into the saloon, and I'll tell you about it."

Chester was visibly affected as he related what he had seen. At the conclusion of his story he bowed his face into his hands for a moment. Then he looked into the Elder's face with a smile.

"Well, it's too bad, too bad," said George Malby.

"Do you think so?"

"Well—why—isn't it a terrible thing to die like that?"

"I hope not," replied Chester. "I think the dying part was easy enough, and the manner of it was glorious. He was a poor fellow who had failed to land. He had no doubt thought to make fame and fortune in the new world. Now he has gone to a new world indeed. He entered it triumphantly, I hope. As far as I know, he ought to be received as a hero in that world to which he has gone."

Chester's eyes shone and his face was aglow. "Elder Malby," he continued, "I remember what you told me just yesterday,—To our immortal soul, nothing that others can do, matters much; a man's own actions is what counts. Neither does it matter much when or how a man leaves this life; the vital thing is what he has done and how he has done it up to the point of departure. The Lord will take care of the rest."

As the two men went slowly along the narrow passage way to their state rooms that night, the older man said to the other, "I guess you're right, my brother; yes; you are right. Good night, and pleasant sleep."

CHAPTER II.

The next morning the sky was clear and the sea was much smoother. The sun shone bright and warm; more people came on deck, rejoicing that they could live in the vigor of the open rather than in their stuffy state rooms. The two seasick elders thought it wiser to remain quietly in their berths for another day, so Chester and Elder Malby had the day to themselves. As the accident of the night before became known to the passengers, it was the topic of conversation for some time.

That afternoon Chester and his companion found a cosy corner on deck away from the cigar smoke, and had a long heart to heart talk. The fact of the matter was that the young man found comfort in the society of his older brother. For the first time in nearly two years Chester could pour out his heart to sympathetic ears, and he found much joy in doing this.

"Yes," said Chester to a question, "I should like to tell you about myself. When my story gets tiresome, call my attention to the porpoises, or declare that you can see a whale."

"I promise," laughed the other.

"Well, to begin at the very beginning, I was born in a suburb of Chicago, and lived in and near that city most of my life. My mother's name was Anna Lawrence. I never knew my father, not even his name. Yes, I can talk freely about it to you. The time was when I shunned even the thoughts of my earthly origin and my childhood days, but I have gotten over that. I have learned to face the world and all the truth it has for me.

"When I was but a child, my mother married Hugh Elston. Shortly after, they both heard the gospel preached by a 'Mormon' elder, and they accepted it. I had been placed in the care of some of my relatives, and when my mother now wished to take me, they would not give me up. They were, of course, fearful that I, too, would become a 'Mormon.' Mr. Elston and my mother went west to Utah. I was sent to school, obtained a fairly good education, and while yet a young man, was conducting a successful business.

"I had nearly forgotten that I had a parent at all, when one day, my mother, without announcement, came to Chicago. She had left her husband. Mother did not say much to any of us, but I took it for granted that she had been abused among the 'terrible Mormons.' After a time I took a trip out to Utah to see about it, meaning to find this Mr. Elston and compel him to do the right thing for my mother. Well, I went, I saw, and was conquered. Mr. Elston was a widower living in a spot of green called Piney Ridge Cottage amid the sage-brush desert,—living there alone with his daughter Julia. And this Julia—well—Do you see any porpoises, Brother Malby?"

"Not yet. Go on."

"Mr. Elston is a fine, good-hearted man,—a gentleman in very deed. He soon found out who I was and invited me to his home. Julia was mistress there. In the midst of the desert, these two had created a beautiful home. I went to their Sunday School and their meetings. I read Mormon books. My eyes were opened to the truth, and I was ready to accept it."

"Thanks to Julia," suggested the listener with a sly glance at Chester.

"Yes; thanks to Julia, Brother Malby; but not in the sense you hint at. I think I would have accepted the gospel, even had there been no Julia mixed up with the finding of it. But Julia helped. She was a living example of what 'Mormonism' can do for a person, and when I looked at her, learned her thoughts through her words, and saw her life by her every-day deeds, I said to myself, 'A system of religion that produces such a soul, cannot be bad.' Yes; she was a wonderful help; but I repeat that had the truth come to me by other means and other ways, I believe I should have accepted it."

"Forgive me for the thoughtless remark," said Elder Malby.

"O, I know how justifiable you are for it, so you are forgiven."

"Did you join the Church in Utah?"

"No; I went back to Chicago. Away from Utah, from Piney Ridge Cottage and its influence. I pondered and prayed. I found the elders there and was baptized. Then I went to Salt Lake City, where Julia had gone to attend school while her father was away on a mission to England." Chester paused, looking out on the sea. "You don't blame me for falling in love with Julia, do you?" asked he.

"I don't blame you a bit."

"But there was someone else, a young fellow who had grown up as a neighbor to her. He also went on a mission, and then I believe Julia discovered that she thought more of Glen Curtis than of me. I do not now blame Julia for that. She told me plainly her feelings. I persisted for a time, but in vain—then I went away, and have never been to Utah since."

"And that's the end of your story?"

"Oh, no; while I was roaming aimlessly about the country trying to mend a broken heart, mother, becoming uneasy about me, and thinking I was yet in Utah, journeyed out west to find me. The team on the stage-coach which took her out to Julia's home, ran away from the drunken driver, and just before they got to Piney Ridge Cottage the wagon upset on a dug-way, and mother was mortally hurt. She died under Julia's care, and now lies in Mr. Elston's private graveyard near Piney Ridge Cottage beside Mr. Elston's other wife. Let us walk a little."

The older man linked his arm into Chester's as they paced the long reach of the promenade deck. They walked for a few minutes, then sat down again.

"I hope you'll not think I'm a bore, to continue my personal history; but there is something in here," said Chester, striking his breast, "that finds relief in expression to one who understands."

"Go on; tell me all."

"Do you know, I was tempted to 'chuck it all' after I had failed with Julia. I even went so far as to play devilishly near to sin, but thank the Lord, I came to my senses before I was overcome, and I escaped that horror. Oh, but I was storm-tossed for a while—I thought of it yesterday when we had the rough sea—but in time I came out into the calm again, just as we are coming today on this voyage. But not until I had said more than once 'not my will, but thine, O Lord, be done,' and said it from my heart, did I get peace. Then I began to see that the girl had come into my life, not to be my wife, but to turn my life into new channels. I, with the rest of the world of which I was a part, had no definite views or high ideals of life, death, 'and that vast forever;' and something was needed to change my easy-going course.