In the little attic room which Julia had turned over to her guest were many books, papers, and magazines.  She had told him that everything in the room was at his service, and so the visitor made good use of the kind offer.  One day he found a small book which had the name Anna Lawrence—­Chester’s mother—­written on the fly-leaf.  Curiously turning over the pages of the volume, which was simply a school book of the kind he remembered in his youth, he found between the leaves an old letter.  He unfolded the deeply creased sheets, looked at the strange handwriting, saw that it was dated thirty years ago, and addressed to “Miss Anna Lawrence” and signed by a name unknown to him.  There could no harm come from reading this message from the past, so he drew his chair up to the window, and read: 

“Dear Friend Anna: 

“It is three months now since I left home for this mission, and not having heard anything yet from you, I thought a few lines from me might help you get started in the letter-writing direction.  I am enjoying my mission very much, which perhaps you cannot understand, but it is true, nevertheless.  I came to this place yesterday and have already delivered some tracts.  Most of the people are against us, specially is this the case with preachers.  They get after us roughly.  My companion isn’t as old as I am, and goodness knows, I’m young and green enough; but we’re both studying hard, and the Lord is with us, which, after all, is our chief concern.

“I hope you are getting along at school.  Do you remember the fun we had last vacation?  I heard that our friend Sue is about to be married, but I suppose you know all about that.

“But I must tell you about something that happened to us before coming here.  It was in a place not far from Chicago, and my companion and I were tracting as usual.  I took one side of the street and he took the other.  Well, along about noon when it was time we should quit, my companion didn’t make his appearance.  I waited a long time, then crossed the street to look for him.  The weather was warm and people were mostly out of doors in the shade.  I heard what sounded like a big discussion on a porch behind some vines.  I went up, and sure enough, there was my companion and another young fellow having it out in great shape.  The young man sat in his shirt sleeves on a table, and the way he was giving it to that poor friend of mine was a caution.  I learned that the young fellow was studying for the ministry, and because of that, he considered himself just the person to give it good and hard to a ‘Mormon’ missionary.

“Well, the fellow sat there on the table, his legs swinging as if he didn’t care a—­rap.  There was a Bible and some other books on the table, but they had got beyond the use of books.  The young fellow ridiculed the Prophet, poked fun at his revelations, and said the ‘Mormons’ were a bad lot altogether.  Said they deserved to be driven from decent society into the desert as they had been.  He kept it up like that, and then he said something odd.  ‘I wouldn’t have your religion at any price,’ he said.  ‘Get out with you.’