Another time I was holding a meeting north of Belgrade and staying with Brother and Sister Andrew Larson. The night before leaving that locality I dreamed that when I came to Belgrade, I saw a man go into the depot just ahead of me, and as he stepped away from the ticket window he said, "Ha, ha, ha, I may as well go home then, since there is no train until three o'clock this afternoon."
Brother Larson was to take me to the depot early in the morning, and it was cold. When telling them my dream they laughed, and we all laughed. They said, "It can't be that bad."
It was about six miles to town and riding in an open buggy, I got cold, and when we got within about a quarter mile from town, I said, "You had better let me out here and I will walk and get warmed up." So he did. When I arrived at the depot a man walked in just ahead of me, and when he turned from the window, he said, "Ha, ha, ha, I might just as well go home since there will be no trains until three o'clock this afternoon."
I walked up to the ticket window and said, "How come the train is so late?" He said, "An old freight train ran off the track and they will have to clean up before the passenger train can come through." I did not wait, but walked home—a distance of twenty miles.
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At one time I held a meeting in what was known as Clark school house, fifteen miles south of Cohasset, Minnesota. After the last Sunday morning service, I said, "If there is anyone who will take me to Cohasset after service tonight, my heavenly Father will give him a hundred fold in this life, and eternal life in the world to come." So going down to the door after service to shake hands with the folks, there stood a nice-looking young man who had not been out to the services before. He said, "I'll take you to town tonight." I said, "All right, thank you," and out he went. After a while Brother Goodell, the elder, came and said, "I'll take you to town." I said, "You are too late. You lost your pay this time." He said, "Who is going to take you?" I answered, "The young man who stood by the door when I got there." He thought a while, then he said, "Oh, that was Henry Garber; that will never do. He is not saved. He drinks a little, dances, plays cards and likely smokes." Then he added, "I'l take you. The road is bad" (and it surely was). I answered him, "If he is like that he needs the pay." "Well," he said, "He may not come. Aren't you afraid to go with him?" "No," I said.
He came, and it took us quite a while to get there on account of the road. We talked farming, dancing, drinking, love and salvation. Getting to town, it was still an hour and a half before the train would arrive. He said, "Wouldn't it be good to have a little lunch now?" I said, "That would be fine." "Alright," he said, "you order what you want." "Aren't you going to have some?" I asked; but he said, "no." After lunch he said, "How about a little ice cream now." "Fine," I said.
There were quite a number of young folks in the restaurant and while I was eating he was talking to the young people telling them he had been to two services that day and he added, "They were two of the best sermons I have ever heard in my life." They called out in a chorus, "Henry, Henry, have you sworn off?" Then they asked, "Who preached?" He answered, "Reverend Susag over here."
After I got through eating, he introduced me to all those young people. Then I said, "You had better get me to the depot now, and start for home; the road is so bad." "Well," he said, "I will not start back until you are on the train." And so he did; and when he put my grips on the train, he said, "Good by," and as he shook hands with me he left $3.00 in my hand. As he was leaving me he said,
"When—" but he never finished what he started to say. No doubt he meant to say, "When you pray remember me." I did not hear of him, nor see him for two or three years. Going to Milwaukee one Sunday to hold services for Brother Flint, a young man came to me in the chapel and said, "Praise the Lord Brother Susag." I said, "Amen." I looked at him and he said, "Do you know me?" I answered, "Yes, I have met you somewhere, but I don't remember where." "Think of Cohasset, Minnesota," he answered. I slapped him on the shoulder and said, "Henry, when did you get saved?" "Driving home that night," he said; "thinking how you treated me, almost a stranger, you spoke to me like a father—with such good understanding of everything and you called me brother and I got broken up, and going to my room on the farm, I knelt by my bed and repented and the Lord saved me. It was so good and the Lord made me so happy. I went to see my parents who lived six miles out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin." They all became members of the congregation in Milwaukee, and Henry became a much loved and respected member of the congregation in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, and for many years one of the leaders and finally went home to his reward.