LITMIR.BIZ

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      "But, John, did you hear what the President said this morning?"

      "Yes, I did. And it chilled my blood to hear him speak so; I have heard him do such a thing only once before. Do you recall how he said, the first year we came here, that he wanted just ten years of quiet and peace and he would ask no odds of anybody."

      "I don't remember it, John. I was only eight years old then, you know."

      "True, child, I forgot. It is just ten years this very day since the pioneers entered this valley."

      "Oh, John, don't be superstitious. I must not listen to you if you are going to prophesy evil. Come, the children are all going, and we will lose our dinner. But listen once more while I cry 'Hello'," and she cried again "Hello!"

      Was it John's fancy, or did he hear afar off a long shuddering echo which clung with sinister repetitions to every distant crag and peak?

      "Why, John, what are you listening for? You scare me! I thought you were the bravest of men."

      "The bravest men take no chances with fate or men," answered John, resuming his long upward stride beside his companion.

      They found the whole party already gathered on the little island which lay in the center of the second lake.

      As John and Ellen reached the great rock on the south side of the lake, they heard the sound of music floating in enchanted waves through the vale of glory around them. John paused to listen.

      It was Dian singing as she spread the homely viands on the smooth, white rock which was to be their table on the Island in the center of the lake. The sheen of her hair was caught by the sunbeams as they danced across the still water, for she had thrown her sunbonnet down upon the rock, as she plied her homely tasks. The boys had caught some fish, and she was stooping over the camp fire to brown them for the coming meal. Her stately beauty was never more apparent than when some task of seeming ugliness brought the color ripe and rich to cheek and neck, and thus she bent above her tasks, every detail visible in that clear atmosphere to the watchers across the little lake.

      Dian sang to the accompaniment of her brother Harvey's concertina, all unconscious of the picture she made across those magic waters, so near and yet so far away from those who loved her best. The soul of her was still wrapped in dreams, and only half awakened to response by her friends or family. And as she stirred about or bent above the blazing fire, her voice swept poignantly over the distance as she sang "Kathleen Mavorneen" in the reckless abandonment of tone taught her by the little Italian music professor who loved to put his own fervid soul into the unconscious voices of these youthful, sylvan artists, whom he had so unexpectedly found in this strange country.

      "The Day Dawn is Breaking," sang Dian, the concertina wailing and mildly snorting in its brave efforts at complete harmony with Dian's sweet voice, and Ellen listened, her own heart beating in her throat with an admiration that was too generous to be envy. But oh, why could she not sing?

      "You people would better come over here if you want your dinner," called Charlie Rose. And as he spoke the odor of the frying trout made invitation almost needless.

      sang Charlie.

      But Diantha caught his words and added,

      "If you folks don't hurry, we'll have every scrap of the fish eaten up."

      The prosaic appeal reminded Ellen that she had left her friend alone with the work of preparation of the dinner, and so they hastened down to the other raft and soon paddled across to the island.

      The picnic dinner was scarcely over before Tom Allen was down on the narrow beach and calling for all hands to embark. The children followed him quickly, and he managed to secure both Charlie Rose and Diantha as his other passengers; just as Henry Boyle came running down the rocks, Tom called: "Get the pole and give us a push from shore."

      "Wait," called the young Englishman.

      Boyle seized the pole, and sprang for the raft, but in an instant he was waist deep in the icy water, and the raft was floating off beyond his reach.

      "Come and kiss yoo papa," yelled out the piping chorus of children's voices, while Charlie recited dramatically, "The boy stood on the burning deck," with his own absurd modifications of the original text.

      Dian was angry with the children, thus to taunt their helpless and now uncomfortable friend, but the children only cried out the refrain, again and again, and that piping treble swept over the waters, as the poor youth left behind waded up on to the shore of the island and turned his back resentfully upon his jeering tormentors.

      At that moment, John himself rounded the island with his own raft and picked up the discomfited youth, whose once brilliant red shirt, freshly ironed that morning by Rachel's kind hands, was once more faded and streaked, and added to that humiliation was the awful discomfiture of those dripping, wet, and heavy leathern pantaloons, bordered with dripping fringe. Surely his punishment was very heavy.

      "Hurry home," said John, kindly, as they landed, "and get on some dry clothing."

      As poor Boyle plunged and swashed on his hurried homeward way, the cluck of those swishing breeches and the sluice of his brand new but water-filled shoes made it difficult for even Ellen to keep herself from joining the children in their peals of naughty merriment.

      Yet, with all the sundry small mishaps, surely there had never been so happy and so blissful a day vouchsafed to the "Mormon" refugees in all their tempestuous short existence.

      But the echo calls and calls from peak to peak and cries the challenge out to happiness and freedom. And who shall answer, O spirit of a nameless past, so long pent up in these hoary mountain vales!

       V

      "THE ARMY IS UPON US"

      It is a long and a difficult climb into the tops of the Wasatch mountains; and it takes hours and hours to climb; and the knees grow weak, and the breath comes hard, and the body bends to the grass.

      And the news of the evil day may travel so fast or travel so slow, good sir, but it travels apace, and reaches the hills by a steep and a difficult road. And long are the miles and dusty the path which stretch between the rolling river Platte and the tops of the Wasatch hills. But men must ride, good sirs, when they bear the message of evil report, for evil finds wings of wind, while good goes only by post, good sirs. And the men must ride fast, and the men must ride far, for the miles are many and the road is long that stretch between the Platte and the Wasatch hills.

      The people in the hills are happy today, for they see not, neither do they hear, the echo which flies in sinister message from peak to peak as the men ride fast and spare not, climbing and climbing still, to reach the tops of the Wasatch hills. And the echo is caught and stilled in its upward peal by the curling folds of that star-lit flag which flutters and flies at full-masted pride on the top of the highest tree on the top of the Wasatch hills.

      The young people ran and danced and sang on their way down the road from the upper lake, but run as they would Ellen was ahead of them all, and she reached the spot where she and John had lingered on their upward way, at the jutting promontory, and the whole party stood breathless and silent in speechless admiration.

      But it was more than the beauty of the scene which caught and riveted John's attention. He stood on the very edge of the precipice and shaded his eye with his hand, then quickly took out his field glass.

      "What is it, John?" asked Charlie Rose, sober in an instant at the look upon his friend's face.

      "Show me; let me help to make things attractive," said

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