"No, brother, I am not crazy. My mind has never been clearer. I feel fine now. I tell you, there is manna for a hungry soul in these things. "And now again: This life is a school. From the puny, helpless infant to old age, life is a development of the attributes with which we come into the world. We get all our education through our senses. No faculty of mind or body is useless. The perfect man has these all perfectly developed. We have at least one example of a perfect man, the resurrected Son of God. What was He like? When He appeared to His disciples He said, 'Handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.' He also ate with His brethren. Here, then, we have, one of us, carrying with Him into the celestial world His body of flesh and bone. And, mind you, He is the pattern. If we follow Him, we also shall take with us these bodies, changed, purged, and glorified of course, but yet bodies in every sense. Will not the eye then see perfectly, the ear hear every sound in the celestial key? Not only every attribute of the mind, but every organ of the body will be prefect in its operation. Think what that will mean!" The speaker paused as if to let his listener arrive at the inevitable conclusion in his own mind. "What will it mean?" he asked again. "I don't know," replied Uncle Gilbert. "It will mean fatherhood--eternal, celestialized fatherhood. We shall be like Him our Father, not only to beget, but to _father_ a race! Think of that! Did you ever think of that? No, of course not--and I--musn't--I who--have never yet made a beginning--how can I expect"-- The head fell back on the pillow as Uncle Gilbert quickly came to his brother's side. The minister's face was pale, his eyes were closed for a moment. Then he opened them, sat upright, ran his hand over his face, and smiled at his brother. "Don't be alarmed," he said, "it was nothing. I'm all right." He walked about while the maid came in and set the table for dinner. The minister linked his arm into his brother's. "Say, brother," he asked, "would you not be lonesome up in heaven without Aunt Sarah?" Uncle Gilbert was seriously alarmed. He had in mind to call Lucy, when, providentially she came to them. "I think your father's not well, Lucy?" said Uncle Gilbert, as she took her father's other arm. "What's the matter, papa?" she asked. "I am well," protested the father--"as well as I ever was. I've just been telling brother here some things--some gospel truths in fact, and I guess they're beyond you yet," he said to his brother. "Well," replied Uncle Gilbert, "I'll admit I've never heard you talk like that before." "Why, I've preached these things scores of times from the pulpit, and my congregations have thought them fine. I didn't tell, however, where my inspiration came from." "Where did it come from?" asked Lucy. "From your books, my dear." "My books?" "Yes; from your books on 'Mormonism'."