Thomas Strong was a guest at Piney Ridge Cottage. It had taken him a
full year to get over the effects of that dreadful sea disaster wherein
a son, a daughter, and a dear friend had been lost, and to finally make
his way westward to the people to whom both son and daughter had
belonged. He had arrived during apple-blossom time, and the
white-haired, sad-faced man who seemed to have had all mortality burned
from him by fiery trials, was kindly received by Mr. Elston, his
daughter Julia and her husband, Bishop Glen Curtis. These listened to
his strange story, and were profoundly moved by its tragic ending. They
urged him to remain with them, Julia giving him the room on the attic
floor which previously was hers. He was grateful for all these
kindnesses, saying he would be pleased to visit with them for a time.
Out under the apple trees in the growing orchard Hugh Elston made for
their guest a seat, where during the day he would sit as one alone,
listening and waiting here in this spot away from the noise and traffic
of the world for a final message which the God of the Universe might
send him. As far as his strength would allow, he liked to walk along the
country roads, which now extended for many miles from Piney Ridge, and
chat with the neighbors about the country and its prospects. He also
made some minor excursions up the hillsides, but in this direction he
could not go far. Frequently he stopped to rest by the enclosed graves,
where he sat on the grass, and with hands on cane, looked wonderingly at
the two graves, side by side.
But whispered messages from out the blue or storms of heaven did not
come to this man. Neither were there angels sent to tell him what to do;
but the Lord had one more thing--simple indeed--to bear upon the
reluctant heart of Thomas Strong.
In the little attic room which Julia had turned over to her guest were
many books, papers, and magazines. She had told him that everything in
the room was at his service, and so the visitor made good use of the
kind offer. One day he found a small book which had the name Anna
Lawrence--Chester's mother--written on the fly-leaf. Curiously turning
over the pages of the volume, which was simply a school book of the kind
he remembered in his youth, he found between the leaves an old letter.
He unfolded the deeply creased sheets, looked at the strange
handwriting, saw that it was dated thirty years ago, and addressed to
"Miss Anna Lawrence" and signed by a name unknown to him. There could no
harm come from reading this message from the past, so he drew his chair
up to the window, and read:
"_Dear Friend Anna_:
"It is three months now since I left home for this mission, and not
having heard anything yet from you, I thought a few lines from me might
help you get started in the letter-writing direction. I am enjoying my
mission very much, which perhaps you cannot understand, but it is true,
nevertheless. I came to this place yesterday and have already delivered
some tracts. Most of the people are against us, specially is this the
case with preachers. They get after us roughly. My companion isn't as
old as I am, and goodness knows, I'm young and green enough; but we're
both studying hard, and the Lord is with us, which, after all, is our
chief concern.
"I hope you are getting along at school. Do you remember the fun we had
last vacation? I heard that our friend Sue is about to be married, but I
suppose you know all about that.
"But I must tell you about something that happened to us before coming
here. It was in a place not far from Chicago, and my companion and I
were tracting as usual. I took one side of the street and he took the
other. Well, along about noon when it was time we should quit, my
companion didn't make his appearance. I waited a long time, then crossed
the street to look for him. The weather was warm and people were mostly
out of doors in the shade. I heard what sounded like a big discussion on
a porch behind some vines. I went up, and sure enough, there was my
companion and another young fellow having it out in great shape. The
young man sat in his shirt sleeves on a table, and the way he was giving
it to that poor friend of mine was a caution. I learned that the young
fellow was studying for the ministry, and because of that, he considered
himself just the person to give it good and hard to a 'Mormon'
missionary.
"Well, the fellow sat there on the table, his legs swinging as if he
didn't care a--rap. There was a Bible and some other books on the table,
but they had got beyond the use of books. The young fellow ridiculed the
Prophet, poked fun at his revelations, and said the 'Mormons' were a bad
lot altogether. Said they deserved to be driven from decent society into
the desert as they had been. He kept it up like that, and then he said
something odd. 'I wouldn't have your religion at any price,' he said.
'Get out with you.'
"My companion sat there, not saying a word. I saw the tears come into
his eyes. He wiped them away hurriedly. Then his face became pale, and
it seemed to me that a light actually shone from it. As I told you, he
is just a boy, and as I looked on him then, I thought of the boy
prophet, and what my father has told me so often about him. Well, when
the fellow got through with his abuse, and jumped from the table as if
we were dismissed, my companion arose and in a voice wonderfully gentle
yet vibrant with power, said:
"'Yes, we will go, but not before I tell you this: You know not what you
say, therefore, you are forgiven, as far as I am concerned. My parents
were driven from this state. All they had was destroyed by mobs. My
mother died on the plains and her body lies there to this day. All that
mortal man can suffer and live my people have suffered, and all for the
sake of the truth, the gospel that I have brought to you this day, and
which you so scornfully reject. And now I tell you in the name of the
Lord, some day you will receive this gospel--but not until you have paid
for it, and paid for it dearly. Like the merchantman in the parable,
_all that you have_ will you pay for this Pearl of Great Price! Good
day, sir.'
"We both left him standing somewhat dazed, but I tell you--"
The letter dropped to Thomas Strong's knee, as he looked up and out at
the closing day. He arose, went to the glass door which opened on to the
little porch, stepped out into the air that he might breathe easier.
What he saw was not Old Thunder Mountain, or the wide extent of the
Flat, dim now in the twilight, but a vine-enclosed porch and the pale,
peculiar face of a boy telling him the words he had just read. * * * *
There had been other boy prophets besides the first great one; and yes,
oh Great God, one old, broken man had paid the price.
The vines on the upper porch of Piney Ridge Cottage now also formed a
cover, and in their shadow Thomas Strong kneeled and prayed as he had
never prayed before.
An hour later, Julia, wondering what their guest was doing in his room
so long without a light, called to him softly at the foot of the stairs.
"Yes," he replied, as if he did not realize for the moment who was
calling, "I'm coming--I'm coming now."