+she had been ill. He resolved to make another effort, for in fact, his
+heart went out to her. At the close of the meeting he found his way to
+her side as she was walking home with her father and mother. Dorian
+never went through the formality of asking Carlia if he might accompany
+her home. He had always taken it for granted that he was welcome; and,
+at any rate, a man could always tell by the girl's actions whether or
+not he was wanted.
+
+"I haven't seen you for a long time," began Dorian by way of greeting.
+
+The girl did not reply.
+
+"Been sick?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--no, I'm all right."
+
+The parents walked on ahead, leaving the two young people to follow.
+Evidently, Carlia was very much out of sorts, but the young man tried
+again.
+
+"What's the matter, Carlia?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Well, I hope I'm not annoying you by my company."
+
+No answer. They walked on in silence, Carlia looking straight ahead, not
+so much at her parents, as at the distant snow-clad mountains. Dorian
+felt like turning about and going home, but he could not do that very
+well, so he went on to the gate, where he would have said goodnight had
+not Mrs. Duke urged him to come in. The father and mother went to bed
+early, leaving the two young people by the dining-room fire.
+
+They managed to talk for some time on "wind and weather". Despite the
+paleness of cheek, Carlia was looking her best. Dorian was jealous.
+
+"Carlia," he said, "why do you keep company with this Mr. Lamont?"
+
+She was standing near the book-shelf with its meagre collection. She
+turned abruptly at his question.
+
+"Why shouldn't I go with him?" she asked.
+
+"You know why you shouldn't."
+
+"I don't. Oh, I know the reasons usually given, but--what am I to do.
+He's so nice, and a perfect gentleman. What harm is there?"
+
+"Why do you say that to me, Carlia?"
+
+"Why not to you?" She came and sat opposite him by the table. He was
+silent, and she repeated her question, slowly, carefully, and with
+emphasis. "Why not to you? Why should you care?"
+
+"But I do care."
+
+"I don't believe it. You have never shown that you do."
+
+"I am showing it now."
+
+"Tomorrow you will forget it--forget me for a month."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"You've done it before--many times--you'll do it again."
+
+The girl's eyes flashed. She seemed keyed up to carry through something
+she had planned to do, something hard. She arose and stood by the table,
+facing him.
+
+"I sometimes have thought that you cared for me--but I'm through with
+that now. Nobody really cares for me. I'm only a rough farm hand. I know
+how to milk and scrub and churn and clean the stable--an' that's what I
+do day in and day out. There's no change, no rest for me, save when he
+takes me away from it for a little while. He understands, he's the only
+one who does."
+
+"But, Carlia!"
+
+"You," she continued in the same hard voice, "you're altogether too good
+and too wise for such as I. You're so high up that I can't touch you.
+You live in the clouds, I among the clods. What have we two in common?"
+
+"Much, Carlia--I--"
+
+He arose and came to her, but she evaded him.
+
+"Keep away, Dorian; don't touch me. You had better go home now."
+
+"You're not yourself, Carlia. What is the matter? You have never acted
+like this before."
+
+"It's not because I haven't felt like it, but it's because I haven't had
+the courage; but now it's come out, and I can't stop it. It's been
+pent up in me like a flood--now it's out. I hate this old farm--I hate
+everything and everybody--I--hate you!"
+
+Dorian arose quickly as if he had been lifted to his feet. What was she
+saying? She was wild, crazy wild.
+
+"What have I done that you should hate me?" he asked as quietly as his
+trembling voice would allow.
+
+"Done? nothing. It's what you haven't done. What have you done to
+repay--my--Oh, God, I can't stand it--I can't stand it!"
+
+She walked to the wall and turned her face to it. She did not cry. The
+room was silently tense for a few moments.
+
+"I guess I'd better go," said Dorian.
+
+She did not reply. He picked up his hat, lingered, then went to the
+door. She hated him. Then let him get out from her presence. She hated
+him. He had not thought that possible. Well, he would go. He would never
+annoy any girl who hated him, not if he knew it. How his heart ached,
+how his very soul seemed crushed! yet he could not appeal to her. She
+stood with her face to the wall, still as a statue, and as cold.
+
+"Good night," he said at the door.
+
+She said nothing, nor moved. He could see her body quiver, but he could
+not see her face. He perceived nothing clearly. The familiar room,
+poorly furnished, seemed strange to him. The big, ugly enlarged
+photographs on the wall blurred to his vision. Carlia, with head bowed
+now, appeared to stand in the midst of utter confusion. Dorian groped
+his way to the door, and stepped out into the wintry night. When he had
+reached the gate, Carlia rushed to the door.
+
+"Dorian!" she cried in a heart-breaking voice, "O, Dorian, come
+back--come back!"
+
+But Dorian opened the gate, closed it, then walked on down the road into
+the darkness, nor did he once look back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
+
+
+Carlia's ringing cry persisted with Dorian all the way home, but he
+hardened his heart and went steadily on. His mother had gone to bed, and
+he sat for a time by the dying fire, thinking of what he had just passed
+through.
+
+After that, Dorian kept away from Carlia. Although the longing to see
+her surged strongly through his heart from time to time, and he could
+not get away from the thought that she was in some trouble, yet his
+pride forbade him to intrude. He busied himself with chores and his
+books, and he did not relax in his ward duties. Once in a while he saw
+Carlia at the meeting house, but she absented herself more and more from
+public gatherings, giving as an excuse to all who inquired, that her
+work bound her more closely than ever at home.
+
+Dorian and his mother frequently talked about Uncle Zed and the hopes
+the departed one had of the young man. "Do you really think, mother,
+that he meant I should devote my life to the harmonizing of science and
+religion?" he asked.
+
+"I think Uncle Zed was in earnest. He had great faith in you."
+
+"But what do you think of it, mother?"
+
+After a moment's thought, the mother replied.
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"Well, it would be a task, though a wonderfully great one."
+
+"The aim is high, the kind I would expect of you. Do you know, Dorian,
+your father had some such ambition. That's one of the reasons we came
+to the country in hopes that some day he would have more time for
+studying."
+
+"I never knew that, mother."
+
+"And now, what if your father and Uncle Zed are talking about the matter
+up there in the spirit world."
+
+Dorian thought of that for a few moments. Then: "I'll have to go to the
+University for four years, but that's only a beginning. Ill have to go
+East to Yale or Harvard and get all they have. Then will come a lot of
+individual research, and--Oh, mother, I don't know."
+
+"And all the time you'll have to keep near to God and never lose your
+faith in the gospel, for what doth it profit if you gain the whole world
+of knowledge and lose your own soul." The mother came to him and ran her
+fingers lovingly through his hair. "But you're equal to it, my son; I
+believe you can do it."
+
+This was a sample of many such discussions, and the conclusion was
+reached that Dorian should work harder than ever, if that were possible,
+for two or perhaps three years, by which time the farms could be rented
+and the income derived from them be enough to provide for the mother's
+simple needs and the son's expenses while at school.
+
+Spring came early that year, and Dorian was glad of it, for he was eager
+to be out in the growing world and turn that growth to productiveness.
+When the warm weather came for good, books were laid aside, though not
+forgotten. From daylight until dark, he was busy. The home farm was well
+planted, the dry-farm wheat was growing beautifully. Between the two,
+prospects were bright for the furthering of their plans.
+
+"Mother, when and where in this great plan of ours, am I to get
+married?"
+
+Dorian and his mother were enjoying the dusk and the cool of the evening
+within odorous reach of Mrs. Trent's flowers, many of which had come
+from Uncle Zed's garden. They had been talking over some details of
+their "plan." Mrs. Trent laughed at the abruptness of the question.
+
+"Oh, do you want to get married?" she asked, wondering what there might
+be to this query.
+
+"Well--sometimes, of course, I'll have to have a wife, won't I?"
+
+"Certainly, in good time; but you're in no hurry, are you?"
+
+"Oh, no; I'm just talking on general principles. There's no one who
+would have me now."
+
+The mother did not dispute this. She knew somewhat of his feelings
+toward Carlia. These lovers' misunderstandings were not serious, she
+thought to herself. All would end properly and well, in good time.
+
+But Carlia was in Dorian's thought very often, much to his bewilderment
+of heart and mind. He often debated with himself if he should not
+definitely give her up, cease thinking about her as being anything
+to him either now or hereafter; but it seemed impossible to do that.
+Carlia's image persisted even as Mildred's did. Mildred, away from the
+entanglements of the world, was safe to him; but Carlia had her life to
+live and the trials and difficulties of mortality to encounter and to
+overcome; and that would not be easy, with her beauty and her impulsive
+nature. She needed a man's clear head and steady hand to help her, and
+who was more fitting to do that than he himself, Dorian thought without
+conscious egotism.
+
+If it were possible, Dorian always spent Sunday at home. If he was on
+his dry farm in the hills, he drove down on Saturday evenings. One
+Saturday in midsummer, he arrived home late and tired. He put up his
+team, came in, washed, and was ready for the good supper which his
+mother always had for him. The mother busied herself about the kitchen
+and the table.
+
+"Come and sit down, mother," urged Dorian.
+
+"What's the fussing about! Everything I need is here on the table.
+You're tired, I see. Come, sit down with me and tell me all the news."
+
+"The news? what news!"
+
+"Why, everything that's happened in Green street for the past week. I
+haven't had a visitor up on the farm for ten days."
+
+"Everything is growing splendidly down here. The water in the canal is
+holding out fine and Brother Larsen is fast learning to be a farmer."
+
+"Good," said Dorian. "Our dry wheat is in most places two feet high,
+and it will go from forty to fifty bushels, with good luck. If now, the
+price of wheat doesn't sag too much."
+
+Dorian finished his supper, and was about to go to bed, being in need of
+a good rest. His mother told him not to get up in the morning until she
+called him.
+
+"All right, mother," he laughed as he kissed her good night, "but don't
+let me be late to Sunday School, as I have a topic to treat in the
+Theological class. By heck, they really think I'm Uncle Zed's successor,
+by the subjects they give me."
+
+He was about to go to his room when his mother called him by name.
+
+"Yes, mother, what is it?"
+
+"You'll know tomorrow, so I might as well tell you now."
+
+"Tell me what?"
+
+"Some bad news."
+
+"Bad news! What is it?"
+
+The mother seemed lothe to go on. She hesitated.
+
+"Well, mother?"
+
+"Carlia is gone."
+
+"Gone? Gone where?"
+
+"Nobody knows. She's been missing for a week. She left home last
+Saturday to spend a few days with a friend in the city, so she said.
+Yesterday her father called at the place to bring her home and learned
+that she had never been there."
+
+"My gracious, mother!"
+
+"Yes; it's terrible. Her father has inquired for her and looked for her
+everywhere he could think of, but not a trace of her can he find. She's
+gone."
