A child's love is as proportionately great as a woman's.

Two years later and Spring Conference had come to Salt Lake City.

When all the "Mormons" in Utah tried to get to their semi-annual conference, in their beloved city, it meant a sight for tourists indeed!

So thought young Dr. George Cadman, who was returning to New York, from a trip to California, and had stopped off at Salt Lake to see the sights and especially to get a glimpse of those peculiar people called "Mormons," about whom so much was said and written.

Dr. Cadman was a handsome man of twenty-four, medium in height, but strongly built. His fine regular features and deep-set gray eyes, made him the object of attraction to more than one as he stood on the corner of Main street, outside of the Hotel Utah, looking at the crowds, as they made their way to the great tabernacle.

"Strange!" he thought, "these people don't look wicked!" Then he walked over to the monument of Brigham Young, to read the inscription.

"Stranger here, brother?" asked a pleasant voice.

He turned to meet the pleasant gaze of an old, long-bearded man, attired in a plain black suit. On his arm hung his wife, presumably about his own age, wearing a black cloth dress.

"Yes, quite a stranger," returned Dr. Cadman courteously. "This statue, I believe is of the man who led the 'Mormons' through the 'Rockies?'"

The old man's eyes fired with enthusiasm.

"Yes, brother, yes! Brigham Young, the Prophet of the Lord! A grander man I never knew. He led us here—to our destruction, the world thought,—but it was to our peace and prosperity!"

George scanned the couple with interest. They didn't look very prosperous. Aloud he said, "So you're a 'Mormon,' are you? And one of the old pioneers?"

"Yes, brother, I knew Brigham Young in Nauvoo, when we were driven out across the plains, I knew that he was God's own man, and I followed him, with sure faith in my heart. If you like, sir, the meeting's just on, and you might walk down with us?"

"I will, thank you," returned Dr. Cadman pleasantly, and the three walked down to the Temple, the old man greatly pleased with the visitor, and "the visitor" greatly amused with the thought of walking down the street with "Mormons."

"There's nothing very bad about them," he decided to himself. "Just easily lead, and simple-minded."

When they reached the Temple gate, the old man turned to him kindly. "Sorry, but you'll have to throw that cigar away, brother. They don't allow smoking on the Temple grounds."

Cadman flushed, and looked at his freshly lit cigar doubtfully.

"Well, here goes!" he decided. "It's worth it to see a real 'Mormon' congregation."

As they entered the grounds, a group of about fifteen men, women, and children surrounded them.

"Where have you been?" exclaimed a chorus of voices, accosting the old couple, joyously. "We've been looking for you the city over. Hurry or we'll not get a front seat."

George found himself proudly introduced to the old couple's children and grand-children and then hurried off by the entire family to the tabernacle.

That night he wrote to a New York cousin, the following letter:

"My dear old pal:—Such a pleasant trip, all the way through! I've separated from the party, however, for the way they traveled, didn't suit me. They reminded me of a lot of bees, sipping the honey momentarily from each flower that they passed. On a trip like this, I like to study my own dear America. I decided to stop off a few days at the Indian reservation,—that settled it—since then I have been traveling alone.

"You know Mrs. Hester of the party? Exclaimed she, 'Those frightful Indians, Dr. Cadman! How can you care to look at those awful people a second time!'

"And now—those frightful 'Mormons' I find very interesting! I meant to spend one day here at Salt Lake City, but this first day has been so interesting I mean to spend more.

"I must tell you about my experience today.

"I was gazing at Brigham Young's monument, when I was accosted by a very plainly dressed old man, and his wife. After a little conversation, I went to their tabernacle with them, and on the way was introduced to their family,—big enough for five separate Eastern homes!

"But, Will, the tabernacle service was a great surprise to me. The singing, speaking, music were all uplifting. There's something wrong about those Anti-'Mormon' lecturers out home. These people are dead in earnest, and I'll wager they're sincere.

"If I were religiously inclined, I'd say, 'The spirit is more in this Church, than in the churches of the world,' but—as I'm not religious, as you know, I simply feel a great respect for these people and a reverence, a little foreign to my nature,—when in their tabernacle.

"I met a farmer from a little place called Ephraim. I told him how I would enjoy meeting some 'Mormon' ranchers and sheepherders, etc., and he immediately invited me to his home, and he said he'd show me around. What think you of that for western hospitality? Can you beat it? Inviting a stranger, whom he has not even heard of! Well, I'm off for Ephraim tonight with my new-found friend to study the 'Mormons!'

"By the way, I found out from my Ephraim friend that the old man I made friends with could easily buy me out. So much for appearances!

"Give my love to Alma, and tell little Harold that I'll bring him something that the Indians made.

"Good-bye old chap. I'll write from Ephraim, so if you don't hear from me, you'll know that they have stolen me for a 'Mormon' harem on account of my good looks!

