"He objected, of course. At first, I told him everything. He had always let me go to any and all religious gatherings without objection. He even laughingly told me I could don the Salvation lassie's bonnet and beat a drum in the street, if I wanted to; but when it came to the 'Mormons,' O, he was angry, and forbade me from ever going to their meetings or reading their literature. I thought it strange."
"It's not strange at all,—when you understand," remarked Chester, who was intensely interested in her story. "I suppose you obeyed your father."
"Well, now, you want me to tell you the truth, of course—I—I wasn't curious—"
"Certainly not."
"You're laughing at me. But I wasn't, I tell you. I was interested. There is something in 'Mormonism' that draws me to it. I don't know much about it, to be sure, for it seems that the subject always widens out to such immensity. I want you to tell me more about Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon and the new revelations."
"But your father will object. What would he say if he knew you were sitting here in this beautiful moonlight talking to a 'Mormon'?"
"I'm of age, I guess. I'm doing nothing wrong, I hope."
"I hope not. Far be it for me to harm you—or any living soul. But I don't know much about the gospel as we call it—for you must know it is the simple gospel of Jesus Christ revealed anew. There are three other 'Mormons' on board, missionaries going to Europe. One of them at least could tell you much."
"But I'd be pleased to hear you tell me—is, is that father? I wonder if he is looking for me."