+
+Mother and son sat in silence for some time. He continued to ask
+questions, but she know no more than the simple facts which she had
+told. He could do nothing to help, at least, not then, so he reluctantly
+went to bed. He did not sleep until past midnight.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER FIFTEEN
+
+
+Dorian was not tardy to Sunday School, and, considering his mental
+condition, he gave a good account of himself in the class. He heard
+whispered comment on Carlia's disappearance.
+
+After Sunday school Dorian went directly to Carlia's home. He found the
+mother tear-stained and haggard with care. The tears flowed again freely
+at the sight of Dorian, and she clung to him as if she had no other
+means of comfort.
+
+"Do you know where Carlia is?" she wailed.
+
+"No, Sister Duke, I haven't the last idea. I haven't seen her for some
+time."
+
+"But what shall we do, Dorian, what shall we do! She may be dead, lying
+dead somewhere!"
+
+"I hardly think that," he tried to comfort her. "She'll turn up again.
+Carlia's well able to take care of herself."
+
+The father came in. He told what had been done to try to find the
+missing girl. Not a word had they heard, not a clue or a trace had been
+discovered. The father tried hard to control his emotions as he talked,
+but he could not keep the tears from slowly creeping down his face.
+
+"And I suppose I'm greatly to blame" he said. "I have been told as much
+by some, who I suppose, are wiser than I am. The poor girl has been
+confined too much to the work here."
+
+"Work doesn't hurt anybody," commented Dorian.
+
+"No; but all work and no play, I was plainly reminded just the
+other day, doesn't always make Jack a dull boy: sometimes, it makes
+dissatisfaction and rebellion--and it seems it has done that here.
+Carlia, I'll admit had very little company, saw very little of society.
+I realize that now when it may be too late."
+
+"Oh, I hope not," said Dorian.
+
+"Carlia, naturally, was full of life. She wanted to go and see and
+learn. All these desires in her were suppressed so long that this is the
+way it has broken loose. Yes, I suppose that's true."
+
+Dorian let the father give vent to his feelings in his talk. He could
+reply very little, for truth to say, he realized that the father was
+stating Carlia's case quite accurately. He recalled the girl when he and
+she had walked back and forth to and from the high school how she had
+rapidly developed her sunny nature in the warm, somewhat care-free
+environment of the school life, and how lately with the continual
+drudgery of her work, she had changed to a pessimism unnatural to one
+of her years. Yes, one continual round of work at the farm house is apt
+either to crush to dullness or to arouse to rebellion. Carlia was of the
+kind not easily crushed.... But what could they now do? What could
+he do? For, it came to him with great force that he himself was not
+altogether free from blame in this matter. He could have done more,
+vastly more for Carlia Duke.
+
+"Well, Brother Duke," said Dorian. "Is there anything that I can do?"
+
+"I don't think of anything," said he.
+
+"Not now," added the mother in a tone which indicated that she did not
+wish the implied occasion to be too severe.
+
+The father followed Dorian out in the yard. There Dorian asked:
+
+"Brother Duke, has this Mr. Lamont been about lately?"
+
+"He was here yesterday. He came, he said, as soon as he heard of
+Carlia's disappearance. He seemed very much concerned about it."
+
+"And he knew nothing about it until yesterday?"
+
+"He said not--do you suspect--he--might--?"
+
+"I'm not accusing anybody, but I never was favorably impressed with the
+man."
+
+"He seemed so truly sorry, that I never thought he might have had
+something to do with it."
+
+"Well, I'm not so sure; but I'll go and see him myself. I suppose I can
+find him in his office in the city?"
+
+"I think so--Well, do what you can for us, my boy; and Dorian, don't
+take to heart too much what her mother implied just now."
+
+"Not any more than I ought," replied Dorian. "If there is any blame to
+be placed on me--and I think there is--I want to bear it, and do what
+I can to correct my mistakes. I think a lot of Carlia, I like her more
+than any other girl I know, and I should have shown that to her both by
+word and deed more than I have done. I'm going to help you find her, and
+when I find her I'll not let her go so easily."
+
+"Thank you. I'm glad to hear you say that."
+
+Monday morning Dorian went to the city and readily found the man whom he
+was seeking. He was in his office.
+
+"Good morning. Glad to see you," greeted Mr. Lamont, as he swung around
+on his chair. "Take a seat. What can I do for you?"
+
+As the question was asked abruptly, the answer came in like manner.
+
+"I want to know what you know about Carlia Duke."
+
+Mr. Lamont reddened, but he soon regained his self-possession.
+
+"What do you mean!" he asked.
+
+"You have heard of her disappearance?"
+
+"Yes; I was very sorry to hear of it."
+
+"It seems her father has exhausted every known means of finding her, and
+I thought you might, at least, give him a clew."
+
+"I should be most happy to do so, if I could; but I assure you I haven't
+the least idea where she has gone. I am indeed sorry, as I expressed to
+her father the other day."
+
+"You were with her a good deal."
+
+"Well, not a good deal, Mr. Trent--just a little," he smilingly
+corrected. "I will admit I'd liked to have seen more of her, but I soon
+learned that I had not the ghost of a chance with you in the field."
+
+"You are making fun, Mr. Lamont."
+
+"Not at all, my good fellow. You are the lucky dog when it comes to Miss
+Duke. A fine girl she is, a mighty fine girl--a diamond, just a little
+in the rough. As I'm apparently out of the race, go to it, Mr. Trent and
+win her. Good luck to you. I don't think you'll have much trouble."
+
+Dorian was somewhat nonplused by this fulsome outburst. He could not for
+a moment find anything to say. The two men looked at each other for a
+moment as if each were measuring the other. Then Mr. Lamont said:
+
+"If at any time I can help you, let me know--call on me. Now you'll have
+to excuse me as I have some business matters to attend to."
+
+Dorian was dismissed.
+
+The disappearance of Carlia Duke continued to be a profound mystery. The
+weeks went by, and then the months. The gossips found other and newer
+themes. Those directly affected began to think that all hopes of finding
+her were gone.
+
+Dorian, however, did not give up. In the strenuous labors of closing
+summer and fall he had difficulty in keeping his mind on his work. His
+imagination ranged far and wide, and when it went into the evil places
+of the world, he suffered so that he had to throw off the suggestion by
+force. He talked freely with his mother and with Carlia's parents on all
+possible phases of the matter, until, seemingly, there was nothing more
+to be said. To others, he said nothing.
+
+Ever since Dorian had been taught to lisp his simple prayers at his
+mother's knee, he had found strength and comfort in going to the Lord.
+With the growth of his knowledge of the gospel and his enlarged vision
+of God's providences, his prayers became a source of power. Uncle
+Zed had taught him that this trustful reliance on a higher power was
+essential to his progress. The higher must come to the help of the
+lower, but the lower must seek for that help and sincerely accept it
+when offered. As a child, his prayers had been very largely a set form,
+but as he had come in contact with life and its experiences, he had
+learned to suit his prayers to his needs. Just now, Carlia and her
+welfare was the burden of his petitions.
+
+The University course must wait another year, so Dorian and his mother
+decided. They could plainly see that one more year would be needed,
+besides Dorian was not in a condition to concentrate his mind on study.
+So, when the long evenings came on again, he found solace in his
+books, and read again many of dear Uncle Zed's writings which had been
+addressed so purposely to him.
+
+One evening in early December Dorian and his mother were cosily "at
+home" to any good visitors either of persons or ideas. Dorian was
+looking over some of his papers.
+
+"Mother, listen to this," he said. "Here is a gem from Uncle Zed which I
+have not seen before." He read:
+
+"'The acquisition of wealth brings with it the obligation of helping
+the poor; the acquisition of knowledge brings with it the obligation of
+teaching others; the acquisition of strength and power brings with it
+the obligation of helping the weak. This is what God does when He says
+that His work and His glory is to bring to pass the immortality and
+eternal life of man'."
+
+"How true that is," said the mother.
+
+"Yes," added Dorian after a thoughtful pause, "I am just wondering how
+and to what extent I am fulfilling any obligation which is resting on me
+by reason of blessings I am enjoying. Let's see--we are not rich, but we
+meet every call made on us by way of tithing and donations; we are not
+very wise, but we impart of what we have by service; we are not very
+strong--I fear, mother, that's where I lack. Am I giving of my strength
+as fully as I can to help the weak. I don't know--I don't know."
+
+"You mean Carlia?"
+
+"Yes; what am I doing besides thinking and praying for her?"
+
+"What more can we do?"
+
+"Well, I can try doing something more."
+
+"What, for instance!"
+
+"Trying to find her."
+
+"But her father has done that."
+
+"Yes; but he has given up too soon. I should continue the search. I've
+been thinking about that lately. I can't stay cosily and safely at home
+any longer, mother, when Carlia may be in want of protection."
+
+"And what would you be liable to find if you found her?"
+
+That question was not new to his own mind, although his mother had not
+asked it before. Perhaps, in this case, ignorance was more bliss than
+knowledge. Whatever had happened to her, would it not be best to have
+the pure image of her abide with him? But he know when he thought of it
+further that such a conclusion was not worthy of a strong man. He should
+not be afraid even of suffering if it came in the performance of duty.
+
+That very night Dorian had a strange dream, one unusual to him because
+he remembered it so distinctly the day after. He dreamed that he saw
+Mildred in what might well be called the heavenly land. She seemed busy
+in sketching a beautiful landscape and as he approached her, she looked
+up to him and smiled. Then, as she still gazed at him, her countenance
+changed and with concern in her voice, she asked, "Where's Carlia?"
+
+The scene vanished, and that was all of the dream. In the dim
+consciousness of waking he seemed to hear Carlia's voice calling to him
+as it did that winter night when he had left her, not heeding. The call
+thrilled his very heart again:
+
+"Dorian, Dorian, come back--come back!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
+
+
+The second week in December Dorian went into action in search of Carlia
+Duke. He acknowledged to himself that it was like searching for the
+proverbial needle in the haystack, but inaction was no longer possible.
+
+Carlia very likely had no large amount of money with her, so she would
+have to seek employment. She could have hidden herself in the city, but
+Dorian reasoned that she would be fearful of being found, so would have
+gone to some nearby town; but which one, he had no way of knowing.
+He visited a number of adjacent towns and made diligent enquiries at
+hotels, stores, and some private houses. Nothing came of this first
+week's search.
+
+A number of mining towns could easily be reached by train from the city.
+In these towns many people came and went without notice or comment.
+Dorian spent nearly a week in one of them, but he found no clue. He went
+to another. The girl would necessarily have to go to a hotel at first,
+so the searcher examined a number of hotel registers. She had been gone
+now about six months, so the search had to be in some books long since
+discarded, much to the annoyance of the clerks.
