"Through the Union Depot only?" asked Lucy.

"You must have received a very unpleasant impression of our city."

"Well, happily I did get away from that depot. I took a ride on the cars out to Independence, and I saw a good part of the city besides. It's beautiful out towards Swope Park--"

"There's where we live," exclaimed the girl. "I think the park's just grand. I live in it nearly all summer."

At this point of the conversation, a party to windward, among whom were the two Catholic Fathers, lighted their pipes, and the smoke streamed like from so many chimneys into the faces of those sitting near. The minister looked sharply towards the puffing men, while Lucy tried to push the denser clouds away with her hands; but no notice was taken of such gentle remonstrances.

"I'll speak to them," suggested Chester.

"No; don't. It would only offend them," said the minister. "They think they are strictly within their rights, and it does not dawn on their nicotine poisoned wits that they are taking away other peoples'

rights,--that of breathing the uncontaminated air. We'll just move our chairs a bit," which they did.

"You don't smoke, I take it," continued the clergyman, addressing Chester.

"No; I quit two years ago."

"Good for you. It's a vile habit, and I sometimes think the worst effect smoking has on people is that it dulls the nice gentlemanlyness of a man's character. Now, those men over there, even the Catholic Fathers, are, no doubt gentlemen in all respects but one; it's a pity that the tobacco habit should make the one exception."

Chester agreed in words, Lucy in looks.

"You say you have passed through Kansas City," continued the father.

"How far west have you been?"

"To the Pacific Coast."

"Lucy and I should have made this trip westward, but the doctor said we must not cross the mountains, because of her heart. So an ocean voyage was advised."

"And I did want so much to see the Rockies," added the young woman. "I have always had a longing to see our own mountains as well as those of Switzerland. Next summer we'll take that western trip."

"I hope so, daughter."

"I assure you they are worth seeing," said Chester.

"No doubt about it. Lucy and I have planned it all for some day. Were you ever in Utah?"

"I lived for some time in Salt Lake City. Be sure to see that town on your trip."

The minister looked somewhat queerly at Chester for a moment. Then his gaze swept out to the water again as if a momentary disturbing thought was gotten rid of. Lucy was interested.

"Tell us about Salt Lake City, and, and the Mormons,'" pleaded she.

"Never mind the 'Mormons,' Lucy," admonished her father.

"It's difficult to speak of Utah and Salt Lake without mentioning the 'Mormons,'" added Chester.

"Then let's talk of something else, something more pleasant."

Evidently this minister was like all others, Chester concluded; sane and intelligent on all subjects but one,--the "Mormons." Well, he would set himself right before these two people, and do it now.

"I can say," said Chester, "that my experience among the 'Mormon' people has been among the most pleasant of my life. In fact, I don't know where I can go to find a more honest, God-fearing, virtuous people. I--"

"Young man," interrupted the clergyman, looking keenly at him, "are you a 'Mormon'?"

"Yes, sir; I have that honor."

Lucy gave a cry, whether of alarm or gladness, the young man could not then tell. The minister arose slowly. "Lucy," he said, "let us walk a little more," and without another word the two resumed their promenade.

But in Lucy's face there appeared concern. The tears, glittering in her eyes did not altogether hide the reassuring glance which she turned about to give Chester as he sat alone by the vacated chairs.

CHAPTER IV.

The next day was Sunday. Even on ship-board there are some indications that the seventh day is different from the rest. There is always a little extra to the menu for dinner, and then religious services are also held; and are not these two things frequently all that distinguish the Sabbath on the land?

That morning neither Lucy nor her father was at breakfast. Immediately after, Chester sought out the chief steward, and by insistency and the help of a small tip, he got his seat changed to the table occupied by Elder Malby and the two other missionaries. "No one shall be annoyed by my near presence, if I can help it," Chester said.

At the noon meal, the minister and his daughter appeared as usual.

Chester watched them unobserved from his changed position. They looked at the vacant place opposite, but as far as Chester could determine, his absence was not discussed.

That afternoon services were held in three parts of the vessel at the same time. On the steerage deck a large company of Irish Catholics surrounded the two Fathers. One of the priests stood in the center of the group while the people kneeled on the deck. The priest read something in Latin, the others repeating after him. Then a glass of "holy water" was passed among them, the worshipers dipping their fingers in and devoutly crossing themselves. Chester watched the proceedings for a time, then he went to the second class deck where a revival meeting was in progress. The preacher was delivering the usual exhortation to "come to Jesus," while yet there was time. Presently, there came from the depths of the ship the sound of the dinner gong being slowly and solemnly beaten, no doubt to imitate, as nearly as possible, the peal of church bells. The steward who acted as bell ringer did his duty well, going into the halls and on to the decks, then disappearing again into the saloon. This was the official announcement to service. Chester and his friends followed. Quite a congregation had gathered. Two large pillows had been covered with a Union Jack to serve as a pulpit. A ship's officer then read the form prescribed for services on ship-board from the Church of England prayer book. It was all very dry and uninteresting, "Verily a form of godliness" and a lot of "vain repetition," said Elder Malby.

Then the minister--Chester's minister--arose. He had been asked, he said, to add a few words to the regular service, and he was pleased to do so. He called attention to the accident which had happened on their voyage, and felt to say something on the providence of God, and His watch-care over His children. The preacher's voice was pleasant, the ministerial tone not being so pronounced as to make his speech unnatural. Chester listened attentively, as also did Lucy who, Chester observed, was sitting well up towards the front.

"God is the source of the being of all men," said the preacher. "He has brought us all into existence, and made us in His own likeness, and is a Father to us in fact and in feeling. He owns us and owns His responsibility for us. He cares for us and overrules all things for our good. He is worthy of our love and confidence. Since we are His children, God desires us to be such in very deed--in fellowship and character, and is satisfied with us only as we are giving ourselves to the filial life. This relationship which we bear to God cannot be fully explained. There is a mystery in it beyond the understanding of finite minds; but of this we are sure that the God of Creation has brought us all forth into being, and He will take care of us if we will let Him. We cannot reasonably and reverently think otherwise of Him.

"Is it not a comfort to think that we cannot get away from the ever-present watchfulness of God? As the Psalmist puts it: 'Whither shall I go from thy spirit, or whither shall I flee from thy presence?

If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.' Yes, yes, my friends, 'God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear--'"

Somehow, what the minister said after that came very indistinctly to Chester Lawrence. He heard the words, but was aware only of a peculiar feeling, a dim perception of where he was and what he was hearing. There seemed to him to be a genuine feeling in the voice that uttered those beautiful words of scripture. They clung to his heart, and the minister himself became transfigured for an instant into some other being,--stern of countenance, yet loveliness in the depths of his soul, spiritually far away, yet heart yearning with nearness of love. Chester came fully to himself only when Elder Malby took his arm and together they paced a few turns around the deck.

That same Sunday evening as Chester stood alone on the promenade deck watching the moonlight lay as a golden coverlet on the placid sea, his attention was attracted to the figure of a girl mounting the steps leading to the deck where he stood. She paused half way as if to rest, then came slowly up to where he was standing. Her breath came heavily, and she looked around to find a place to rest. Chester instinctively took her arm and led her to a deck chair.

"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?"