[Right-justify] "Yours faithfully,

[Right-justify] "George Cadman."

*****

[Right-justify] "Ephraim, June 15, 1919.

"Dear Will:—Guess you're wondering? Well old chap, I've had some strange experiences.

"My Ephraim friend and his family (wife and eight children) have treated me royally. What I haven't seen, wouldn't be worth seeing. There's a little girl of twelve, that is the most captivating piece of femininity you can imagine. She's a bunch of happiness, merry to impertinence at times, but with all so religious. She is saving her pennies to go on a mission to convert such as you and I (so she frankly declares) to 'Mormonism.'

"I took such a fancy to the youngster, and she to me, that everywhere I went, she has been by my side.

"Two days ago, she and I went for a ride in her father's machine and some youngster ran us down. Some accident! and my little companion got all the bruises and cuts, while I escaped. She wants no doctor but myself, and as she must stay in bed a few days, I'm prolonging my visit until she is well. I'm sitting by her bed-side now.

"She just interrupted me by saying, 'I know by the way you look that you are writing about me. Be sure to tell my name—I might meet him on my mission.'

"'How do you spell your last name, Betty?' I asked, ready to obey.

"'E-m-m-i-t,' she said brightly,—then under the covers went her head, and I heard a giggle.

"'What's up now?' I asked.

"Two laughing brown eyes peeked out at me.

"'Put a D before it and it spells what?' she asked.

"'Demmit,' I replied quickly,—and then I wish you could have heard her laugh.

"The country here is beautiful, and the people so full of faith, it seems a different world to gay old New York. I think that if I stayed here long, I would get the fever and attend meetings like the rest of them.

"But all joking aside, it's refreshing to see real homes, real mothers, and merry children. I'll be sorry when I leave this 'Mountain country,' which will be in a few days,—so I'll see you all soon. Love to Alma and Harold.

[Right-justify] "Yours as ever,

[Right-justify] "George."

*****

"Well, little Betty, I guess you're almost well now, and I must end this long, pleasant vacation," said Dr. Cadman as they walked along one of Ephraim's country roads.

Betty looked up with troubled eyes.

"You don't mean you're going to leave us—yet?"

"Why girlie, I only intended to stay until you were well! What will all the sick people do in New York?" he asked playfully.

But Betty hung her head and walked on in silence.

Dr. Cadman loved children and he had learned to love this little "Mormon" girl. He saw her disappointment, and was sorry.

"Now Betty, dear," he said, taking her hand tenderly, "We're awfully good friends, aren't we? You know, Uncle Sam has a post-office, and you'll write letters to me and I'll answer everyone,—until we meet again."

"Oh, will you?" eagerly asked Betty, looking up with one of her sudden sunny smiles, "It won't be quite so bad then."

"And then in a few years," continued Dr. Cadman happily, "there will be a fine young Ephraim lady coming on a mission to New York, and Dr. Cadman will have to introduce her to some well-known people to convert!"

Betty clapped her hands—a way she had of expressing great joy.

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed, "and you'll have your minister all ready for me to preach 'Mormonism' in his church?"

"Not so fast, girlie! Not so fast! Ministers are rather queer when 'Mormonism' is mentioned."

A cloud chased Betty's smile away and her brow thoughtfully puckered.

"I wonder why?" she said slowly, "and you, Brother Cadman, why are you not a 'Mormon?'"

Dr. Cadman hesitated, then said kindly, "Probably for the same reason that you are one."

"I don't understand," said Betty.

"You were born a 'Mormon,'" explained Dr. Cadman, "I was born a Presbyterian."

"I am not a 'Mormon' because I was born one!" said Betty decidedly. "If I did not know that my religion was the true one, I would search until I found the truth."

Dr. Cadman smiled down on her.

"Wise little head! Suppose I should tell you that my church was the true church?"

Betty looked up seriously.

"You're too good to say what you don't mean," she answered quietly.

Dr. Cadman flushed as he replied, "Betty Emmit, you have an uncomfortable way of reading one's thoughts. Child that you are, you're right. I belong to a church that I don't care a great deal about. I'm interested in God and nature, but I'm not interested in church."

Betty's little thoughtful frown reappeared.

"How can you be interested in God and not in his work?"

The young man smiled. "Girlie, you're not on a mission yet, but when you come, I'll promise to discuss everything. I wouldn't argue with you now,—my last desire would be to influence as great a faith as yours. Keep it—just as long as you can. I wish that I possessed half as good."

Betty's eyes shone.

"O, I hope that you will. It's wonderful to feel sure and safe about everything that you believe. If you think I'm so young, it's no use talking. But I'll remember your promise when I come to New York."

"How do you know that the Church will send you to New York?"

"Because I've asked God to make it so," she answered simply.

Dr. Cadman sighed.

"How beautiful is youth, how bright it gleams! There! I won't say the rest!"

