The man in the wagon tried his best to find out where the two were going and what they were going for; but the man from the East baffled his curiosity in a most dexterous manner, so that, when the two rode away from the two-roomed log house where the kind-hearted people lived, they left no clue to their identity or mission beyond the fact that they were going quite a journey, and had got a little off their trail and run out of provisions.

They felt comparatively safe from pursuit for a few hours at least, for the men could scarcely return and trace them very soon.  They had not stopped to eat anything; but all the milk they could drink had been given to them, and its refreshing strength was racing through their veins.  They started upon their long ride with the pleasure of their companionship strong upon them.

“What was it all about?” asked the girl as they settled into a steady gait after a long gallop across a smooth level place.

He looked at her questioningly.

“The school.  What did it mean?  She said it was a Christian Endeavor.  What is that?”

“Why, some sort of a religious meeting, or something of that kind, I suppose,” he answered lamely.  “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” she answered solemnly, “I liked it.  I never went to such a thing before.  The girl said they had one everywhere all over the world.  What do you think she meant?”

“Why, I don’t know, I’m sure, unless it’s some kind of a society.  But it looked to me like a prayer meeting.  I’ve heard about prayer meetings, but I never went to one, though I never supposed they were so interesting.  That was a remarkable story that old man told of how he was taken care of that night among the Indians.  He evidently believes that prayer helps people.”

“Don’t you?” she asked quickly.

“O, certainly!” he said, “but there was something so genuine about the way the old man told it that it made you feel it in a new way.”

“It is all new to me,” said the girl.  “But mother used to go to Sunday school and church and prayer meeting.  She’s often told me about it.  She used to sing sometimes.  One song was ‘Rock of Ages.’  Did you ever hear that?

    “’Rock of Ages, cleft for me. 
    Let me hide myself in Thee.’”

She said it slowly and in a singsong voice, as if she were measuring the words off to imaginary notes.  “I thought about that the night I started.  I wished I knew where that rock was.  Is there a rock anywhere that they call the Rock of Ages?”

The young man was visibly embarrassed.  He wanted to laugh, but he would not hurt her in that way again.  He was not accustomed to talking religion; yet here by this strange girl’s side it seemed perfectly natural that he, who knew so very little experimentally himself about it, should be trying to explain the Rock of Ages to a soul in need.  All at once it flashed upon him that it was for just such souls in need as this one that the Rock of Ages came into the world.