"'This is the England, I take it, that makes one feel his duty to be his religion, and the England that every American comes to as to a shrine.

When this is sunk in the sea, or trampled over by a host of invading Germans, or mauled into bankruptcy by pandering politicians and sour socialists, one of the most delightful spots in the whole world will have been lost, and no artist ever be able to paint such a picture again, for nowhere else is there just this texture of canvas, just this quality if pigment, just these fifteen centuries of atmosphere.' I think this sums it up nicely," commented Elder Malby.

"Ireland is a pretty fine country, too," said Chester, with far-away tone, still gazing out of the window.

Elder Malby laughed heartily, in which his companion joined. Chester had told him his Irish experiences.

Ramsgate is a pretty town on the east coast. It being Sunday, the shops were closed and the streets quiet. After some enquiries and searching, the local elder was found in the outskirts of the town. The two visitors were warmly received. A good old-fashioned English dinner was served, after which the few Saints living in the vicinity gathered for meeting.

Never before had Chester Lawrence experienced the comforting Spirit of the Lord as in that service when he partook with those simple, open-minded people the sacrament, and listened to their testimonies, in which he mingled his own.

After the services, there was the usual lingering to shake hands and exchange good words. In the midst of the confusion of voices and laughter, a large man appeared in the open doorway, and immediately there was a hush. It was the parish priest, round and sleek, yet stern of countenance. He looked about the room and found a good many of his neighbors present.

"Well, good people," said he, "what are you doing here?"

The local elder explained civilly the purpose of the gathering.

"But these men who are holding these services are 'Mormons,' and I come to warn you that they are wolves in sheep's clothing. Beware of them, let them alone," said the priest in rising accents.

The people stood about the room, quietly listening. Elder Malby and Chester were yet by the table which had served as a pulpit, and to them the priest advanced.

"Are you the 'Mormon' elders?" he demanded.

"We have that honor," serenely replied Elder Malby.

"You ought to be ashamed to come here to a Christian community with your vile doctrine. I warn you to keep away."

"Will you be seated, sir?" asked Elder Malby, who took charge of the situation. A number of people, who had evidently followed the priest to see the "fun," came in and gathered round.

"I'll not sit down. I'll deliver my message to you all," he declared as he turned to the people. "You may not believe what I say about these men, that they are not what they pretend; but let me read to you from an American paper--printed in their own land. Listen:

"'So fully apparent is the pernicious activity of "Mormonism" of late, that a general campaign of opposition is being urged against them in various parts of the country. It has been conclusively shown, by students of the question, that the "Mormon" Church is simply a great secret society, engaging in criminal practices under the cloak of their religion--"

There was a hum of protest in the room. Elder Malby raised a hand of warning to let the intruder proceed.

"'The attitude of "Mormonism" towards moral questions and its disregard for the laws, have been shown again and again. "Mormon" missionaries are now making a systematic canvas of every state in the Union, as well as in Great Britain and other foreign countries. Every home, especially of the poor and uneducated is to be visited. It would therefore be the part of wisdom to give a timely word of warning. This is a time to cry aloud and spare not, lest many be led astray by these pernicious teachings.'"

The minister followed up this reading by a stream of personal abuse against "Mormons" in general and Elder Malby--whose name he knew--in particular. Chester watched with keen interest the proceedings. Elder Malby's face was a study. The angry priest paused, then stopped.

"Are you through, sir?" asked Elder Malby quietly. There was no reply, so he continued. "If you are, I wish to say a word. You are entirely mistaken, my dear sir. I have not come here to mislead or to teach any such doctrine as you claim. True, I am now an American citizen, but I was born an Englishman. This is my native country, and I have as much right to be here as you have; and, thank God, this country provides for free speech and allows every man to worship God according to the dictates of his conscience. I love this, my native land--I love these, my people. That's why I am here to preach to them the gospel of Jesus Christ."

"You're a farmer, and not a minister," sneered the priest.

"Peter was a fisherman and Paul was a tent-maker," replied the Elder calmly. "I suppose, sir, that if either of these men came here to preach, you would look upon their occupation as a reproach."

There was no reply, so the "Mormon" continued. "It is true I am a farmer. Some of my friends here know that, because sometimes I assist them in the fields. And I have given them some helpful American hints too, have I not, Brother Naylor?"

"Aye, that you have."