"O, but I know it," laughed Betty. "With all it's illusions, aspirations, dreams! You know that reminds me of an old woman, with false hair, false teeth, and wrinkles, whining over her lost beauty! Why are people so sickly in poetry! Do you know what I would like that second line to be?"

"Out with it," laughed Cadman.

Betty's eyes danced with merriment.

"How beautiful is youth, how bright it gleams,
Except to sour old fogies, who failed to catch sunbeams!"

"So, Miss Betty, I'm a sour old fogie?" asked Dr. Cadman laughing.

Betty blushed furiously.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean you," she said quickly.

"It's well that you didn't, young lady," returned Cadman, greatly amused with this child of the hills.

"Now to change the subject, do you know anyone in New York?"

"Only one perfect lovely lady," returned Betty. "She came to Ephraim two years ago, and preached so wonderfully—everyone gave up their beer, and some their pipes. I did love her so! I've written but she's never answered. I suppose that she's moved, or that I have the wrong address."

"What's her name?"

"Mrs. Webster Catt."

"Not a pleasant name," said Cadman, "I'll keep my eye open for her, and when I locate her, I'll let you know."

"O, thank you so much!" exclaimed Betty, "Look! A storm is coming up over the mountain. Is it not wonderful?"

"Let us rest here on the rock and watch it," said Cadman. "We have time to get home after."

So together they watched the storm approach.

At first the entire mountain seemed overhung with black, ominous clouds. The great calm preceding a storm filled the atmosphere, making it heavy and foreboding.

"It's just like a heart before a great sorrow, isn't it?" she asked dreamily.

"What is?" asked Cadman vaguely.

"Why, every mountain has a heart, you know," answered Betty. "Now she feels a terrible premonition. Something is wrong. She's brooding over it."

Cadman looked up at the clouds in silence.

A lurid streak of lightning lit up the darkness. Another, and another, each more vivid than the last!

"Look! Her great sorrow strikes her! Lash upon lash! It hurts her—it is so vivid and sharp!"

"Fanciful child!" exclaimed Cadman, following the girl's gaze with interest.

"Suddenly there was a rift in the clouds,—the black masses rolled apart from each other and a soft, snowy cloud appeared.

"Now, what?" asked Cadman curiously.

"A friend has come," returned Betty quietly. "A sweet comforting friend, trying to console and help her."

The black clouds assumed a beautiful purple hue, and the white one gradually became the palest pink.

"See! she's letting in a little sunshine, and the sorrow isn't quite so black!" continued the child.

Another flash of lightning and a distant rumbling of thunder!

"Ah! she's hurt again! But see! The friend stays!"

"Can you see the rain?" asked Cadman. "It's coming down hard on the other side of the mountain!"

"Yes, in spite of her friend, she's crying her heart out. She's so unhappy!"

Then in the most brilliant hues, two long rain-bows arched their colors over the mountain, throwing a radiance through the darkness that was gloriously beautiful!

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Cadman, contemplating this western scene with delight. "What now, little one?" he asked.

"God's love," said Betty softly. "God's love, casting it's beauty over every sorrow however dark!"

Cadman looked at her in silence,—then he stood up and took her hands.

"Come Betty, let us get home now,—you'll be tired, working your brain and body on this your first day out!"

So hand in hand they walked home, not saying much,—Cadman wishing he could linger one week longer in this primitive little town, and Betty feeling vaguely sad at the thought of parting with her new found friend.

*****

Alone in her room, Betty stood gazing at herself in her mirror. She saw a tear-stained face and dejected countenance with large, sad eyes.

"Now, Betty Emmit," she said to herself, in a low sobbing voice, "Will it do you one bit of good to cry? That won't bring him back. He's gone, gone, gone! You might as well dry your tears, and brace up and try to be of some use to somebody. Just a few years and you'll go to New York—a real grown young lady, and who knows? Maybe—" here a smile flashed across her tear stained face and Betty blushed.

Then she took from her bureau a photo of her ideal friend. Dr. Cadman's eyes seemed to smile at her re-assuringly.

"Yes, stranger things have happened," she said feeling a little less unhappy. "I must pray every night that God will make it possible!"

To Betty, God was her constant ever-present friend, and her every desire went straight to the Heavenly Throne, so tonight, what she would not have breathed to her mother, was as naturally spoken of in prayer as her most ordinary desire!

And so she undressed for bed, and before seeking rest, she knelt down in the moonlight and with her usual prayers added tremulously, "Dear Father, you know how I love him. Someday let me be his wife for all eternity!" One hour later, Mrs. Emmit peeped in to discover Betty fast asleep with Dr. Cadman's picture clasped close to her breast. The moonlight made sweeter the smile on Betty's face.

"Poor Betty," murmured the mother in sympathy. "She does take such deep affections—we'll all miss him, but not like she will!" and so only half understanding the heart of her own child, she gently closed the door and left Betty to her dreams.