as deep and good. Land
rose from it in gentle undulations rather than hills.

Emeline and Roxy walked inland, with their backs to the harbor. In
summer, farmers who lived nearest St. James took short-cuts through the
woods to meeting, and let their horses rest.

The last house on the street was a wooden building of some pretension,
having bow-windows and a veranda. High pickets enclosed a secluded
garden. It was very unlike the log-cabins of the island.

"He lives here," said Roxy.

Emeline did not inquire who lived here. She understood, and her question
was--

"How many with him?"

"All of them--eight. Seven of them stay at home, but Mary French travels
with him. Didn't you notice her in the Tabernacle--the girl with the
rose in her hair, sitting near the platform?"

"Yes, I noticed her. Was that one of his wives?"

Roxy waited until they had struck into the woods path, and then looked
guardedly behind her.

"Mary French is the youngest one. She was sealed to the Prophet only two
years ago; and last winter she went travelling with him, and we heard
she dressed in men's clothes and acted as his secretary."

"But why did she do that when she was his wife according to your
religion?"

"I don't know," responded Roxy, mysteriously. "The Gentiles on the
mainland are very hard on us."

They followed the track between fragrant grapevine and hickory, and the
girl bred to respect polygamy inquired--

"Do you feel afraid of the Prophet, Cousin Emeline?"

"No, I don't," retorted the girl bred to abhor it.

"Sometimes I do. He makes people do just what he wants them to. Mary
French was a Gentile's daughter, the proudest girl that ever stepped in
St. James. She didn't live on the island; she came here to visit. And he
got her. What's the matter, Cousin Emeline?"

"Some one trod on my grave; I shivered. Cousin Roxy, I want to ask you a
plain question. Do you like a man's having more than one wife?"

"No, I don't. And father doesn't either. But he was obliged to marry
again, or get into trouble with the other elders. And Aunt Mahala is
very good about the house, and minds mother. The revelation may be plain
enough, but I am not the kind of a girl," declared Roxy, daringly, as
one might blaspheme, "that cares a straw for the revelation."

Emeline took hold of her arm, and they walked on with a new sense of
companionship.

"A great many of the people feel the same way about it. But when the
Prophet makes them un