“O thank you,” said Lucy, “I—­my heart bothered me pretty badly that time.  I am forbidden to climb stairs, but I couldn’t find you on the lower deck.”

“Did you wish to see me?” asked Chester.

“Yes; I—­you’ll not think me over bold, will you, but I had to find you—­won’t you sit down here—­I can’t talk very loudly tonight.”

Chester drew a chair close to hers.  A light wrap clung about her and the moonlight streamed on head and face.  The young man, in the most matter-of-course-way adjusted the wrap to the girl’s shoulders as he said: 

“You are not well, tonight.”

“Oh, I’m as well as usual—­thank you.”  She smiled faintly.  “Will you forgive us?”

He was about to reply, “Forgive you for what?” but he checked himself.  Somehow, he could not feign ignorance as to what she meant, neither could he use meaningless words to her.

“We were very rude to you yesterday, both father and I; and I wanted to make some explanations to you, so you would understand.  I am so sorry.”

“You and your father are already forgiven.  If there were a grain of ill-feeling against him this afternoon, it all completely vanished when I heard him talk at the services.”

“You were there?”

“Yes.  Now don’t you worry.”  He was nearly to say “Little Sister;” but again he checked himself.  “I am a ‘Mormon,’” he continued.  “I am not ashamed of it, because I know what it means.  Only those who don’t know despise the word.”

“Neither am I ashamed of it,” she said as she looked him fairly in the face.  “I know a little—­a very little—­about the ‘Mormons,’ but that which I know is good.”

“What do you know?”

“I’ll tell you.  One evening, in Kansas City I stopped to listen to two young men preaching on the street.  They were just boys, and they did not have the appearance of preachers.  You must know that I have always been interested in religion, and religious problems.  Perhaps that is natural, seeing my father is a minister.  I read his books, and many are the discussions I have had with him over points of doctrine,—­and we don’t always agree, either.  He, however, usually took my little objections good naturedly until one day he asked me where I had obtained a certain notion regarding baptism.  In reply I handed him the booklet I had received at the ‘Mormon’ street meeting.  He looked at it curiously for a moment, wanted to know where I had obtained it, then locked it up in his desk.  He was really angry; as that was something he had never been before over any religious question, I was surprised and impressed.  I had, however, read carefully the booklet.  Not only that, but I had been secretly to one of the ‘Mormon’ services.  I there learned that an acquaintance of mine belonged to the ‘Mormon’ Church, and depend upon it, I had her tell me what she knew.”

“And your father?”

“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.”