I don’t think you would have admired my appearance the morning this adventure began:  I was in the midst of fall house-cleaning which included some papering.  I am no expert at the very best, and papering a wall has difficulties peculiar to itself.  I was up on a barrel trying to get a long, sloppy strip of paper to stick to the ceiling instead of to me, when in my visitors trooped, and so surprised me that I stepped off the barrel and into a candy-bucket of paste.  At the same time the paper came off the ceiling and fell over mine and Mrs. Louderer’s head.  It was right aggravating, I can tell you, but my visitors were Mrs. O’Shaughnessy and Mrs. Louderer, and no one could stay discouraged with that pair around.

After we had scraped as much paste as we could off ourselves they explained that they had come to take me somewhere.  That sounded good to me, but I could not see how I could get off.  However, Mrs. Louderer said she had come to keep house and to take care of the children while I should go with Mrs. O’Shaughnessy to E——.  We should have two days’ travel by sled and a few hours on a train, then another journey by sled.  I wanted to go powerfully, but the paste-smeared room seemed to forbid.

As Mrs. Louderer would stay with the children, Mr. Stewart thought the trip would be good for me.  Mrs. O’Shaughnessy knew I wanted to visit Bishop D——­, a shining light among the Latter-Day Saints, so she promised we should stay overnight at his house.  That settled it; so in the cold, blue light of the early morning, Mr. Beeler, a new neighbor, had driven my friends over in Mrs. Louderer’s big sled, to which was hitched a pair of her great horses and his own team.  He is a widower and was going out to the road for supplies, so it seemed a splendid time to make my long-planned visit to the Bishop.  Deep snow came earlier this year than usual, and the sledding and weather both promised to be good.  It was with many happy anticipations that I snuggled down among the blankets and bearskins that morning.

Mr. Beeler is pleasant company, and Mrs. O’Shaughnessy is so jolly and bright, and I could leave home without a single misgiving with Mrs. Louderer in charge.

The evening sky was blazing crimson and gold, and the mountains behind us were growing purple when we entered the little settlement where the Bishop lives.  We drove briskly through the scattered, straggling little village, past the store and the meeting-house, and drew up before the dwelling of the Bishop.  The houses of the village were for the most part small cabins of two or three rooms, but the Bishop’s was more pretentious.  It was a frame building and boasted paint and shutters.  A tithing-office stood near, and back of the house we could see a large granary and long stacks of hay.  A bunch of cattle was destroying one stack, and Mrs. O’Shaughnessy remarked that the tallow from those cattle should be used when the olive oil gave out at their anointings, because it was the Bishop’s cattle eating consecrated hay.