"Religion is not a thing apart from daily life," said Elder Malby, speaking more to the listening people than to the priest. "A truly religious person works with hands and brains as well as prays with lips and heart. Let me tell you, good people, the 'Mormons' have shown to the world that heart and hand, faith and works must go together. A religion which withdraws itself apart from the common people into seclusions of prayer and contemplation alone is of no value in this world. The activities of this life and this world is the proper field for religion, for it is here that we prepare for a future life. The "Mormon" minister can plow, if he is a farmer, as well as preach. He digs canals, makes roads through the wilderness, provides work and play for those who look to him for guidance. Again, let me call your attention to something the "_Mormon_" preacher does: he preaches for the love of the souls of men, and not for a salary."

"You're a tramp," said the priest.

"Not exactly, my friend," replied the Elder, looking into the priest's face. "I pay my way, from money earned at home on my farm. Most of the people here know me, but some are strangers. Let me tell you, briefly, my story."

"Go on," some one near the door shouted.

"I was born a few miles from here. My parents were very poor, but honest and respectable. I had a longing to go to America, so by dint of long, hard work and saving, I obtained the passage money. On the way I became acquainted with the Mormons.' I knew they were the people of God, and I went with them to the West, which was a new country then. I was a pioneer. I took up wild, unbroken land, built me a cabin and made me a farm. It was hard work, but, the exhilaration of working for one's self gives courage and strength. Now I have a good farm, and a good house. I am not rich in worldly wealth. We must still economize carefully.

Here--would you like to see my home in America?"

He took from his pocket a photograph and handed it to the nearest person, who passed it on. "That house I built with my own hands, most of it. Those trees I planted. I made the fence and dug the water ditch.

That's my wife standing by the gate--yes, the only one I have, or ever had--that's my youngest child on the porch, the only one at home now.

The others have married and have homes of their own. Here, I remember, I received a letter from my wife yesterday. Would you like to read it, sir?" addressing the priest who was now preparing to leave.

"The letter will prove that I am not a tramp, sir. Read it aloud to these people." The Elder held the letter in his extended hand.

"I'll have nothing further to do with you. I don't want to read your letter," retorted the priest.

"Read it, read it," came from a number; but the priest, unheedingly passed out of the door and down the path. The gate clicked.

"I'll read it," volunteered a man, one of the strangers who had come in later. He took the letter, and read so that all might hear, which was not difficult in that quieted room:

"'Dear George: By this time I suppose you are in Old England again, and have fairly started in your missionary work. We received your card from Chicago and your letter from New York. I hope you had a pleasant voyage across the ocean, and were not seasick.

"'We are all well at home, only a bit lonesome, of course. Janie misses you very much. She hardly knows what to do with herself in the evening.

I was over to George's last night, and when I came in the door the baby cried "grandpa" before she saw who it was. The little thing looks all around and can't understand why you don't come. Lizzie's baby has the measles, but is getting along nicely.

"I drove around by the field from meeting last Sunday. The wheat is growing fine. The Bishop said it was the finest stand he had ever seen.

George and Henry are now working on the ditch, and they said they'd work out your assessment while they were about it. We have had a good deal of rain lately.

"'I spoke to Brother Jenson about those two steers. He said prices were low at present and advised me to wait a little while before selling them. If you need the money very soon, of course I'll tell him to take them next time he calls. My eggs and butter help us out wonderfully, as we two don't require much. The Sunday eggs, you know, go towards the meeting house fund, and Janie claims the "Saturday crop." She needs a new school dress which Lizzie has promised to make.

"'Now, that's about all the news. I hope your health will continue good and that you are enjoying your mission. Don't worry about us. The Lord will provide. We want to do our part in sending the gospel to those who have it not. Our faith and prayers are always with you.

"'Your loving wife, "'JANE MALBY.

"'P.S. I forgot to tell you that the Jersey cow you bought from Brother Jones has had twin calves, both heifers. Isn't that fine? J.M.'"

The reader folded the letter and handed it back to its owner. The postscript saved the situation, for the wet eyes found relief in the merry laugh which it brought forth.

CHAPTER XI.

On Chester's return to London, he found the following note from Lucy:

"We're all coming--father and Uncle Gilbert and I. What do you think of that? Father is well enough to travel, and he has prevailed upon his brother to accompany us. In fact, I think that Uncle imagines we are two invalids and need his care--I'm glad he does. I'm so busy packing, I haven't time to write more. Will tell you all about it when I see you.

Meet us at St. Pancras station Thursday, at 6 p.m.