“That? Oh, that’s only Tom Potwin. You heard about him, I guess. No? Well, he’s a simple—been so four years now. Don’t you recollect? He’s the lad over at Manti who wouldn’t give up the girl Bishop Warren Snow wanted. The priesthood tried every way to make him; they counselled him, and that didn’t do; then they ordered him away on mission, but he wouldn’t go; and then they counselled the girl, but she was stubborn too. The Bishop saw there wasn’t any other way, so he had him called to a meeting at the schoolhouse one night. As soon as he got there, the lights was blowed out, and—well, it was unfortunate, but this boy’s been kind of an idiot ever since.” “Unfortunate! It was awful!” “Not so awful as refusing to obey counsel.” “What became of the girl?” “Oh, she saw it wasn’t no use trying to go against the Lord, so she married the Bishop. He said at the time that he knew she’d bring him bad luck—she being his thirteenth—and she did, she was that hifalutin. He had to put her away about a year ago, and I hear she’s living in a dugout somewhere the other side of Cedar City, a-starving to death they tell me, but for what the neighbours bring her. I never did see why the Bishop was so took with her. You could see she’d never make a worker, and good looks go mighty fast.” He dreamed that night that the foundations of the great temple they were building had crumbled. And when he brought new stones to replace the old, these too fell away to dust in his hands. The next evening he reached Cedar City. Memories of this locality began to crowd back upon him with torturing clearness; especially of the morning he had left Hamblin’s ranch. As he mounted his horse two of the children saved from the wagon-train had stood near him,—a boy of seven and another a little older, the one who had fought so viciously with him when he was separated from the little girl. He remembered that the younger of the two boys had forgotten all but the first of his name. He had told them that it was John Calvin—something; he could not remember what, so great had been his fright; the people at the ranch, because of his forlorn appearance, had thereupon named him John Calvin Sorrow. These two boys had watched him closely as he mounted his horse, and the older one had called to him, “When I get to be a man, I’m coming back with a gun and kill you till you are dead yourself,” and the other, little John Calvin Sorrow, had clenched his fists and echoed the threat, “We’ll come back here and kill you! Mormons is worse’n Indians!” He had ridden quickly away, not noting that some of the men standing by had looked sharply at the boys and then significantly at one another. One of those who had been present, whom he now met, told him of these two boys.