"Not exactly, my friend," replied the Elder, looking into the priest's face. "I pay my way, from money earned at home on my farm. Most of the people here know me, but some are strangers. Let me tell you, briefly, my story." "Go on," some one near the door shouted. "I was born a few miles from here. My parents were very poor, but honest and respectable. I had a longing to go to America, so by dint of long, hard work and saving, I obtained the passage money. On the way I became acquainted with the Mormons.' I knew they were the people of God, and I went with them to the West, which was a new country then. I was a pioneer. I took up wild, unbroken land, built me a cabin and made me a farm. It was hard work, but, the exhilaration of working for one's self gives courage and strength. Now I have a good farm, and a good house. I am not rich in worldly wealth. We must still economize carefully. Here--would you like to see my home in America?" He took from his pocket a photograph and handed it to the nearest person, who passed it on. "That house I built with my own hands, most of it. Those trees I planted. I made the fence and dug the water ditch. That's my wife standing by the gate--yes, the only one I have, or ever had--that's my youngest child on the porch, the only one at home now. The others have married and have homes of their own. Here, I remember, I received a letter from my wife yesterday. Would you like to read it, sir?" addressing the priest who was now preparing to leave. "The letter will prove that I am not a tramp, sir. Read it aloud to these people." The Elder held the letter in his extended hand. "I'll have nothing further to do with you. I don't want to read your letter," retorted the priest. "Read it, read it," came from a number; but the priest, unheedingly passed out of the door and down the path. The gate clicked. "I'll read it," volunteered a man, one of the strangers who had come in later. He took the letter, and read so that all might hear, which was not difficult in that quieted room: "'Dear George: By this time I suppose you are in Old England again, and have fairly started in your missionary work. We received your card from Chicago and your letter from New York. I hope you had a pleasant voyage across the ocean, and were not seasick. "'We are all well at home, only a bit lonesome, of course. Janie misses you very much. She hardly knows what to do with herself in the evening. I was over to George's last night, and when I came in the door the baby cried "grandpa" before she saw who it was. The little thing looks all around and can't understand why you don't come. Lizzie's baby has the measles, but is getting along nicely. "I drove around by the field from meeting last Sunday. The wheat is growing fine. The Bishop said it was the finest stand he had ever seen. George and Henry are now working on the ditch, and they said they'd work out your assessment while they were about it. We have had a good deal of rain lately.