le. I know a shoemaker
in the city who is a teacher in the theological class of his ward,
whose membership consists of merchants, lawyers, doctors, and the like.
Although he is poor and earns his living by mending shoes, he is greatly
respected for his goodness and his knowledge of Scriptural subjects and
doctrine."

"So you think--that a young fellow might--that it would not be wrong--or
foolish for a poor man to think a lot of--of a rich girl, for instance."

Uncle Zed peered at Dorian over his glasses. The old man took him gently
by the shoulders. Ah, that's what's back of all this, he thought; but
what he said was:

"My boy, Emerson said, 'Hitch your wagon to a star,' and I will add,
never let go, although the rocks in the road may bump you badly. Why,
there's nothing impossible for a young man like you. You may be rich, if
you want to; I expect to see you learned; and the Priesthood which you
have is your assurance, through your diligence and faithfulness, to any
heights. Yes, my boy; go ahead--love Mildred Brown all you want to;
she's fine, but not a bit finer than you."

"Oh, Uncle Zed," Dorian somewhat protested; but, nevertheless, he went
home that evening with his heart singing.

CHAPTER SIX.

Some days later word came to Mrs. Trent that Mildred was very ill. "Call
on them after school," she said to Dorian, "to see just how she is, and
ask Mrs. Brown if I can do anything for her."

Dorian did as he was directed. He went around to the back door for fear
he might disturb the sick girl. Mrs. Brown herself, seeing him coming,
met him and let him in.

Yes, Mildred was very ill. Mrs. Brown was plainly worried. Could he
or his mother do anything to help? No; only to lend their faith and
prayers. Would he come into the sick room to see her for a few minutes?
Yes, if she desired it.

Dorian followed the mother into the sick room. Mildred lay well propped
up by pillows in a bed white as snow. She was thinner and paler than
ever, eyes bigger, hair heavier and more golden. When she saw Dorian,
she smiled and reached out her hand, letting it lie in the big strong
one.

"How are you?" she said, very low.

"Well and fine, and how are you?"

She simply shook her head gently and closed her eyes, seeming content to
touch the strong young manhood beside her. The mother went quietly from
the room, and all became quite still. Speech was difficult for the sick
girl, and equally hard for the young man. But he