g man neither looked to night nor to left. He scanned the house
eagerly, and his eyes found the window at which Susannah sat. He stepped
across the flowers and stood, his blonde face upturned, below the open
sash. Under his light eyebrows his hazel eyes shone with a singularly
bright and exalted expression.

"Come, friend Susannah," said he, "I have been sent to bring you to
witness my baptism," and with that he turned and walked slowly down the
path, as if waiting for her to follow.

Susannah, filled with surprise, watched him as he made slowly for the
gate, as if assured that she would come. When he got to it he set it
open, and, holding it, looked back.

She dropped the long folds of muslin, and they fell upon the floor
knee-deep about her; she stepped out of them and walked across the old
familiar living-room, with its long strips of worn rag-carpet, its old
polished chairs, and smoky walls. The face of the eight-day clock stared
hard at her with impassive yet kindly glance, but its voice only
steadily recorded that the moments were passing one by one, like to all
other moments.

Susannah went out of the door. The sun drew forth aromatic scent from
the borders of box, and her light skirt brushed the blossoms that leaned
too far over. Outside the wicket gate at which the young man stood was a
young quince tree laden with pale-green fruit. Susannah let her eyes
rest upon it as she spoke: she even let her mind wander for a second to
think how soon the fruit would be gathered.

"Why should I come to see your baptism?" she asked, with her voice on
the upward cadence.

The young man blushed deeply. "I am come to thee with a message from
heaven." He glanced upward to the great sky that was the colour of
turquoise, cloudless, serene.

"It is a strange errand." There was a touch of reproof in her voice, and
yet also the vibration of awe-struck inquiry. Her mind rushed at once to
the memory of Joseph Smith's prophecy.

"Come, friend," said the young Quaker very gently.

"I can't possibly go."

His strange reply was, "With God all things are possible."

The text fell upon her mind with force.

"Come," he said gently, and he motioned that he would shut the gate
behind her.

"Not now; my shoes are not stout; I have no bonnet or shawl."

"Put thy kerchief over thy head and come, friend Susannah, for 'no man,
putting his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom
of heaven.'"

At this he walke