“Your sister or your wife or any other near relative would be the person to help you in this,” said his informant.

Henrik shook his head.  “I am the only member of the family that has received the gospel,” he replied.

“Then, of course, any other sister in the faith will do; but the blessings for doing this work belongs to the nearest kin, if they will receive it.  Have you no relatives in America?”

“Yes; a lot of them are up in Minnesota, but none that I know are Latter-day Saints—­but I’ll go and find out,” he added as an afterthought.

And that is what Henrik did.  Within a month he was on his way.  He found his Uncle Ole living not far from St. Paul.  He was a prosperous farmer with a family of grown-up sons and daughters who were pleased to see their kinsman from the homeland.  All the news from all the family had to be told from both sides.  Henrik was shown the big farm with its up-to-date American machinery and methods.  He was driven behind blooded horses to the city and there introduced to many people.  They knew that Henrik was a person of some importance back in Norway, and they wanted to show him that they also were “somebody.”  That seemed to be the principle upon which they lived.  The father and mother still belonged to the Lutheran church.  The three daughters had joined a Methodist congregation because their “set” was there.  The two boys attended no church.

Henrik was disappointed.  He saw plainly that here was no help for him.  All these were entrapped by the world.  At first, Henrik said nothing about his own religious faith, but after a time he spoke of the subject to one of his girl cousins.  She was not the least interested.  He tried another with the same result.  Then, one day at the table, he told them all plainly what he believed and what he was called.  They were merely surprised.  “That’s all right,” said his cousin Jack who voiced the universal opinion, “we live in a free country, you know, where one’s religion isn’t called into question.”

Henrik’s other uncle lived in the city.  He was a mechanic, having worked for years in the railroad shops.  Some months previous he had been discharged, and since then he had operated a small “tinker” shop of his own.  Uncle Jens lived in a small rented house.  Uncle Ole’s visits to his brother were far between.  “Brother Jens is shiftless,” Uncle Ole said.

Henrik was, however, made welcome in the humble home, and he soon found the family a most interesting one.  His uncle was a religious man, having, as he put it, “got religion” some years ago at a Baptist revival.  He had joined that church and was an active member in it.  The wife and some of the children were devout believers.  They indulged in long family prayers and much scriptural reading.  This branch of the Bogstad family called the wealthy farmer and his children a “godless lot.”

Uncle Jens’ oldest daughter, one about Henrik’s own age, did not live at home, therefore he did not see her.  He was getting well acquainted with the others, but Rachel he did not know.