into the harbor and down the bay. The
people on shore merged into one dark object; the greetings became
indistinct; the great city itself, back of the pier, melted into a gray
mass as seen through the rain.

Chester Lawrence stood on the deck of the departing vessel and watched
the interesting scene. He stood as one apart from the crowd, having no
portion with either those on board or those left behind. He was a
spectator only. Not a soul in that mass of humanity on the pier, not one
in the big city, knew Chester Lawrence or had a thought for him. No one
cared whether his voyage would be pleasant or otherwise. There were no
tears for him, or fears that he would not return in safety. Of the
hundreds of waving handkerchiefs, none was meant for him; but as a last
show of good-fellowship and as a farewell greeting to his native land,
Chester waved once with the rest.

The rain continued as the ship dropped down the bay and came safely into
the open sea. Some of the passengers then hurried below, while others
lingered on deck to see as long as possible the fast-receding land.
Chester took his time. He had seen that his grips had been safely stowed
away in his state room, so he had no worries, as others seemed to have,
regarding his belongings. The ship hands (sailors they cannot now be
called) were busy clearing the deck and getting things into their proper
places. The vessel pointed fairly into the vast eastern sea. The land
became a dark, fast-thinning line on the western horizon, and then even
that was swallowed up in the mist of rain.

"Well, good-by, old home, good-by thou goodly Land of Joseph," spoke
Chester, half aloud, as he stood for one intense moment facing the west,
then turned to go down into his room. The rain must at last have reached
him for his eyes were so blurred that he bumped rather abruptly into an
elderly man who was standing at his elbow.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Chester.

"It was nothing, sir. I, too, was just bidding farewell to the Land of
Joseph, and I fear my sight was also rather dim."

Chester paused and looked at the man who had heard and repeated his
remark. No one but a Latter-day Saint would call America the Land of
Joseph. He was a pleasant-looking man, with hair and beard tinged with
gray, clear blue eyes, a firm mouth, about which at that moment there
played a faint smile. Apparently, he wished to make further acquaintance
with Chester, for he asked:

"How far west were yo