in touch with each and every member of the church, rests upon the officers in general and the pastor in particular. To meet this need I keep a loose leaf record in which are recorded the names of members of each family; place of residence; place and character of business; telephone numbers; spiritual condition; record of when visited; blank spaces for particulars concerning changes made by death, marriage, expulsion, or removal. This record is alphabetically arranged, so that I can instantly refer to any member's name with these items at hand. My office has become a sort of Bureau of Information, and I am thus able to render assistance to members and friends of the church. People have rooms to rent; they can keep boarders; they want to hire help; or they want work, and they tell me about it, and many times I have been able to help them. We have a printed directory of our membership containing their names and places of residence and telephone numbers; this we find to be a very practical thing in assisting members to become more thoroughly acquainted with each other. A large amount of my time is spent in visiting with the members and friends, in their homes, talking with them; learning their needs and conditions; seeking to help and assist them; administering to the sick, and in numerous ways striving to make my influence as a minister felt for good. I keep a full stock of church publications at my office, and my effort to get the church books and publications into the homes of the people here has been very liberally rewarded. We publish a monthly paper, issued on the first Sunday of each month, called the "Central Church Bulletin." This paper is supported by advertising and gives us an opportunity of calling attention to numerous items of news and matters of interest, all of which has a tendency for good.

(To be continued.)

The Leper.

By Estella Wight.

HE early rays of the tropical sun fell with a warm, soft touch on a little village that rested in a valley of the land Bountiful one bright morning about the year 29 A. D. The peace that had reigned in the land for the past two years, since the victory over the Gadianton band by the Nephites, still made her abode in this little village, and the disputings and contentions that this year began to arise in many parts of the land, the pride and love of riches, and the rank and class by which many in the cities were distinguished, had not yet troubled this secluded place, and the few inhabitants went about their daily work, contented with the humble portion that supplied their needs, and grateful for the security that had come at the dispersion and death of the robbers.

Near the outskirts of the village was a simple dwelling of native

stone, its rough exterior softened and beautified by the tropical vine, that fastened its tendrils in available places and spread its dark green leaves about the walls with that graceful touch which Nature delights to add to the works of man. A low stone wall inclosed the dwelling and the small garden place and yard.

Within the dwelling the simple morning work had already long been finished, and the rays of the sun, as they glanced through the narrow window, lighted up a large, plain room, in one corner of which stood a loom of rather unusual size. The unfinished piece in the loom was a linen of fine texture, pleasing to the eye and perfectly woven. The hand that directed the swiftly moving shuttle through the mesh of linen threads belonged to that of a little maiden of some thirteen summers, and a dexterous hand it was, as was evidenced by the quickness and surety with which she sent the shuttle flying to and fro. Mind and hand and eye alike of the little maiden were alert, and the mother, seated at the window near by, glanced up from her embroidery now and then to view the work with satisfaction.

"Thou art doing well with thy weaving, daughter," she said as the girl paused a moment to straighten the thread on her shuttle. "Methinks thou wilt finish the piece without a flaw, and proud shall I be at thy handiwork, for it is a fine and a difficult piece. Thou art growing more skillful every day."

The girl's face flushed with pleasure. "Oh, speakest thou truly, Mother Myra? Dost thou think it done sufficiently well to find favor with the rich women of Zarahemla?"

"I speak truly, Ishma. With my years of experience I fear I could not do a more perfect piece, and it will find a ready sale. Never fear for that."

The eyes of Ishma glowed at this praise, but she paused, shuttle in hand, and looked for a moment wistfully at the rich piece of silk embroidery that now lay idle on her mother's lap.

"Mother Myra," she said, breaking the pause, "when will I be able to venture on that difficult pattern of embroidery? It is so beautiful I am longing to try it, and dost thou remember thy promise to teach it to me as soon as thou didst think I could learn it? Will it be soon?"

"Yes, daughter Ishma, I have not forgotten, and I believe thou art skillful enough now with the needle to take it up, and so thou mayest do when the piece of linen thou art weaving is finished."

"Oh, mother Myra, and it shall be done soon! See, I shall make the shuttle fly the more swiftly that I may hasten the time to begin on the new pattern."

"Not too swiftly, daughter, lest thou become careless and thy piece be spoiled."

"Nay, mother, I shall be careful," and the girl turned again to her weaving.

"Thou art a good daughter, Ishma, and thou art a great help to thy mother," Myra said, the fondness in her eyes and voice as she spoke. "Neither thou nor thy brother Japho hast ever given me cause for tears."

Ishma stopped her work again rather abruptly, while an anxious expression, unusual to her youthful face, took the place of the glow occasioned by her mother's praise.

"Mother, what can be the occasion that causeth Japho to tarry so long in the city of Zarahelma. Dost thou not fear something has befallen him? It is nine Sabbaths past now since he left us, and so suddenly. It was not like Japho to leave us without a farewell word or kiss."

A shade crossed the mother's face. "I know, I know, and it is very strange; but thou knowest that he sent word by Levi that it was expedient that he depart at once without waiting to come and say even a word of farewell."

