habit of throwing it away. He then brought forth an old, rusty spoon, in which he mixed the powders with molasses and ordered them to be taken in his presence. At Sanderson's bidding, Lieutenant Smith pulled several of the sick men out of the wagons when he learned that they had not reported themselves to the Doctor. They protested that they refused to be drugged; that it was contrary to their religious beliefs to use mineral medicines; and that their Church authorities had counseled them to refrain from the use of medicine, and to heal by faith if they were sick. This served only to make Sanderson more determined. Smith, who was but a tool in the doctor's hands, employed force to see that the doctor's orders were carried out. Henceforward, the sick were compelled to take the medicine, or they were left to perish on the plains, for no ailing person was permitted to ride unless he took Sanderson's medicine. Morning and evening the sick were marched to the Doctor's quarters to the tune of "Jim along Joe," to take not only the poisonous dose from the old iron spoon, but Sanderson's cursings as well. weary, enfeebled bodies through the entire march day after day, rather than take the calomel, which would have secured them a ride. Some, too exhausted to urge their shaking limbs farther, lay down on the lonely prairie and heard the tramp of their marching comrades die away in the vast silence. Had it not been for the kindness of westbound freighters, who conveyed them to camp, they would have become the prey of wolves. Of the men who took Sanderson's medicines, many became badly salivated which caused them extreme suffering during the long days when no water was to be had. Alva Phelps, who had a wife and two small children back at the camp of the Saints, became very ill. He begged that he be given no more medicine; that he needed only rest to insure his recovery. Despite his pleadings and protests, a large dose of medicine was forced down his throat. He died a few hours later. The men would have mutinied under this tyranous imposition had they not pledged themselves to obey, with unfailing loyalty, the officers placed over them while they were in their country's service. (To be continued.) Many of the men, who suffered from ague, continued to drag their Carnations By Carrie Tanner Take my carnations-red today, Soon nestles close in peaceful rest. Take my carnations-pink today, Take my carnations-white today, V.-CONFLICT Zion Cosma By "Mormona" Cosma was more excited than she would have admitted when she recalled next morning the promise she had made to Aunt Mary to play for the girls in their contest. That afternoon the four girls who had called the day before and two others who were introduced to Cosma as Mamie Fowers and Pearl Goodman stopped for Cosma on their way to practice. And at Aunt Mary's she met the other three, Prudence Eliot, Diana Powell, and Ethel Holmes. Their conductor was delayed and at Aunt Mary's suggestion they began practicing without him. As Cosma played, with the clear girlish voices blending in the song, "Distant Bells," they sang so well she wondered if more training could improve them or merely spoil what was already good enough. While they lingered on the final strains, "Ring on ye distant bells, ring on," Aunt Mary clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Why, girls," she exclaimed, "That was the best you have sung it at all." "Oh, it was the accompaniment," Erma explained, "she played the music right out of our throats as well as out of the piano." A man's hearty voice called from the porch, "Fine, girls, fine. If you improve as much every day as you have since yesterday, we'll sure show the town folks where to head in at." "Oh, Brother Davis," Loie exclaimed, intercepting Aunt Mary's attempt to introduce Cosma, "it's Miss Wayne that does it. And she's going to play for us all the time." "Well, I was sorry Anne quit us, but I'm glad we're better off," Davis said as he shook hands with Cosma. "And now I want to see if you can do better yet. I noticed that you second altos need to strengthen your tones right here" and the practice was on. Cosma soon decided that Davis' training would add to the value of the girls' rendition; and as she listened carefully, repeating patiently each phrase he asked for, she realized that her own interpretation was improving. At the close of the practice he turned to her with his first comment on her playing. "You have studied music a good bit, haven't you, Miss Wayne?" he asked, "Your playing has a finish we seldom hear outside the cities." "Ever since before my fingers could stretch an octave," she answered, "I intended finishing at the Boston Conservatory of Music, but father died and I couldn't complete