Then Uncle Gilbert came out with hat and cane. He was going for a walk with Chester, he said, for it would be wiser not to disturb the sleeper. He explained to Lucy that her father was getting a much needed rest, and that she was to see to it that he was not disturbed. Chester would "keep" with his Uncle Gilbert for a few hours.
The morning was fair, so the two men struck out for Hyde Park. They walked across the big stretches of grass, then rested on a seat by the Serpentine. As yet, not many people were about, and the London hum had not risen to its highest pitch.
Uncle Gilbert wanted to know about Utah, and Chester entered into a detailed description of the state and her people.
"I have, of course, heard of the Mormon people; but I will admit my ideas are somewhat vague. My brother, as a preacher, must of course, have come in contact with all sorts of religious professions. He seems to know considerable about Mormonism. Where did he learn that?"
Chester explained what part Lucy had played in this.
"Well, he agrees very much with her belief, for I have heard conversations which lead me to that conclusion. Of course, all that is their business, not mine particularly. Let's walk out in the middle of the park where we can make believe we are not in London, but out in the beautiful green country which God has made."
The grass being dry, they could sit down on it to rest.
"As you are, I presume, to become a member of the family some day," said Uncle Gilbert, "I am going to tell you something about my brother. It is not a pleasant subject, but I have concluded that you can be told. It is a family secret, you must understand, and must be treated as such. It is only because I believe your knowledge of the truth may help my brother that I am telling you this.
Chester thanked him for his confidence. He would be glad to help in any way he could.
"Well, the story is this: My brother in his younger days before he was married, had an unfortunate experience with a young woman. There was a child as the result. The woman, as nearly as I can make out, married well enough, and later, joined the Mormons and went to Utah. She did not take the child with her, for some reason unknown to me, at least; and so the boy—for it was a boy—became lost to his father, and as far as I know, to his mother also. I don't suppose all this worried my brother as a young man; but recently, within the past few years, I should say, his conscience seems to have pricked him severely. He has some vigorous views of fatherhood and the obligations flowing therefrom—and I can't say but he is right—and now he worries about his own great neglect. He has talked to me about it, so I know. Sometimes he worries himself sick, and then his nervous trouble gets the overhand."