+
+Dorian left the second town for the third which was situated well up in
+the mountains. The weather was cold, and the snow lay two feet deep over
+the hills and valleys. He became disheartened at times, but always he
+reasoned that he must try a little longer; and then one day in a hotel
+register dated nearly five months back, he found this entry:
+
+"Carlia Davis."
+
+Dorian's heart gave a bound when he saw the name. Carlia was not a
+common name, and the handwriting was familiar. But why Davis? He
+examined the signature closely. The girl, unexperienced in the art of
+subterfuge, had started to write her name, and had gotten to the D in
+Duke, when the thought of disguise had come to her. Yes; there was an
+unusual break between that first letter and the rest of the name. Carlia
+had been here. He was on the right track, thank the Lord!
+
+Dorian enquired of the hotel clerk if he remembered the lady. Did he
+know anything about her? No; that was so long ago. His people came and
+went. That was all. But Carlia had been here. That much was certain.
+Here was at least a fixed point in the sea of nothingness from which he
+could work. His wearied and confused mind could at least come back to
+that name in the hotel register.
+
+He began a systematic search of the town. First he visited the small
+business section, but without results. Then he took up the residential
+district, systematically, so that he would not miss any. One afternoon
+he knocked on the door of what appeared to be one of the best
+residences. After a short wait, the door was opened by a girl, highly
+painted but lightly clad, who smiled at the handsome young fellow and
+bade him come in. He stepped into the hall and was shown into what
+seemed to be a parlor, though the parlors he had known had not smelled
+so of stale tobacco smoke. He made his usual inquiry. No; no such girl
+was here, she was sorry, but--the words which came from the carmine lips
+of the girl so startled Dorian that he stood, hat in hand, staring at
+her, and shocked beyond expression. He know, of course, that evil houses
+existed especially in mining towns, inhabited by corrupt women, but this
+was the first time he had ever been in such a place. When he realized
+where he was, a real terror seized him, and with unceremonious haste he
+got out and away, the girl's laughter of derision ringing in his ears.
+
+Dorian was unnerved. He went back to his room, his thoughts in a whirl,
+his apprehensions sinking to gloomy depths. What if Carlia should be in
+such a place? A cold sweat of suffering broke over him before he could
+drive away the thought. But at last he did get rid of it. His mind
+cleared again, and he set out determined to continued the search.
+However, he went no more into the houses by the invitation of inmates of
+doubtful character, but made his inquiries at the open door.
+
+Then it occurred to Dorian that Carlia, being a country bred girl
+and accustomed to work about farm houses, might apply to some of the
+adjacent farms down in the valley below the town for work. The whole
+country lay under deep snow, but the roads were well broken. Dorian
+walked out to a number of the farms and made enquiries. At the third
+house he was met by a pleasant faced, elderly woman who listened
+attentively to what he said, and then invited him in. When they were
+both seated, she asked him his name. Dorian told her.
+
+"And why are you interested in this girl?" she continued.
+
+"Has she been here?" he asked eagerly.
+
+"Never mind. You answer my question."
+
+Dorian explained as much as he thought proper, but the woman still
+appeared suspicious.
+
+"Are you her brother?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Her young man?"
+
+"Not exactly; only a dear friend."
+
+"Well, you look all right, but looks are deceivin'." The woman tried to
+be very severe with him, but somehow she did not succeed very well. She
+looked quite motherly as she sat with her folded hands in her ample lap
+and a shrewd look in her face. Dorian gained courage to say:
+
+"I believe you know something about the girl I am seeking. Tell me."
+
+"You haven't told me the name of the girl you are looking for."
+
+"Her name is Carlia Duke."
+
+"That isn't what she called herself."
+
+"Oh, then you do know."
+
+"This girl was Carlia Davis."
+
+"Yes--is she here!"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you know where she is?"
+
+"No, I don't."
+
+Dorian's hopes fell. "But tell me what you know about her--you know
+something."
+
+"It was the latter part of August when she came to us. She had walked
+from town, an' she said she was wanting a place to work. As she was used
+to farm life, she preferred to work at a country home, she said."
+
+"Was she a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked girl?"
+
+"Her hair was dark, but there was no roses in her cheeks. There might
+have been once. I was glad to say yes to her for I needed help bad. Of
+course, it was strange, this girl comin' from the city a' wanting to
+work in the country. It's usually the other way."
+
+"Yes; I suppose so."
+
+"So I was a little suspicious."
+
+"Of what?"
+
+"That she hadn't come to work at all; though I'll say that she did her
+best. I tried to prevent her, but she worked right up to the last."
+
+"To the last? I don't understand?"
+
+"Don't you know that she was to be sick? That she came here to be sick?"
+
+"To be sick?" Dorian was genuinely at loss to understand.
+
+"At first I called her a cheat, and threatened to send her away; but the
+poor child pleaded so to stay that I hadn't the heart to turn her out.
+She had no where to go, she was a long way from home, an' so I let her
+stay, an' we did the best for her."
+
+Dorian, in the simplicity of his mind, did not yet realize what the
+woman was talking about. He let her continue.
+
+"We had one of the best doctors in the city 'tend her, an' I did the
+nursing myself which I consider was as good as any of the new-fangled
+trained nurses can do; but the poor girl had been under a strain so long
+that the baby died soon after it was born."
+
+"The baby?" gasped Dorian.
+
+"Yes," went on the woman, all unconsciously that the listener had not
+fully understood. "Yes, it didn't live long, which, I suppose, in such
+cases, is a blessing."
+
+Dorian stared at the woman, then in a dazed way, he looked about the
+plain farm-house furnishings, some details of which strangely impressed
+him. The woman went on talking, which seemed easy for her, now she had
+fairly started; but Dorian did not hear all she said. One big fact was
+forcing itself into his brain, to the exclusion of all minor realities.
+
+"She left a month ago," Dorian heard the woman say when again he was in
+a condition to listen. "We did our best to get her to stay, for we had
+become fond of her. Somehow, she got the notion that the scoundrel who
+had betrayed her had found her hiding place, an' she was afraid. So she
+left."
+
+"Where did she go? Did she tell you?"
+
+"No; she wouldn't say. The fact is, she didn't know herself. I'm sure
+of that. She just seemed anxious to hide herself again. Poor girl." The
+woman wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.
+
+Dorian arose, thanked her, and went out. He looked about the
+snow-covered earth and the clouds which threatened storm. He walked on
+up to the road back to the town. He was benumbed, but not with cold. He
+went into his room, and, although it was mid-afternoon, he did not go
+out any more that day. He sat supinely on his bed. He paced the floor.
+He looked without seeing out of the window at the passing crowds. He
+could not think at all clearly. His whole being was in an uproar of
+confusion. The hours passed. Night came on with its blaze of lights in
+the streets. What could he do now? What should he do now?
+
+"Oh, God, help me," he prayed, "help me to order my thoughts, tell me
+what to do."
+
+If ever in his life Dorian had need of help from higher power, it was
+now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
+
+
+Dorian had not found Carlia Duke; instead, he had found something which
+appeared to him to be the end of all things. Had he found her dead, in
+her virginal purity, he could have placed her, with Mildred, safely away
+in his heart and his hopes; but this!... What more could he now do? That
+he did not take the first train home was because he was benumbed into
+inactivity.
+
+The young man had never before experienced such suffering of spirit. The
+leaden weight on his heart seemed to be crushing, not only his physical
+being, but his spirit also into the depths of despair. As far back in
+his boyhood as he could remember, he had been taught the enormity of
+sexual sin, until it had become second nature for him to think of it as
+something very improbable, if not impossible, as pertaining to himself.
+And yet, here it was, right at the very door of his heart, casting its
+evil shadow into the most sacred precincts of his being. He had never
+imagined it coming to any of his near and dear ones, especially not
+to Carlia--Carlia, his neighbor, his chummy companion in fields and
+highways, his schoolmate. He pictured her in many of her wild adventures
+as a child, and in her softer moods as a grown-up girl. He saw again her
+dark eyes flash with anger, and then her pearly teeth gleam in laughter
+at him. He remembered how she used to run from him, and then at other
+times how she would cling to him as if she pleaded for a protection
+which he had not given. The weak had reached out to the strong, and the
+stronger one had failed. If 'remorse of conscience' is hell, Dorian
+tasted of its bitter depths, for it came to him now that perhaps because
+of his neglect, Carlia had been led to her fall.
+
+But what could he now do? Find her. And then, what? Marry her? He
+refused to consider that for a moment. He drove the thought fiercely
+away. That would be impossible now. The horror of what had been would
+always stand as a repellent specter between them.... Yes, he had loved
+her--he knew that now more assuredly than ever; and he tried to place
+that love away from him by a play upon words in the past tense; but deep
+down in his heart he knew that he was merely trying to deceive himself.
+He loved her still; and the fact that he loved her but could not marry
+her added fuel to the flames of his torment.
+
+That long night was mostly a hideous nightmare and even after he awoke
+from a fitful sleep next morning, he was in a stupor. After a while,
+he went out into the wintry air. It was Sunday, and the town was
+comparatively quiet. He found something to eat at a lunch counter, then
+he walked about briskly to try to get his blood into active circulation.
+Again he went to his room.
+
+Presently, he heard the ringing of church bells. The folks would be
+going to Sunday school in Greenstreet. He saw in the vision of his mind
+Uncle Zed sitting with the boys about him in his class. He saw the
+teacher's lifted hand emphasize the warning against sin, and then he
+seemed to hear a voice read:
+
+"For the Son of man is come to save that which is lost.
+
+"How think ye if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone
+astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the
+mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray?
+
+"And if so be that he find it, verily, I say unto you, he rejoiceth more
+of that sheep than of the ninety and nine which went not astray."
+
+Dorian seemed to awaken with a start. Donning coat and hat, he went out
+again, his steps being led down the country road toward the farmhouse.
+He wanted to visit again the house where Carlia had been. Her presence
+there and her suffering had hallowed it.
+
+"Oh, how do you do?" greeted the woman, when she saw Dorian at the door.
+"Come in."
+
+Dorian entered, this time into the parlor which was warm, and where a
+man sat comfortably with his Sunday paper.
+
+"Father," said the woman, "this is the young man who was here
+yesterday."
+
+The man shook hands with Dorian and bade him draw up his chair to the
+stove.
+
+"I hope you'll excuse me for coming again," said Dorian; "but the fact
+of the matter is I seemed unable to keep away. I left yesterday without
+properly thanking you for what you did for my friend, Miss Carlia. I
+also want to pay you a little for the expense you were put to. I haven't
+much money with me, but I will send it to you after I get home, if you
+will give me your name and address."
