idence that the Mormon women were not poor, whatever
their misfortunes might be. Jewelry was not wanting, nor fine lace. And
they all wore beautiful wild flowers of a kind unknown to Shefford. He
received many a bright smile. He looked for Mary, hoping to see her face
for the first time in the daylight, but she sat far forward and did not
turn. He saw her graceful white neck, the fine lines of her throat, and
her colorless cheek. He recognized her, yet in the light she seemed a
stranger.

The service began with a short prayer and was followed by the singing of
a hymn. Nowhere had Shefford heard better music or sweeter voices.
How deeply they affected him! Had any man ever fallen into a stranger
adventure than this? He had only to shut his eyes to believe it all a
creation of his fancy--the square log cabin with its red mud between
the chinks and a roof like an Indian hogan--the old bishop in his black
coat, standing solemnly, his hand beating time to the tune--the few old
women, dignified and stately--the many young women, fresh and handsome,
lifting their voices.

Shefford listened intently to the bishop's sermon. In some respects
it was the best he had ever heard. In others it was impossible for an
intelligent man to regard seriously. It was very long, lasting an hour
and a half, and the parts that were helpful to Shefford came from the
experience and wisdom of a man who had grown old in the desert. The
physical things that had molded characters of iron, the obstacles that
only strong, patient men could have overcome, the making of homes in a
wilderness, showed the greatness of this alien band of Mormons. Shefford
conceded greatness to them. But the strange religion--the narrowing down
of the world to the soil of Utah, the intimations of prophets on earth
who had direct converse with God, the austere self-conscious omnipotence
of this old bishop--these were matters that Shefford felt he must
understand better, and see more favorably, if he were not to consider
them impossible.

Immediately after the service, forgetting that his intention had been to
get the long-waited-for look at Mary in the light of the sun, Shefford
hurried back to camp and to a secluded spot among the cedars. Strikingly
it had come to him that the fault he had found in Gentile religion he
now found in the Mormon religion. An old question returned to haunt
him--were all religions the same in blindness? As far as he could see,
religion existed to