the course." "Too bad. You would have made a splendid concert pianist." "And what about yourself?" Cosma retorted, "What are you doing in a farming community with your talent for teaching and your voice?" "Helping to raise Utah's best crop," he answered with a smile, "the wife is ambitious for me, but I can't see any Davis genius before the public till the little shavers grow up. I hope they can have the chance I've missed, though. It's too late for me to try for anything big now." But the girls interrupted with clamors that Cosma go with them, and a merry squabble ensued as to which ones should walk next her with their arms about her waist. "How do you like the girls?" Lael asked as Cosma slipped on an apron preparatory to helping with the evening work. "They're dears," she replied, and then her voice trembled as she added, “Oh, Lael, if you knew what this would have meant to me a year ago. I might not have " but she paused, and her voice grew bitter, "Oh, well, who wants to go on believing what is not true, however beautiful it seems?" The next few days passed swiftly to the girl who had never been on a farm before. Lael's brothers came with horses and instruments and plowed the land that was not planted to orchard. And while they put in the main crops, Lael and Cosma planted a kitchen garden, and coaxed the violets and roses and other flowers to grow luxuriantly. Cosma always assisted with the housework, too, and her interest in the little chicks never flagged. It was a busy existence, full of pleasant companionship and new interests. And each day the shadows under her eyes grew lighter, her cheeks became less hollow, and her voice took on new tones of animation. The time seemed to fly until the day for the contest arrived. Aunt Mary had made arrangements for the girls to practice in the Stake Tabernacle that they might become used to the large building. They left in the forenoon and took a picnic lunch with them. Hitherto, Davis' method had been all encouragement and Aunt Mary had added enthusiastic praise to keep the girls working. But on this day, they went together to the rear of the vast, dimly lighted building, and Aunt Mary was silent, while Davis merely called attention to little flaws in their singing, as they repeated the song over and over for an hour. While they ate their lunch on the lawn, he went to a cafe leaving instructions that they all walk about for an hour before practicing again. When the girls had left, Aunt Mary explained to Cosma that she and Davis had agreed not to praise them lest they become over-confident at the last hour. Their method succeeded in worrying the girls enough so that all returned from their walks before the hour was up. To increase their tribulation, another chorus came to practice. Their leader was a dapper little man whom Aunt Mary pointed out as a University Professor. And his chorus sang so well and looked so well dressed and sophisticated, that the faces of the nine from the country grew longer and longer as they sat on the lawn and listened. Then the strangers came trooping out and scattered. Professor Reeves approached their group, and greeting Aunt Mary, asked, “And is this one of the choruses we meet tonight?" "Yes, these girls are the champions of the North District," she replied, "We brought them down to get used to the Tabernacle." "Good for you," he commented, “I hope we haven't inconvenienced you by making you wait." "Oh, no, we just ate lunch and Brother Davis wanted us to wait awhile." "Well, girls, sing your best, and if you deserve the decision you'll get it," was his council, as he lifted his hat courteously with a smile of fellowship for Davis, and passed on. "Why, he's nice, isn't he?" Celia exclaimed, "Acted like he thought we were just as good as he is." "He probably did," Davis replied, "most people who amount to anything treat others as their equals. Well, are you ready to see what you can do about beating his chorus, now?" Nervousness and mistakes marked the practice during the next hour, and Davis grew sarcastic and the girls' worry deepened. When, on the way home, they turned to their hitherto unfailing source of comfort, all Aunt Mary gave them was the advice to keep humble and pray to be able to do their best. She repeated it as each one separated from the others at a corner or a gate. And at each repetition, Cosma's eyes darkened and her lips tightened. "Whatever is the matter, child?" Mrs. Graham exclaimed as she entered the house. "Did you have an accident?" "No, nothing happened. We had a splendid practice. I'm just a trifle tired." "A trifle! You look like you'd been seeing battle, murder, and sudden death. You march up stairs and lie down, and I'll send Lael up with some supper to you." When