+
+The farmer and his wife exchanged glances.
+
+"Why, as to that," replied the man, "nothing is owing us. We liked the
+girl. We think she was a good girl and had been sinned against."
+
+"I'm sure you are right," said Dorian. "As I said, I went away rather
+abruptly yesterday. I was so completely unprepared for that which I
+learned about her. But I'm going to find her if I can, and take her home
+to her parents."
+
+"Where do you live!" asked the man.
+
+Dorian told him.
+
+"Are you a 'Mormon'?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And not ashamed of it!"
+
+"No; proud of it--grateful, rather."
+
+"Well, young man, you look like a clean, honest chap. Tell me why you
+are proud to be a 'Mormon'."
+
+Dorian did his best. He had had very little experience in presenting the
+principles of the gospel to an unbeliever, but Uncle Zed's teachings,
+together with his own studies, now stood him well in hand.
+
+"Well," commented the farmer, "that's fine. You can't be a very bad man
+if you believe in and practice all what you have been telling us."
+
+"I hope I am not a bad man. I have some light on the truth, and woe is
+me if I sin against that light."
+
+The farmer turned to his wife. "Mother," he said, "I think you may
+safely tell him."
+
+Dorian looked enquiringly at the woman.
+
+"It's this," she said. "My husband brought home a postcard from the
+office last evening after you had left--a card from Miss Davis, asking
+us to send her an article of dress which she had forgotten. Here is the
+card. The address may help you to find her. I am sure you mean no harm
+to the girl."
+
+Dorian made note of the address, as also that of the farmer's with whom
+he was visiting. Then he arose to go.
+
+"Now, don't be in such a hurry," admonished the man. "We'll have dinner
+presently."
+
+Dorian was glad to remain, as he felt quite at home with these people,
+Mr. and Mrs. Whitman. They had been good to Carlia. Perhaps he could
+learn a little more about her. The dinner was enjoyed very much.
+Afterward, Mrs. Whitman, encouraged by Dorian's attentiveness, poured
+into his willing ear all she had learned of the girl he was seeking; and
+before the woman ceased her freely-flowing talk, a most important item
+had been added to his knowledge of the case. Carlia, it seems, had gone
+literally helpless to her downfall. "Drugged" was the word Mrs. Whitman
+used. The villainy of the foul deed moved the young man's spirit to a
+fierce anger against the wretch who had planned it, and the same time
+his pity increased for the unfortunate victim. As Dorian sat there and
+listened to the story which the woman had with difficulty obtained from
+the girl, he again suffered the remorse of conscience which comes from a
+realization of neglected duty and disregarded opportunity. It was late
+in the afternoon before he got back to the town.
+
+The next day Dorian made inquiries as to how he could reach the place
+indicated by the address, and he learned that it was a ranch house well
+up in the mountains. There was a daily mail in that direction, except
+when the roads and the weather hindered; and it seemed that these would
+now be hinderances. The threatened storm came, and with it high wind
+which piled the snow into deep, hard drifts, making the mountain road
+nearly impassible. Dorian found the mail-carrier who told him that it
+would be impossible to make a start until the storm had ceased. All day
+the snow fell, and all day Dorian fretted impatiently, and was tempted
+to once more go out to Mr. and Mrs. Whitman; but he did not. Christmas
+was only three days off. He could reach home and spend the day with his
+mother, but there would be considerable expense, and he felt as if he
+must be on the ground so that at the soonest possible moment he could
+continue on the trail which he had found. The pleasure of the home
+Christmas must this time be sacrificed, for was not he in very deed
+going into the mountains to seek that which was lost.
+
+The storm ceased toward evening, but the postman would not make a start
+until next morning. Dorian joined him then, and mounted beside him. The
+sky was not clear, the clouds only breaking and drifting about as if in
+doubt whether to go or to stay. The road was heavy, and it was all the
+two horses could do to draw the light wagon with its small load. Dorian
+wondered how Carlia had ever come that way. Of course, it had been
+before the heavy snow, when traveling was not so bad.
+
+"Who lives at this place?" asked Dorian of the driver, giving the box
+number Carlia had sent.
+
+"That? Oh, that's John Hickson's place."
+
+"A rancher?"
+
+"No; not exactly. He's out here mostly for his health."
+
+"Does he live here in the mountains the year around?"
+
+"Usually he moves into town for the winter. Last year the winter was so
+mild that he decided to try to stick one through; but surely, he's got a
+dose this time. Pretty bad for a sick man, I reckon."
+
+"Anybody with him?"
+
+"Wife and three children--three of the cutest kiddies you ever saw. Oh,
+he's comfortable enough, for he's got a fine house. You know, it's great
+out here among the pine hills in the summer; but just now, excuse me."
+
+"Is it far?"
+
+"No." The driver looked with concern at the storm which was coming again
+down the mountain like a great white wave. "I think perhaps we'll have
+to stop at the Hickson's tonight," he said.
+
+The travelers were soon enwrapped in a swirling mantle of snow. Slowly
+and carefully the dug-ways had to be traversed. The sky was dense and
+black. The storm became a blizzard, and the cold became intense. The men
+wrapped themselves in additional blankets. The horses went patiently on,
+the driver peering anxiously ahead; but it must have been well after
+noon before the outlines of a large building near at hand bulked out of
+the leaden sky.
+
+"I'm glad we're here," exclaimed the driver.
+
+"Where?" asked Dorian.
+
+"At Hickson's."
+
+They drove into the yard and under a shed where the horses were
+unhitched and taken into a stable. A light as if from a wood fire in a
+grate danced upon the white curtain of the unshaded windows. With his
+mail-bag, the driver shuffled his way through the snow to the kitchen
+door and knocked. The door opened immediately and Mrs. Hickson,
+recognizing the mail-driver, bade him come in. Two children peered
+curiously from the doorway of another room. Dorian a little nervously
+awaited the possibility of Carlia's appearing.
+
+It was pleasant to get shelter and a warm welcome in such weather. After
+the travelers had warmed themselves by the kitchen stove, they were
+invited into another room to meet Mr. Hickson, who was reclining in a
+big arm chair before the grate. He welcomed them without rising, but
+pointed them to chairs by the fire. They talked of the weather, of
+course. Mr. Hickson reasoned that it was foolish to complain about
+something which they could not possible control. Dorian was introduced
+as a traveler, no explanation being asked or given as to his business.
+He was welcome. In fact, it was a pleasure, said the host, to have
+company even for an evening, as very few people ever stopped over night,
+especially in the winter. Dorian soon discovered that this man was not
+a rough mountaineer, but a man of culture, trying to prolong his
+earth-life by the aid of mountain air, laden with the aroma of the
+pines. The wife went freely in and out of the room, the children also;
+but somewhat to Dorian's surprise, no Carlia appeared. If she were there
+in the house, she surely would be helping with the meal which seemed to
+be in the way of preparation.
+
+The storm continued all afternoon. There could be no thought of moving
+on that day. And indeed, it was pleasant sitting thus by the blazing log
+in the fireplace and listening, for the most part, to the intelligent
+talk of the host. The evening meal was served early, and the two guests
+ate with the family in the dining room. Still no Carlia.
+
+When the driver went out to feed his horses and to smoke his pipe, and
+Mr. Hickson had retired, the children, having overcome some of their
+timidity, turned their attention to Dorian. The girl, the oldest, with
+dark hair and rosy cheeks, reminded him of another girl just then in his
+thoughts. The two small boys were chubby and light haired, after the
+mother. When Dorian managed to get the children close to him, they
+reminded him that Christmas was only one day distant. Did he live near
+by? Was he going home for Christmas? What was Santa Claus going to bring
+him?
+
+Dorian warmed to their sociability and their clatter. He learned from
+them that their Christmas this year would likely be somewhat of a
+failure. Daddy was sick. There was no Christmas tree, and they doubted
+Santa Claus' ability to find his way up in the mountains in the storm.
+This was the first winter they had been here. Always they had been in
+town during the holidays, where it was easy for Santa to reach them; but
+now--the little girl plainly choked back the tears of disappointment.
+
+"Why, if it's a Christmas tree you want," said Dorian, "that ought to be
+easy. There are plenty up on the nearby hills."
+
+"Yes; but neither papa nor mama nor we can get them."
+
+"But I can."
+
+"Oh, will you? Tomorrow?"
+
+"Yes; tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We'll have to have it then."
+
+The children were dancing with glee as the mother came in and learned
+what had been going on. "You mustn't bother the gentleman," she
+admonished, but Dorian pleaded for the pleasure of doing something for
+them. The mother explained that because of unforeseen difficulties the
+children were doomed to disappointment this holiday season, and they
+would have to be satisfied with what scanty preparation could be made.
+
+"I think I can help," suggested the young man, patting the littlest
+confiding fellow on the head. "We cannot go on until tomorrow, I
+understand, and I should very much like to be useful."
+
+The big pleading eyes of the children won the day. They moved into the
+kitchen. All the corners were ransacked for colored paper and cloth, and
+with scissors and flour paste, many fantastic decorations were made to
+hang on the tree. Corn was popped and strung into long white chains. But
+what was to be done for candles? Could Dorian make candles? He could do
+most everything, couldn't he? He would try. Had they some parafine, used
+to seal preserve jars. Oh, yes, large pieces were found. And this with
+some string was soon made into some very possible candles. The children
+were intensely interested, and even the mail-driver wondered at the
+young man's cleverness. They had never seen anything like this before.
+The tree and its trimmings had always been bought ready for their use.
+Now they learned, which their parents should have known long ago, that
+there is greater joy in the making of a plaything than in the possession
+of it.
+
+The question of candy seemed to bother them all. Their last hopes went
+when there was not a box of candy in the postman's bag. What should they
+do for candy and nuts and oranges and--
+
+"Can you make candy?" asked the girl of Dorian as if she was aware she
+was asking the miraculous.
+
+"Now children," warned the happy mother. "You have your hands full" she
+said to Dorian. "There's no limit to their demands."
+
+Dorian assured her that the greater pleasure was his.
+
+"Tomorrow," he told the clammering children, "we'll see what we can do
+about the candy."
+
+"Chocolates?" asked one.
+
+"Caramels," chose another.
+
+"Fudge," suggested the third.
+
+"All these?" laughed Dorian. "Well, we'll see-tomorrow," and with that
+the children went to bed tremulously happy.
+
+The next morning the sun arose on a most beautiful scene. The snow lay
+deep on mountain and in valley. It ridged the fences and trees. Paths
+and roads were obliterated.
+
+The children were awake early. As Dorian dressed, he heard them
+scampering down the stairs. Evidently, they were ready for him. He
+looked out of the window. He would have to make good about that tree.
