At first there was but a spark of light at the top of the torch, but gradually the flame grew greater and the light stronger, until it filled the whole room; and then from out the darkness behind the arm and torch stepped the figure of a little girl.
I recognized it instantly as that of my young sister Sophia, who had died six years before in England, while I was in Utah. At the time of her death she was eight and a half years old, and had but recently been baptized into the Church. She came toward the bed, and I saw that she was dressed in beautiful white raiment. From her whole person a pleasing light seemed to emanate. She approached the bed and leaned over it, placing her arms around my neck and kissing me upon the lips. Then, still with her hands clasped, she leaned back and looked intently into my face, saying at the same time:
"Tom, don't be afraid! Whenever you are in danger I will come to warn you."
She bent forward and kissed me again; afterward leaning back to take another look at my face. Repeating the same words as before, once more she kissed me; and then slowly withdrew her arms and moved back from the bed. She approached the arm, which still held the torch, and as she did so I saw that the light of the torch paled before the greater glory which surrounded her person. When she neared the fireplace the arm stretched out around her, and she stepped back into the darkness. She waved her hand three times with a farewell gesture toward me. Soon she was enveloped in the darkness of the fireplace, and the light of the torch grew for a moment brighter; then suddenly it vanished and I found myself leaning upon my elbow in the bed and gazing fixedly at the blank darkness where the glorious presence and the light torch had disappeared. So real and certain had been the presence of my sister that after she was gone I still felt the pressure of her warm arms around my neck.
I remained in that region for a time, but could not find any opening; and therefore concluded to return to the South Island. At the time I greatly regretted the necessity for this step, for it seemed like a desertion of the field; but I was later led to thank God for the guidance of the Spirit for taking me away from the North Island.
It had been my purpose to obtain an opening among the Maories, and proclaim to them the gospel; but two weeks after my return to the South Island serious trouble broke out between the government and the Maori tribes which I had intended to visit on the west coast. This trouble continued for a considerable time, and during it, whenever my mind recurred to the subject, I thanked the Lord that I had been led away from that locality; because the people of that region would have been only too glad to attribute the Maori uprising to the "incendiary presence" of a Mormon Elder.
One day after my return, myself and a companion had been baptizing at Alfred Forest and it was our desire to reach Templeton as speedily as possible. We were very tired, having walked thirty-two miles that day, and we concluded to ride from Rakaia to Templeton, provided we had enough money for the purpose. We emptied all our pockets very carefully. I took especial care to feel in every corner of my clothing, and I gave all I had to my companion, who said that with his little stock this was barely sufficient to purchase the tickets. When we arrived at Templeton we learned that Brother Walker was quite ill at his home in a little town two or three miles distant.
When I arose to dress the next morning, I happened to put my hand in my vest pocket; and to my amazement I drew forth a half-sovereign in gold. How it came there I know not to this day: I was possessed of such a coin so infrequently in those days that I had certainly not placed it in my pocket and forgotten it; besides only the night previous at Rakaia I had searched my pockets carefully and had given every penny possessed to my fellow-laborer.
At the request of my companion, who was too weary to attempt the journey, I trudged down that morning to Brother Walker's house—although I myself had been so tired that I thought I could not walk a furlong. When I reached the house I found Brother Walker was indeed very sick; and that, owing to the confinement occasioned by his sickness, his business had been neglected, and his folks had been unable to leave him while they made collections of money due him, and they were for the moment in a very needy state, not having a penny in the house.
When I found the situation in which they were placed I said to Sister Walker: