evident alarm for his
lost condition, her earnest desire to save him, were what he felt moved
to dwell upon, rather than a certain spiritual condescension which he
could not wholly ignore.

After some general counsel, in the morning, she took out her old,
dog-eared "Book of Mormon," a first edition, printed at Palmyra, New
York, in 1830, "By Joseph Smith, Jr., Author and Proprietor," and led
the not unworthy Gentile again to the canon. There in her favourite nook
of pines beside the stream, she would share with him as much of the
Lord's truth as his darkened mind could be made conscious of.

When at last she was seated on the brown carpet under the pines, her
back to a mighty boulder, the sacred record in her lap, and the Gentile
prone at her feet, she found it no easy task to begin. First he must be
brought to repent of his sins. She began to wonder what his sins could
be, and from that drifted into an idle survey of his profile, the line
of his throat as his head lay back on the ground, and the strong brown
hand, veined and corded, that curled in repose on his breast. She
checked herself in this; for it could be profitable neither to her soul
nor to his.

"I'll teach you about the Book of Mormon first," she ventured.

"I'd like to hear it," said Follett, cheerfully.

"Of course you don't know anything about it."

"It isn't my fault, though. I've been unfortunate in my bringing up,
that's all." He turned on his side and leaned upon his elbow so he could
look at her.

"You see, I've been brought up to believe that Mormons were about as bad
as Mexicans. And Mexicans are so mean that even coyotes won't touch
them. Down at the big bend on the Santa Fe Trail they shot a Mexican,
old Jesus Bavispee, for running off cattle. He was pretty well dried out
to begin with, but the coyotes wouldn't have a thing to do with him, and
so he just dried up into a mummy. They propped him up by the ford there,
and when the cowboys went by they would roll a cigarette and light it
and fix it in his mouth. Then they'd pat him on the head and tell him
what a good old boy he was--_star bueno_--the only good Mexican above
ground--and his face would be grinning all the time, as if it tickled
him. When they find a Mexican rustling cattle they always leave him
there, and they used to tell me that the Mormons were just as bad and
ought to be fixed that way too."

"I think that was horrible!"

"Of course it was. They were bigoted. But I'm n