+
+As yet, Dorian had found no traces of the object of his search. He had
+not asked direct questions about her, but he would have to before he
+left. There seemed some mystery always just before him. The mail-driver
+would not be ready to go before noon, so Dorian would have time to get
+the tree and help the children decorate it. Then he would have to find
+out all there was to know about Carlia. Surely, she was somewhere in the
+locality.
+
+After breakfast, Dorian found the axe in the wood-shed, and began to
+make his way through the deep snow up the hill toward a small grove of
+pine. Behind the shoulder of a hill, he discovered another house, not so
+large as Mr. Hickson's, but neat and comfortably looking. The blue
+smoke of a wood fire was rising from the chimney. A girl was vigorously
+shoveling a path from the house to the wood-pile. She was dressed in big
+boots, a sweater, and a red hood. She did not see Dorian until he came
+near the small clearing by the house. Straightening from her work,
+she stood for a moment looking intently at him. Then with a low, yet
+startled cry, she let the shovel fall, and sped swiftly back along the
+newly-made path and into the house.
+
+It was Carlia.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
+
+
+Dorian stood knee-deep in the snow and watched the girl run back into
+the house. In his surprise, he forgot his immediate errand. He had found
+Carlia, found her well and strong; but why had she run from him with a
+cry of alarm? She surely had recognized him; she would not have acted
+thus toward a stranger. Apparently, she was not glad to see him. He
+stood looking at the closed door, and a feeling of resentment came
+to him. Here he had been searching for her all this time, only to be
+treated as if he were an unwelcome intruder. Well, he would not force
+himself on her. If she did not want to see him, why annoy her? He could
+go back, tell her father where she was, and let him come for her. He
+stood, hesitating.
+
+The door opened again and a woman looked out inquiringly at the young
+man standing in the snow with an axe on his shoulder. Dorian would have
+to offer a word of explanation to the woman, at least, so he stepped
+into the path toward the house.
+
+"Good morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I'm out to get a Christmas
+tree for the children over there, and it seems I have startled the young
+lady who just ran in."
+
+"Yes," said the woman.
+
+"I'm sorry to have frightened her, but I'm glad to have found her. You
+see, I've been searching for her."
+
+The woman stood in the doorway, saying nothing, but looking with some
+suspicion at the young man.
+
+"I should like to see her again," continued Dorian. "Tell her it's
+Dorian Trent."
+
+"I'll tell her," said the woman as she withdrew and closed the door.
+
+The wait seemed long, but it was only a few minutes when the door opened
+and Dorian was invited to come in. They passed through the kitchen into
+the living room where a fire was burning in a grate. Dorian was given a
+chair. He could not fail to see that he was closely observed. The woman
+went into another room, but soon returned.
+
+"She'll be in shortly," she announced.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+The woman retired to the kitchen, and presently Carlia came in. She had
+taken off her wraps and now appeared in a neat house dress. As she stood
+hesitatingly by the door. Dorian came with outstretched hands to greet
+her; but she was not eager to meet him, so he went back to his chair.
+Both were silent. He saw it was the same Carlia, with something added,
+something which must have taken much experience if not much time to
+bring to her. The old-time roses, somewhat modified, were in her cheeks,
+the old-time red tinted the full lips; but she was more mature, less of
+a girl and more of a woman; and to Dorian she was more beautiful than
+ever.
+
+"Carlia," he again ventured, "I'm glad to see you; but you don't seem
+very pleased with your neighbor. Why did you run from me out there?"
+
+"You startled me."
+
+"Yes; I suppose I did. It was rather strange, this coming so suddenly on
+to you. I've been looking for you quite a while."
+
+"I don't understand why you have been looking for me."
+
+"You know why, Carlia."
+
+"I don't."
+
+"You're just talking to be talking--but here, this sounds like
+quarreling, and we don't want to do that so soon, do we?"
+
+"No, I guess not."
+
+"Won't you sit down."
+
+The girl reached for a chair, then seated herself.
+
+"The folks are anxious about you. When can you go home?"
+
+"I'm not going home."
+
+"Not going home? Why not? Who are these people, and what are you doing
+here?"
+
+"These are good people, and they treat me fine. I'm going to
+stay--here."
+
+"But I don't see why. Of course, it's none of my business; but for the
+sake of your father and mother, you ought to go home."
+
+"How--how are they!"
+
+"They are as well as can be expected. You've never written them, have
+you, nor ever told where you were. They do not know whether you are dead
+or alive. That isn't right."
+
+The girl turned her bowed head slightly, but did not speak, so he
+continued: "The whole town has been terribly aroused about you. You
+disappeared so suddenly and completely. Your father has done everything
+he could think of to find you. When he gave up, I took up the task, and
+here you are in the hills not so far from Greenstreet."
+
+Carlia's eyes swam with tears. The kitchen door opened, and the woman
+looked at Carlia and then at Dorian.
+
+"Breakfast is ready," she announced. "Come, Miss Davis, and have your
+friend come too."
+
+Dorian explained that he had already eaten.
+
+"Please excuse me just now," pleaded Carlia, to the woman. "Go eat your
+breakfast without me. Mrs. Carlston, this is Mr. Trent, a neighbor of
+ours at my home. I was foolish to be so scared of him. He--he wouldn't
+hurt anyone." She tried bravely to smile.
+
+Alone again, the two were ill at ease. A flood of memories, a confusion
+of thoughts and feelings swept over Dorian. The living Carlia in all
+her attractive beauty was before him, yet back of her stood the grim
+skeleton. Could he close his eyes to that? Could he let his love for her
+overcome the repulsion which would arise like a black cloud into his
+thoughts? Well, time alone would tell. Just now he must be kind to her,
+he must be strong and wise. Of what use is strength and wisdom if it is
+unfruitful at such times as these? Dorian arose to his feet and stood in
+the strength of his young manhood. He seemed to take Carlia with him,
+for she also stood looking at him with her shining eyes.
+
+"Well, Carlia," he said, "go get your breakfast, and I'll finish my
+errand. You see, the storm stopped the mail carrier and me and we had
+to put up at your neighbour's last night. There I found three children
+greatly disappointed in not having their usual Christmas tree. I
+promised I would get them one this morning, and that's what I was out
+for when I saw you. You know, Carlia, it's Christmas Eve this morning,
+if you'll allow that contradiction."
+
+"Yes, I know."
+
+"I'll come back for you. And mind, you do not try to escape. I'll be
+watching the house closely. Anyway," he laughed lightly, "the snow's too
+deep for you to run very far."
+
+"O, Dorian--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He came toward her, but she with averted face, slipped toward the
+kitchen door.
+
+"I can't go home, I can't go with you--really, I can't," she said. "You
+go back home and tell the folks I'm all right now, won't you, please."
+
+"We'll talk about that after a while. I must get that tree now, or those
+kiddies will think I am a rank impostor." Dorian looked at his watch.
+"Why, it's getting on toward noon. So long, for the present."
+
+Dorian found and cut a fairly good tree. The children were at the window
+when he appeared, and great was their joy when they saw him carry it to
+the woodshed and make a stand for it, then bring it in to them. The mail
+carrier was about ready to continue his journey, and he asked Dorian if
+he was also ready. But Dorian had no reason for going on further; he had
+many reasons for desiring to remain. And here was the Christmas tree,
+not dressed, nor the candy made. How could he disappoint these children?
+
+"I wonder," he said to the mother, "if it would be asking too much to
+let me stay here until tomorrow. I'm in no hurry, and I would like to
+help the children with the tree, as I promised. I've been hindered some
+this morning, and--"
+
+"Stay," shouted the children who had heard this. "Stay, do stay."
+
+"You are more than welcome," replied Mrs. Hickson; "but I fear that the
+children are imposing on you."
+
+Dorian assured her that the pleasure was his, and after the mail carrier
+had departed, he thought it wise to explain further.
+
+"A very strange thing has happened," said Dorian. "As I was going after
+the tree for the children, I met the young lady who is staying at Mrs.
+Carlston."
+
+"Miss Davis."
+
+"Yes; she's a neighbor of mine. We grew up together as boy and girl.
+Through some trouble, she left home, and--in fact, I have been searching
+for her. I am going to try to get her to go home to her parents.
+She--she could help us with our tree dressing this evening."
+
+"We'd like to have both our neighbors visit with us," said Mrs. Hickson;
+"but the snow is rather deep for them."
+
+By the middle of the afternoon Dorian cleared a path to the neighboring
+house, and then went stamping on to the porch. Carlia opened the door
+and gave him a smiling welcome. She had dressed up a bit, he could
+see, and he was pleased with the thought that it was for him. Dorian
+delivered the invitation to the two women. Carlia would go immediately
+to help, and Mrs. Carlston would come later. Carlia was greeted by the
+children as a real addition to their company.
+
+"Did you bring an extra of stockings?" asked Mrs. Hickson of her. "An
+up-to-date Santa Claus is going to visit us tonight, I am sure." She
+glanced toward Dorian, who was busy with the children and the tree.
+
+That was a Christmas Eve long to be remembered by all those present in
+that house amid solitude of snow, of mountain, and of pine forests. The
+tree, under the magic touches of Dorian and Carlia grew to be a thing
+of beauty, in the eyes of the children. The home-made candles and
+decorations were pronounced to be as good as the "boughten ones." And
+the candy--what a miracle worker this sober-laughing, ruddy-haired young
+fellow was!
+
+Carlia could not resist the spirit of cheer. She smiled with the older
+people and laughed with the children. How good it was to laugh again,
+she thought. When the tree was fully ablaze, all, with the exception of
+Mr. Hickson joined hands and danced around it. Then they had to taste
+of the various and doubtful makings of candies, and ate a bread-pan of
+snow-white popcorn sprinkled with melted butter. Then Mr. Hickson told
+some stories, and his wife in a clear, sweet voice led the children
+in some Christmas songs. Oh, it was a real Christmas Eve, made doubly
+joyful by the simple helpfulness and kindness of all who took part.
+
+At the close of the evening, Dorian escorted Mrs. Carlston and Carlia
+back to their house, and the older woman graciously retired, leaving the
+parlor and the glowing log to the young people.
+
+They sat in the big armchairs facing the grate.
+
+"We've had a real nice Christmas Eve, after all," said he.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Our Christmas Eves at home are usually quiet. I'm the only kid there,
+and I don't make much noise. Frequently, just mother and Uncle Zed and
+I made up the company; and then when we could get Uncle Zed to talking
+about Jesus, and explain who He was, and tell his story before He came
+to this earth as the Babe of Bethlehem, there was a real Christmas
+spirit present. Yes; I believe you were with us on one of these
+occasions."
+
+"Yes, I was."
+
+Dorian adjusted the log in the grate. "Carlia, when shall we go home?"
+he asked.
