“Prudence, dearest, I have told you that this doctrine is new to me. I do not yet know its justification. But that I shall see it to be sanctified after they have taught me, this I know as certainly as I know that Joseph Smith dug up the golden plates of Mormon and Moroni on the hill of Cumorah when the angel of the Lord moved him. It will be sanctified for those who choose it, I mean. You know I could never choose it for myself. But as for others, I must not question. I know only too well that eternal salvation for me depends upon my accepting manfully and unquestioningly the authority of the temple priesthood.” “But I know Joseph was not a good man—and they tell such absurd stories about the miracles the Elders pretend to work.” “I believe with all my heart Joseph was good; but even if not—we have never pretended that he was anything more than a prophet of God. And was not Moses a murderer when God called him to be a prophet? And as for miracles, all religions have them—why not ours? Your people were Methodists before Joseph baptised them. Didn’t Wesley work miracles? Didn’t a cloud temper the sun in answer to his prayer? Wasn’t his horse cured of a lameness by his faith? Didn’t he lay hands upon the blind Catholic girl so that she saw plainly when her eyes rested upon the New Testament and became blind again when she took up the mass book? Are those stories absurd? My father himself saw Joseph cast a devil out of Newell Knight.” “And this awful journey into a horrid desert. Why must you go? Surely there are other ways of salvation.” She hesitated a moment. “I have been told that going to heaven is like going to mill. If your wheat is good, the miller will never ask which way you came.” “Child, child, some one has tampered with you.” She retorted quickly. “He did not tamper, he has never sought to—he was all kindness.” She stopped, her short upper lip holding its incautious mate a prisoner. She blushed furiously under the sudden blaze of his eyes.