Lael brought the dainty lunch upstairs, she found Cosma lying face downward on the bed, her hands clenching the spread, and her body rigid except for a slight shudder that shook her occasionally. As soon as she felt Lael's presence, she turned over and faced her with the old bitter look and sharpened tenseness in her features. Lael set the tray on a chair and dropping to her knees began unlacing Cosma's shoes. Cosma remained silent, passive, and unresponsive to the sympathy Lael was expressing without words. When Lael offered her the lunch, she instinctively turned her head in repugnance, but her next response was one of obedience to the determination in Lael's manner. As she ate, the realization of the kindness shown her, combined with the actual physical comfort it provided, softened her mood, and a choking sob relieved her emotions as she pushed the tray away. Lael put it on a chair by the door and sitting beside Cosma on the bed, put her arms about the slighter girl. "Can you tell me?" she asked. "Oh, how can you understand?" Cosma answered, "it was only that Aunt Mary kept telling the girls to pray about the contest tonight. And she just kept on telling them and kept on telling them until I thought it would madden me at thought of how useless and foolish it would be. And when I left her she had to say it to me. Then-then when I came up here, the old terror was in the room again, and I couldn't drive it away and I couldn't call out, and I thought you would never come and break the spell." Lael could not restrain a smile, and Cosma saw and resented it. "Oh, you think I'm toolish, crazy! But you know how I felt when you coaxed me to come here. Why didn't you let me go out into nothingnes where there is an end of fear and horror and despair? Why must you prolong the agony of my life? Is that kindness? You call yourself a Christian. Why don't you treat me as you would want to be treated in my place? And now you laugh when you know I am suffering agonies that would have been over if you had not interfered. Why didn't centrated. The blinds were down, you let me end it all?" There was no trace of a smile now on Lael's face. She was grave and her eyes had deepened with a steady look that seemed to Cosma to be a blue flame of wrath. She rose and stepped away from Cosma and her hands gripped the back of a chair. Cosma's eyes dropped before the bright steadiness of Lael's, but they fell upon those gripping hands and staid there, fascinated, watching the cords on the back of them tighten and the knuckles grow white. "I did the best I knew at the time," Lael said steadily, "but it seems that in my human weakness I made a mistake. I am willing to repent when I have done wrong, and so I release you from your compact. You need not remain with us the rest of the summer, but are welcome to go and destroy yourself as soon as you choose." She picked up the tray and went out of the door and down the stairs. Cosma's lips moved as Lael turned, but no sound came from them. Then she rose to her feet, as if to follow, but again her muscles refused to obey her will. She stood still and her gaze shifted from the door to the opposite corner of the room where the afternoon shadows con Fragrant little violets, It is almost winter-tide. Long ago have said goodbye, and in the artificial dusk, the horror she had so vividly described to Lael on her first night at the farm returned with double intensity because she knew it had no foundation except in her own mental state. That added another fear to the old onethe sickening fear of insanity. Dumb, immovable, remorseful for the words she had spoken, she stood suffering, unable to call for help from natural or supernatural friends. As Lael descended the stairs she met her mother at the foot of them. The kindly old face was working in the effort to force back the tears of pity. "Lael," she exclaimed, "how could you be so hard? Whatever came over you?" "I'm tired of it," she answered, putting the tray on the table. “Every time anybody mentions God or prayer or religion, Cosma takes forty cat-fits and blames me for not letting her kill herself and end her agony. She is probably right. And I'm not going to prolong her agony any more. Not if I know myself. If she chooses to live, she can stay here, but if she chooses to end it all, she is welcome to end it all. I don't want any more of her reproaches." A Message You must have a message, dears, For me, as I stand Old, and sick and tired with years In this happy land. By L. H. C. Spring's the time for flowers, we say, But the violet whispers, "Nay, "Lift your head and bloom again And your songs of mirth, "Shall have power to rouse again As I roused in you, Hope and courage and the power Yet to live and do." |