+
+"How can I go home?"
+
+"A very simple matter. We ride on the stage to the railroad, and then--"
+
+"O! I do not mean that. How can I face my folks, and everybody?"
+
+"Of course, people will be inquisitive, and there will be a lot of
+speculation; but never mind that. Your father and mother will be mighty
+glad to get you back home, and I am sure your father will see to it that
+you--that you'll have no more cause to run away from home."
+
+"What--what?"
+
+"Why, he'll see that you do not have so much work--man's work, to do.
+Yes, regular downright drudgery it was. Why, I hardly blame you for
+running away, that is, taking a brief vacation." He went on talking, she
+looking silently into the fire. "But now," he said finally, "you have
+had a good rest, and you are ready to go home."
+
+She sat rigidly looking at the glow in the grate. He kept on talking
+cheerfully, optimistically, as if he wished to prevent the gloom of
+night to overwhelm them. Then, presently, the girl seemed to shake
+herself free from some benumbing influence, as she turned to him and
+said:
+
+"Dorian, why, really why have you gone to all this trouble to find me?"
+
+"Why, we all wanted to know what had become of you. Your father is a
+changed man because of your disappearance, and your mother is nearly
+broken hearted."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so; but is that all?"
+
+"Isn't that enough?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, I--I--"
+
+"Dorian, you're neither dull nor stupid, except in this. Why did not
+someone else do this hunting for a lost girl? Why should it be you?"
+
+Dorian arose, walked to the window and looked out into the wintry night.
+He saw the shine of the everlasting stars in the deep blue. He sensed
+the girl's pleading eyes sinking into his soul as if to search him out.
+He glimpsed the shadowy specter lurking in her background. And yet,
+as he fixed his eyes on the heavens, his mind cleared, his purpose
+strengthened. As he turned, there was a grim smile on his face. He
+walked back to the fire-place and seated himself on the arm of Carlia's
+chair.
+
+"Carlia," he said, "I may be stupid--I am stupid--I've always been
+stupid with you. I know it. I confess it to you. I have not always
+acted toward you as one who loves you. I don't know why--lay it to my
+stupidity. But, Carlia, I do love you. I have always loved you. Yes,
+ever since we were children playing in the fields and by the creek and
+the ditches. I know now what that feeling was. I loved you then, I love
+you now."
+
+The girl arose mechanically from her chair, reached out as if
+for support to the mantle. "Why, Oh, why did you not tell me
+before--before"--she cried, then swayed as if to a fall. Dorian caught
+her and placed her back in the seat. He took her cold hands, but in a
+moment, she pulled them away.
+
+"Dorian, please sit down in this other chair, won't you?"
+
+Dorian did as she wanted him to do, but he turned the chair to face her.
+
+"I want you to believe me, Carlia."
+
+"I am trying to believe you."
+
+"Is it so hard as all that?"
+
+"What I fear is that you are doing all this for me out of the goodness
+of your heart. Listen, let me say what I want to say--I believe I can
+now.... You're the best man I know. I have never met anyone as good as
+you, no, not even my father--nobody. You're far above me. You always
+have been willing to sacrifice yourself for others; and now--what I fear
+is that you are just doing this, saying this, out of the goodness of
+your heart and not because you really--really love me."
+
+"Carlia, stop--don't."
+
+"I know you, Dorian. I've heard you and Uncle Zed talk, sometimes when
+you thought I was not listening. I know your high ideals of service, how
+you believe it is necessary for the higher to reach down to help and
+save the lower. Oh, I know, Dorian; and it is this that I think of. You
+cannot love poor me for my sake, but you are doing this for fear of not
+doing your duty. Hush--Listen! Not that I don't honor you for your high
+ideals--they are noble, and belong to just such as I believe you are.
+Yes, I have always, even as a child, looked up to you as someone big and
+strong and good--Yes, I have always worshiped you, loved you! There, you
+know it, but what's the use!"
+
+Dorian moved his chair close to her, then said:
+
+"You are mistaken, of course, in placing my goodness so high, though
+I've always tried to do the right by everybody. That I have failed with
+you is evidence that I am not so perfect as you say. But now, let's
+forget everything else but the fact that we love each other. Can't we be
+happy in that?"
+
+The roses faded from Carlia's cheeks, though coaxed to stay by the
+firelight.
+
+"My dear," he continued, "we'll go home, and I'll try to make up to you
+my failings. I think I can do that, Carlia, when you become my wife."
+
+"I can't, Dorian, Oh, I can't be that."
+
+"Why not Carlia?"
+
+"I can't marry you. I'm not--No, Dorian."
+
+"In time, Carlia. We will have to wait, of course; but some day"--he
+took her hands, and she did not seem to have power to resist--"some day"
+he said fervently, "you are going to be mine for time and for eternity."
+
+They looked into each others faces without fear. Then: "Go now, Dorian"
+she said. "I can't stand any more tonight. Please go."
+
+"Yes; I'll go. Tomorrow, the stage comes again this way, and we'll go
+with it. That's settled. Goodnight."
+
+They both arose. He still held her hands.
+
+"Goodnight," he repeated, and kissed her gently on the cheek.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER NINETEEN.
+
+
+The sudden return of Carlia Duke to her home created as much talk as
+her disappearance had done. Dorian was besieged with enquirers whom he
+smilingly told that he had just come across her taking a little vacation
+up in the hills. What, in the hills in the depths of winter? Why, yes;
+none but those who have tried it know the comfort and the real rest one
+may obtain shut out by the snow from the world, in the solitude of the
+hills. He told as little as possible of the details of his search, even
+to Carlia's parents. Any unpleasant disclosures would have to come from
+her to them, he reasoned. Not being able to get Dorian talking about the
+case, the good people of Greenstreet soon exhausted their own knowledge
+of the matter, so in a short time, the gossip resumed its every-day
+trend.
+
+Hardly a day passed without Dorian spending some time with Carlia. She
+would not go to Sunday School or to Mutual, and it was some time before
+he could convince her that it was a matter of wisdom as well as of right
+that she should attend some of the public ward meetings. Frequently,
+he took his book to the Duke home and read aloud to Carlia. This she
+enjoyed very much. Sometimes the book was a first class novel, but
+oftener it was a scientific text or a religions treatise. Carlia
+listened attentively to his discussion of deep problems, and he was
+agreeably surprised to learn that she could readily follow him in the
+discussion of these themes; so that the long winter evenings spent
+with her either at her home or at his own became a source of great
+inspiration to the young man who had not lost sight or the mission
+assigned to him by the beloved Uncle Zed. Dorian talked freely to Carlia
+on how he might best fulfill the high destiny which seemed to lay before
+him; and Carlia entered enthusiastically into his plans.
+
+"Fine, fine," she would say. "Carry it out. You can do it."
+
+"With your help, Carlia."
+
+"I'll gladly help you all I can; but that is so little; what can I do?"
+
+"Trust me, have faith in me; and when the time comes, marry me."
+
+This was usually the end of the conversation for Carlia; she became
+silent unless he changed the subject.
+
+Dorian, naturally undemonstrative, was now more careful than ever in
+his love making. The intimacy between them never quite returned to the
+earlier state. Complete forgetfulness of what had been, was, of course,
+impossible, either for Carlia or for Dorian; but he tried manfully not
+to let the "specter" come too often between him and the girl he loved.
+He frequently told her that he loved her, but it was done by simple word
+or act. Dorian's greater knowledge gave him the advantage over her. He
+was bound by this greater knowledge to be the stronger, the wiser, the
+one who could keep all situations well in hand.
+
+One evening, when Carlia was unusually sweet and tempting, he asked if
+he might kiss her goodnight. She set her face as if it were hard to deny
+him, but she finally said:
+
+"No; you must not."
+
+"Why not, Carlia?"
+
+"We're not engaged yet."
+
+"Carlia!"
+
+"We are not. I have never promised to marry you, have I?" She smiled.
+
+"No; I guess not; but that's understood."
+
+"Don't be so sure."
+
+"There are some things definitely fixed without the spoken word."
+
+"Good night, Dorian." She was smiling still.
+
+"Good night, Carlia." Their hands met and clasped, atoning the best they
+could for the forbidden kiss.
+
+One evening when the feeling of spring was in the air, Dorian was going
+to call on Carlia, when he heard the approach of an automobile. As it
+turned into the bystreet, leading to the Duke home, Dorian saw the
+driver to be Mr. Jack Lamont. Dorian kept in the road, and set his face
+hard. As the machine had to stop to prevent running over him, Dorian
+turned, walked deliberately to the side of the car, and looking steadily
+into Mr. Lamont's face, said:
+
+"I'm going to Mr. Duke's also. If I find you there, I'll thrash you
+within an inch of your life. Drive on."
+
+For a moment, the two glared at each other, then the automobile went
+on--on past the Duke house toward town. When Dorian arrived at his
+destination, Carlia greeted him with:
+
+"Dorian, what's the matter?"
+
+"Nothing," he laughed.
+
+"You're as pale as a ghost."
+
+"Am I? Well, I haven't seen any ghosts--Say, mother wants you to come to
+supper. She has something you specially like. Can you?"
+
+"Sure, she can," answered her mother, for she was glad to have Carlia
+out away from the work which she was determined to stick to closer than
+ever. Carlia was pleased to go, and kept up a merry chatter until she
+saw that Dorian was exceptionally sober-minded. She asked him what was
+the matter with him, but he evaded. His thoughts were on the man whom
+he had prevented from calling at her home that evening. What was his
+errand? What was in the scoundrel's mind? Dorian struggled to put away
+from him the dark thoughts which had arisen because of his recent
+encounter with Mr. Lamont. All the evening at home and during their walk
+back he was unusually silent, and Carlia could only look at him with
+questioning anxiety.
+
+Spring, once started, came on with a rush. The melting snow filled the
+river with a muddy flood; the grass greened the slopes; the bursting
+willows perfumed the air; the swamp awakened to the warm touch of the
+sun. Dorian's busy season also began.
+
+As soon as the roads were passible, Dorian drove up to his dry-farm. On
+one of these first trips he fell in with a company of his neighboring
+dry-farmers, and they traveled together. While they were stopping for
+noon at a small hotel in the canyon, a rain storm came up, which delayed
+them. They were not impatient, however, as the moisture was welcome; so
+the farmers rested easily, letting their horses eat a little longer than
+usual.
+
+The conversation was such which should be expected of Bishop's
+counselors, president of Elders' quorums, and class leaders in
+the Mutual, which these men were. On this occasion some of the
+always-present moral problems were discussed. Dorian was so quiet that
+eventually some one called on him for an opinion.
+
+"I don't think I can add anything to the discussion," replied Dorian.
