While penning this brief narrative I cannot help reflecting upon the present time. Passing along to my Sunday meetings I often see a number of boys, about my age at that time, and some older ones, loitering about the streets, breaking the Sabbath, neglecting to attend worship, and many who never even visit Sunday school. They have not the love for their religion, which filled my heart at their age. These remarks apply not only to the young, but also to others more advanced in years, who often neglect their meetings, excusing themselves on one frivolous pretext or another. William H. Scott told President Littlefair that I desired baptism. The president said as I was under age that rite could not be administered to me. It was necessary for me to first obtain permission from my parents. Thinking the best way to get their consent would be for William to talk to my mother on the subject of "Mormonism," I arranged an interview with her. Accordingly, William went and conversed with her on the first principles of the gospel. It was on a Thursday night. She was interested and listened attentively to the teachings of the young preacher, for he was but a young man, seventeen years of age. At the close of the interview it was agreed upon that in a week's time he should pay her another visit. The appointment was promptly kept, and at its close William gained my mother's consent to my baptism. The next night, Friday, my father, on being consulted, said he was willing for me to do as I pleased. As everything seemed to be working in my favor, I sought my mother's consent, before retiring to rest on Saturday night, to attend another meeting of the Saints, which was to be held in the afternoon of the next day. Judge of my surprise on being told by her that she did not wish me to have anything more to do with so deluded a people, giving them a bad name and saying: "I would rather bury you in the churchyard than have you join the Mormons." Too full of grief to make any reply to her remarks, with drooping head and aching heart I slowly went up stairs to my bed chamber and there knelt and prayed humbly and fervently to my Heavenly Father, while the tears rolled down my cheeks. Restlessly I lay upon my bed. "I would rather bury you in the churchyard than have you join the Mormons." Oh, how these words rang in my ears! I had never been so tried before in my life. The knowledge that "Mormonism" was true was firm in my heart, for I had received a testimony and was very anxious to get baptized; but my hopes now were blighted. What course should I pursue? I was young--just approaching my fifteenth birthday--and still under the control of my parents, whom I desired to obey in all things. But could I give up "Mormonism" and deny the testimony I had received? No, the Lord helping me, I would never do that.