As I was leaving one of them said, "There is a new-comer across the street. She belongs to some church outside." By "outside" she meant the old, settled parts. "You better call on her."
I did so, and said that I was the home missionary. I asked her how she liked her new home?
"Not much. It is a dreadfully wicked place."
"Yes, that is true; and I hope you will lend a hand in the good work. You are a Christian, I believe?"
"Yes; but I don't belong to your church."
"What church are you now a member of?"
"Well, there is only one of my kind in the State that I know of."
"You must feel lonesome at times; but in what do you differ from us?"
"Well, we believe in being immersed three times in succession, face downwards. I intend doing what I can."
After giving her a cordial invitation to attend the church, I left the good woman, saying I hoped I could depend on her being at church. But, alas! trade became so brisk that the good sister had to work Sundays. She felt very sorry, she said, but it did seem as if it was impossible to live a Christian life in such a wicked place; and she had concluded not to give her letter to the church until she could get into a better community, where she would not have to work Sundays. I told her I was surprised that one who had been so thoroughly cleansed should have fallen away so quickly.