+"Only this, however: One day in Sunday school Uncle Zed painted the
+terrors of sin to us boys in such colours that I shall never forget it.
+The result in my case is that I have a dreadful fear of moral wrong
+doing. I am literally scared, I--"
+
+Dorian turned his eyes to the darkened doorway. Mr. Jack Lamont stood
+there with a cynical expression on his face. His hat was tilted back on
+his head, and a half-smoked cigarette sagged from his lips. The genial
+warmth of the room seemed chilled by the newcomer's presence.
+
+"G'day, gentlemen," said Mr. Lamont. "Mr. Trent, here, is afraid, I
+understand."
+
+The men arose. Outside the clouds were breaking. Dorian stepped forward,
+quite close to Jack Lamont.
+
+"Yes, I am afraid," said Dorian, his face white with passion, "but not
+of what you think, not of what you would be afraid, you dirty, low,
+scoundrel!"
+
+Lamont raised a riding whip he had in his hand, but the men interfered,
+and they all moved outside into the yard. Dorian, still tense with
+anger, permitted himself to be taken to the teams where they began
+hitching up. Dorian soon had himself under control, yet he was not
+satisfied with the matter ending thus. Quietly slipping back to where
+Mr. Lamont stood looking at the men preparing to drive on, he said, "I
+want a word with you."
+
+The other tried to evade.
+
+"Don't try to get away until I'm through with you. I want to tell you
+again what a contemptible cur you are. No one but a damned scoundrel
+would take advantage of a girl as you did, and then leave her to bear
+her shame alone."
+
+"Do you mean Carlia--"
+
+"Don't utter her name from your foul lips."
+
+"For if you do, I might say, what have I got to do with that? You were
+her lover, were you not? you were out with her in the fields many times
+until midnight, you--"
+
+The accusing mouth closed there, closed by the mighty impact of Dorian's
+fist. The blood spurted from a gashed lip, and Mr. Lamont tried to
+defend himself. Again Dorian's stinging blow fell upon the other's face.
+Lamont was lighter than Dorian, but he had some skill as a boxer which
+he tried to bring into service; but Dorian, mad in his desire to
+punish, with unskilled strength fought off all attacks. They grappled,
+struggled, and fell, to arise again and give blow for blow. It was all
+done so suddenly, and the fighting was so fierce, that Dorian's fellow
+travelers did not get to the scene before Jack Lamont lay prone on the
+ground from Dorian's finishing knockout blow.
+
+"Damn him!" said Dorian, as he shook himself back into a somewhat normal
+condition and spat red on the ground. "He's got just a little of what's
+been coming to him for a long time. Let him alone. He's not seriously
+hurt. Let's go."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY.
+
+
+On a Saturday afternoon in early July Dorian and a neighbor were coming
+home from a week's absence up in the hills. They were on horseback,
+and therefore they cut across by way of the new road in course of
+construction between Greenstreet and the city.
+
+The river was high. The new bridge was not yet open for traffic, but
+horses could safely cross. As the two riders passed to the Greenstreet
+side, they saw near the bridge down on the rocks by the rushing river,
+an automobile, overturned and pretty well demolished. Evidently, someone
+had been trying to reach the bridge, had missed the road, and had gone
+over the bank, which at this point was quite steep.
+
+The two men stopped, dismounted, and surveyed the wreck. Someone was
+under the car, dead or alive, they could not tell. Dorian unslung his
+rope from his saddle, and took off his coat. "I'll go down and see," he
+said.
+
+"Be careful," admonished the other, "if you slip into the river, you'll
+be swept away."
+
+Dorian climbed down to where the broken machine lay. Pinned under it
+with his body half covered by the water was Mr. Jack Lamont. He was
+talking deliriously, calling in broken sentences for help. Dorian's
+hesitancy for an instant was only to determine what was the best thing
+to do.
+
+"Hold on a bit longer, Mr. Lamont," said Dorian; but it was doubtful
+whether the injured man understood. He glared at his rescuer with
+unseeing eyes. Part of the automobile was already being moved by the
+force of the stream, and there was danger that the whole car, together
+with the injured man, would be swept down the stream. Dorian, while
+clinging to the slippery rocks, tried to pull the man away, but he was
+so firmly pinned under the wreck that he could not be moved. Dorian then
+shouted to his companion on the bank to bring the rope and come to his
+assistance; but even while it was being done, a great rush of water
+lifted the broken car out into the stream. Lamont was released, but he
+was helpless to prevent the current from sweeping him along.
+
+Dorian reached for the man, but missed him and stepped into a deep
+place. He went in to his arms, but he soon scrambled on to a shallower
+point where he regained his balance. The unconscious Lamont was
+beginning to drift into the current and Dorian knew that if he was to
+be saved he must be prevented from getting into the grasp of the
+mid-stream. Dorian took desperate chances himself, but his mind was
+clear and his nerves were steady as he waded out into the water. His
+companion shouted a warning to him from the bank, but he heeded it not.
+Lamont's body was moving more rapidly, so Dorian plunged after it, and
+by so doing got beyond wading depths. He did not mind that as he was a
+good swimmer, and apparently, Mr. Lamont was too far gone to give any
+dangerous death grip. Dorian got a good hold of the man's long hair and
+with the free arm he managed to direct them both to a stiller pool lower
+down where by the aid of his companion, he pulled Lamont out of the
+water and laid him on the bank. He appeared to be dead, but the two
+worked over him for some time. No other help appeared, so once more they
+tried all the means at their command to resuscitate the drowned.
+
+"I think he's gone," said Dorian's companion.
+
+"It seems so. He's received some internal injury. He was not drowned."
+
+"Who is he, I wonder."
+
+"His name is Jack Lamont."
+
+"Do you know him?"
+
+"I know him. Yes; let's carry him up the bank. We'll have to notify
+somebody."
+
+The man was dead when he was laid on the soft warm grass. Dorian covered
+the lifeless form with his own coat.
+
+"I'll stay here," suggested Dorian's companion, "while you go and
+telephone the police station in the city. Then you go right on home and
+get into some dry clothes."
+
+Dorian did as he was told. After reaching the nearest telephone, and
+delivering his message, he went on home and explained to his mother what
+had happened. Then he changed his clothes.
+
+"What a terrible thing!" exclaimed his mother. "And you also might have
+been drowned."
+
+"Oh, no; I was all right. I knew just what I could do. But the poor
+fellow. I--I wish I could have saved him. It might have been a double
+salvation for him."
+
+The mother did not press him for further explanations, for she also had
+news to tell. As soon as Dorian came from his room in his dry clothes,
+she asked him if he had seen Brother Duke on the way.
+
+"No, mother; why?"
+
+"Well, he was here not long ago, asking for you. Carlia, it seems, has
+had a nervous break down, and the father thinks you can help."
+
+"I'll go immediately."
+
+"You'll have some supper first. It will take me only a moment to place
+it on the table."
+
+"No, mother, thank you; after I come back; or perhaps I'll eat over
+there. Don't wait for me." He was out of the house, and nearly running
+along the road.
+
+Dorian found Carlia's father and mother under great mental strain.
+"We're so glad you came," they said; "we're sure you can help her."
+
+"What is the matter!"
+
+"We hardly know. We don't understand. This afternoon--that Mr. Jack
+Lamont--you remember him--he used to come here. Well, he hasn't been
+around for over a year, for which we were very thankful, until this
+afternoon when he came in his automobile. Carlia was in the garden, and
+she saw him drive up to the gate. When he alighted and came toward her,
+she seemed frightened out of her wits, for she ran terror stricken into
+the house. She went up to her bedroom and would not come down."
+
+"He did not see her, then, to talk to her?"
+
+"No; he waited a few moments only, then drove off again."
+
+"Where is Carlia now?"
+
+"Still up in her room."
+
+"May I go up to her?"
+
+"Yes; but won't you have her come down?"
+
+"No, I'd rather go up there, if you don't mind."
+
+"Not at all. Dorian, you seem the only help we have."
+
+He went through the living room to the stairway. He noticed that the
+bare boards of the stairs had been covered with a carpet, which made his
+ascending steps quite noiseless. Everything was still in Carlia's room.
+The door was slightly ajar, so he softly pushed it open. Carlia was
+lying on her bed asleep.
+
+Dorian tiptoed in and stood looking about. The once bare, ugly room had
+been transformed into quite a pretty chamber, with carpet and curtains
+and wall-paper and some pretty furniture. The father had at last done a
+sensible thing for his daughter.
+
+Carlia slept on peacefully. She had not even washed away the tear-stains
+from her cheeks, and her nut-brown hair lay in confusion about her head.
+Poor, dear girl! If there ever was a suffering penitent, here was one.
+
+In a few moments, the girl stirred, then sensing that someone was in the
+room, she awoke with a start, and sprang to her feet.
+
+"It's only Dorian," said he.
+
+"Oh!" she put her hand to her head, brushing back her hair.
+
+"Dorian, is it you?"
+
+"Sure, in real flesh and blood and rusty-red hair." He tried to force
+cheerfulness into his words.
+
+"I'm so glad, so glad it's you."
+
+"And I'm glad that you're glad to see me."
+
+"Has he gone? I'm afraid of him."
+
+"Afraid of whom, Carlia?"
+
+"Don't you know? Of course you don't know. I--"
+
+"Sit down here, Carlia." He brought a chair; but she took it nearer the
+open window, and he pushed up the blind that the cool air might the more
+freely enter. The sun was nearing the western hills, and the evening
+sounds from the yard came to them. He drew a chair close to hers, and
+sat down by her, looking silently into the troubled face.
+
+"I'm a sight," she said, coming back to the common, everyday cares as
+she tried to get her hair into order.
+
+"No, you're not. Never mind a few stray locks of hair. Never mind that
+tear-stained face. I have something to tell you."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You said you were afraid, afraid of Mr. Jack Lamont."
+
+"Yes," she whispered.
+
+"Well, you never need be afraid of him again."
+
+"I--I don't understand."
+
+"Jack Lamont is dead."
+
+She gave a startled cry.
+
+"Dorian--you--?"
+
+"No; I have not killed him. He was and is in the hands of the Lord."
+Then he told her what had happened that afternoon.
+
+Carlia listened with staring eyes and bated breath. And Dorian had
+actually risked his life in an attempt to save Jack Lamont! If Dorian
+only had known! But he would never know, never now. She had heard of the
+fight between Dorian and Lamont, as that had been common gossip for a
+time; but Carlia had no way of connecting that event with herself or her
+secret, as no one had heard what words passed between them that day, and
+Dorian had said nothing. And now he had tried to save the life of the
+man whom he had so thoroughly trounced. "What a puzzle he was! And yet
+what a kind, open face was his, as he sat there in the reddening evening
+light telling her in his simple way what he had done. What did he know,
+anyway? For it would be just like him to do good to those who would
+harm him; and had she not proved in her own case that he had been more
+patient and kind to her after her return than before. What did he know?
+
+"Shall I close the window?" he asked. "Is there too much draught?"
+
+"No; I must have air or I shall stifle. Dorian, tell me, what do you
+know about this Mr. Lamont?"
+
+"Why, not much, Carlia; not much good, at any rate. You know I met him
+only a few times." He tried to answer her questions and at the same time
+give her as little information as possible.
+
+"But Dorian, why did you fight with him?"
+
+"He insulted me. I've explained that to you before."
+
+"That's not all the reason. Jack Lamont could not insult you. I mean,
+you would pay no attention to him if only yourself were involved."
+
+"Now, Carlia, don't you begin to philosophize on my reasons for giving
+Jack Lamont a licking. He's dead, and let's let him rest in as much
+peace as the Lord will allow."
+
+"All right."
+
+"Now, my dear, you feel able to go down and have some supper. Your
+father and mother should be told the news, and perhaps I can do that
+better than anybody else. I'll go with you, and, if your mother has
+something good for supper, I'll stay."
+
+But the girl did not respond to his light speech. She sat very still
+by the window. For a long, long time--ages it seemed to her, she had
+suffered in silent agony for her sin, feeling as if she were being
+smothered by her guilty secret. She could not bring herself to tell it
+even to her mother. How could she tell it to anyone eke, certainly not
+Dorian. And yet, as she sat there with him she felt as if she might
+confide in him. He would listen without anger or reproach. He would
+forgive. He--her heart soared, but her brain came back with a jolt to
+her daily thinking again. No, no, he must not know, he must never know;
+for if he knew, then all would surely be over between them, and then,
+she might as well die and be done with it!
+
+"Come, Carlia."
+
+She did not even hear him.
+
+But Dorian must know, he must know the truth before he asked her again
+to marry him. But if he knew, he would never urge that again. That
+perhaps would be for the best, anyway. And yet she could not bear the
+thought of sending him away for good. If he deserted her, who else would
+she have? No; she must have him near her, at least. Clear thinking was
+not easy for her just then, but in time she managed to say:
+
+"Dorian, sit down.... Do you remember that evening, not so long ago,
+when you let me 'browse', as you called it, among Uncle Zed's books and
+manuscripts?"
+
+"Yes; you have done that a number of times."
+
+"But there is one time which I shall remember. It was the time when I
+read what Uncle Zed had written about sin and death."
+
+"O, I had not intended you to see that."
+
+"But I did, and I read carefully every word of it. I understood most of
+it, too. 'The wages of sin is death'--That applies to me. I am a sinner.
+I shall die. I have already died, according to Uncle Zed."
+
+"No, Carlia, you misapply that. We are all sinners, and we all die in
+proportion to our sinning. That's true enough; but there is also
+the blessed privilege of repentance to consider. Let me finish the
+quotation: 'The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal
+life through Jesus Christ our Lord'; also let me add what the Lord said
+about those who truly repent; 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they
+shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be
+as wool'. That is a great comfort to all of us, Carlia."
+
+"Yes; thank you, Dorian.... but--but now I must tell you. The Lord may
+forgive me, but you cannot."
+
+"Carlia, I have long since forgiven you."
+
+"Oh, of my little foolish ways, of course; but, Dorian, you don't
+know--"
+
+"But, Carlia, I do know. And I tell you that I have forgiven you."
+
+"The terrible thing about me?"
+
+"The unfortunate thing and the great sorrow which has come to you, and
+the suffering--yes, Carlia, I know."
+
+"I can't understand your saying that."
+
+"But I understand."
+
+"Who told you?"
+
+"Mrs. Whitman."
+
+"Have you been there?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Dorian!" She stared past him through the open window into the western
+sky. The upper disk of the sun sank slowly behind the purple mountain.
+The flaming underlining of a cloud reflected on the open water of the
+marshland and faintly into the room and on to the pale face of the
+girl. Presently, she arose, swayed and held out her arms as if she was
+falling. Dorian caught her. Tears, long pent up, save in her own lonely
+hours, now broke as a torrent from her eyes, and her body shook in sobs.
+Gone was her reserve now, her holding him away, her power of resistance.
+She lay supinely in his arms, and he held her close. O, how good it was
+to cry thus! O, what a haven of rest! Would the tears and sobs never
+cease?... The sun was down, the color faded from the sky, a big shadow
+enveloped the earth.
+
+Then when she became quieter, she freed her arms, reached up and clasped
+her hands behind his neck, clinging to him as if she never wanted to
+leave him. Neither could speak. He stroked her hair, kissed her cheeks,
+her eyes, wiped away her tears, unaware of those which ran unhindered
+down his own face....
+
+"Carlia, my darling, Carlia," he breathed.
+
+"Dorian, Oh, Dorian, _how_--_good_--_you_--_are_!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
+
+
+It was a day in June--nearly a year from the time of the
+"understanding"--a day made more beautiful because of its being in the
+mountains and on a Sunday afternoon. Dorian and Carlia lived in the
+midst of its rarity, seated as they were on the grassy hill-side
+overlooking the dry-land farms near at hand and the valley below,
+through which tumbled the brook. The wild odor of hill plants mingled
+with the pungent fragrance of choke-cherry blossoms. The air was as
+clear as crystal. The mountains stood about them in silent, solemn
+watchfulness, strong and sure as the ages. The red glowed in Carlia's
+lips again, and the roses in her cheeks. The careworn look was gone from
+her face. Peace had come into her heart, peace with herself, with the
+man she loved, and with God.
+
+Dorian pointed out to her where the wild strawberries grew down in the
+valley, and where the best service berries could be found on the hills.
+He told her how the singing creek had, when he was alone in the hills,
+echoed all his varied moods.
+
+Then they were silent for a time, letting the contentment of their love
+suffice. For now all barriers between these two were down. There was no
+thought they could not share, no joy neither trouble they could not meet
+together. However, they were very careful of each other; their present
+peace and content had not easily been reached. They had come "up through
+great tribulation," even thus far in their young lives. The period of
+their purification seemed now to be drawing to a close, and they were
+entering upon a season of rest for the soul.
+
+"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." This promise is
+surely not limited to that hoped-for future time when we shall have laid
+aside mortality, but the pure in heart see much of God here and now--see
+Him in the beauty of hill and dale, in cloud and blue sky, in placid
+pool and running water, in flowers and insect, and in the wonderful
+workings of the human heart! And so Dorian Trent and Carlia Duke, being
+of the pure in heart, saw much of God and His glory that afternoon.
+
+Then they talked again of the home folks, of Mildred Brown, and of Uncle
+Zed; and at length came to their own immediate affairs.
+
+That fall Dorian was to enter the University. The farm at Greenstreet
+would have to be let to others, but he thought he could manage the
+dry-farm, as most of the work came in vacation season. Mrs. Trent did
+not want to leave her home in the country; but she would likely become
+lonesome living all by herself; so there would always be a room for her
+with Dorian and Carlia in the little house they would rent near the
+school. Then, after the University, there would be some Eastern College
+for a period of years, and after that, other work. The task Dorian had
+set before him was a big one, but it was a very important one, and no
+one seemed to be doing it as yet. He might fail in accomplishing what
+he and Uncle Zed and perhaps the Lord had in mind regarding him, but he
+would do his very best, anyway.
+
+"You'll not fail," the girl at his side assured him.
+
+"I hope not. But I know some men who have gone in for all the learning
+they could obtain, and in the process of getting the learning, they have
+lost their faith. With me, the very object of getting knowledge is to
+strengthen my faith. What would it profit if one gains the whole world
+of learning and loses his soul in the process. Knowledge is power, both
+for good and for ill. I have been thinking lately of the nature of
+faith, the forerunner of knowledge. I can realize somewhat the meaning
+of the scripture which says that the worlds were framed and all things
+in them made by the power of faith. As Uncle Zed used to say--"
+
+"You always put it that way. Don't you know anything of your own?"
+
+"No; no one does. There is no such thing as knowledge of one's own
+making. Knowledge has always existed from the time when there has been a
+mind to conceive it. The sum of truth is eternal. We can only discover
+truth, or be told it by someone who has already found it. God has done
+that. He comprehends all truth, and therefore all power and all glory is
+found in Him. It is the most natural thing in the world, then, that we
+should seek the truth from the fountain head or source to us, and that
+is God."
+
+Although it was after the usual time of the Sunday sermon, Dorian felt
+free to go on.
+
+"'When the Son of Man cometh, shall He find faith on the earth?' I hope
+to help a little to make the answer, Yes. I know of nothing which the
+world needs more than faith. Not many are specializing in that field.
+Edison is bringing forth some of the wonders of electricity; Burbank
+is doing marvelous things in the plant world; we have warriors and
+statesmen and philosophers and philanthropists and great financiers
+a-plenty; we have scientists too, and some of them are helping. Have you
+ever heard of Sir Oliver Lodge and Lord Kelvin?"
+
+No; she never had.
+
+"Well"--and Dorian laughed softly to himself at the apparent egotism of
+the proposition--"I must be greater than either of them. I must know
+all they know, and more; and that is possible, for I have the 'Key
+of Knowledge' which even the most learned scholar cannot get without
+obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel."
+
+Carlia silently worshiped.
+
+"Now," he continued in a somewhat lighter vein, "do you realize what
+you are doing when you say you will be my wife and put up with all the
+eccentricities of such a man as I am planning to be? Are you willing to
+be a poor man's wife, for I cannot get money and this knowledge I am
+after at the same time? Are you willing to go without the latest in
+dresses and shoes and hats--if necessary?"
+
+"Haven't I heard you say that the larger part of love is in giving and
+not in getting?" replied she.
+
+"Yes, I believe that's true."
+
+"Well, then, that's my answer. Don't deny me the joy I can get by the
+little I can give."
+
+The sun was nearing the western mountains, the sharpest peaks were
+already throwing shadows across the valley.
+
+"Come," said Dorian. "We had better go down. Mother has come out of the
+cabin, and I think she is looking for us. Supper must be ready."
+
+He took Carlia's hand and helped her up. Then they ran like care-free
+children down the gentler slopes.
+
+"Wait a minute," cried Carlia, "I'm out of breath. I--I want to ask you
+another question."
+
+"Ask a hundred."
+
+"Well, in the midst of all this studying, kind of in between the
+great, serious subjects, we'll find time, will we not, to read 'David
+Copperfield'--together?"
+
+He looked into her laughing eyes, and then kissed her.
+
+"Why, yes, of course," he said.
+
+Then they went on again, hand in hand, down into the valley of sunshine
+and shadow.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dorian, by Nephi Anderson
+
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