"But, mother, it is not like Japho to do that way, and the distance home was so short that he could have walked it in a very little time. And now it is nine moons since he went away and we have been alone, and only one word since he left now some four moons past, sent by the servant of Jacob on his return from the city. I understand it not."

"Nay, nor I, but our Japho is a true son and brother, Ishma, and his love for us would not suffer him to remain away without due cause," replied the mother, though an anxious sigh was audible as she picked up her silk, and then both fell to work again, the silence of the room broken only by the sound of the loom.

An hour passed thus quite swiftly by to the two silent workers, and then Ishma stopped her work suddenly, and running to the window at the far end of the room listened for a moment intently. Only a moment, and then from beyond the stone fence at this most obscure corner of the yard she heard her name called distinctly, "Ishma! Ishma!"

"Mother, it is Japho. I hear his voice calling me. He has come home," she cried, and Myra followed her out of the house with steps almost as light and quick as that of the maiden. But when they reached the garden no form was visible.

"Ishma, thou art overwrought. Thou wast mistaken. It was not Japho's voice thou didst hear," said the mother.

"Nay, mother, but it was surely his voice that I heard calling plainly, 'Ishma! Ishma!' He is hiding somewhere to surprise us. The wall is not high and I will climb over and find him."

But as Ishma finished speaking these words a figure stepped out from behind a large tree that stood some little distance from the fence. It stood still in the shadow of the great tree for an instant, and as the two women beheld it a nameless fear took hold of them. "Japho!" exclaimed Ishma, "It is Japho, mother," and she started over the low place in the wall.

"Stop, Ishma! Stay there thou must." The voice sounded unnatural in the sternness of that command, and then waiting in tense silence a second added-"Unclean!"

Ishma's hands dropped to her sides and she leaned limply against the wall while her face became a deadly pallor.

"Japho, Japho," called the mother, "tell me it is not true. Oh, tell me not thou art a leper."

"Would that I could, oh, mother," said the figure stepping forward a few paces into the sunlight. "Would that I could say truly that I am not smitten with this dreadful plague. I feared it long ago, but never did I tell my fears to thee in the hopes that it would never befall, and that thou wouldst be spared the pain of this. Dost thou remember, the circumstance my father related to thee, before he was killed in one of the struggles against the Gadianton band, of how I, when a stripling youth, succored an unfortunate one in distress one night by the roadside? He loved to tell, as I had told it to him, of how my arrow went swiftly into the heart of the wild beast that had well nigh killed the lone traveler, and how I bound up his wounds and saved the man's life. But ah! I never told him, nor thee till now, mother, that when the darkness had given way to dawn I found the one I had befriended had the touch of leprosy. That has been more than five years; I was but a boy of twelve then, but always since that time has this fear been with me. And one day, the day I left thee so suddenly without a word or embrace, so hard for thee to understand, I discovered a small white spot on the palm of my hand, and so I went away to be cleansed, if possible, and left word with the good Levi that thou mightest know no accident had befallen me. And so I have stayed, hoping to prove it other than leprosy, until I know no earthly power can cleanse and make me whole."

"My son, it can't be true! It can not be that God would smite us

SO!"

"Verily, mother, it is true, and I have but come to say farewell ere I go to the leper village over yonder.'

"Then I will go with thee," said the mother, springing over the low wall and running swiftly toward him. "Thou shalt not suffer this alone, for I shall go and dwell with thee."

"Mother, mother, stop!" cried the leper in alarm and running backward. "Thou must not come farther. Hear me. For Ishma's sake touch me not. Who will care for and protect Ishma if thou dost come with me? Our sweet, fair Ishma, that hath such need of thee, and the more now that I can not come."

"For Ishma's sake! Ishma! For Ishma's sake!" repeated the mother numbly as she stood still in her despair. "Yes, for Ishma's sake."

"And mine too, mother, for who will bring me food except thou and Ishma bring it?" he said gently, adding this other restraint, the thought of which was most bitter and galling of all to him, that he must depend upon the work of their frail hands for his daily sustenance; for since his father had died he had looked with pride upon his own strong, growing young form, and felt that he could soon relieve his mother and sister of the necessity of selfsupport.

These words were effective, and after a time the leper son and brother succeeded in reasoning the two women into passiveness, then he left them and went on his way over the hills, not a great distance, to the village where dwelt the living dead. The women returned again to the house, but not again that day to their tasks,

and the loom stood silent and the embroidery pattern lay crumpled on the couch.

But to the one who works for life's necessities grief may not supplant toil. She may enter our home, but our tasks must be done, our duties must be fulfilled, loved ones depending upon us must be cared for, and there is little time to give solely to our unwelcome visitor, though she may come to abide with us and make our home her dwelling place. So with Myra and Ishma, who returned on the second day to their tasks with a courage and a calmness that is found only in brave natures. And by and by the linen piece was finished and the embroidery pattern begun, aye, and finished too, and many others as the months went by, and daily Ishma's fingers grew more skillful. But the mother's grew weaker till the burden of the work fell upon the maiden. Frequent visits they both made near to the leper village, where at a distance they could see and speak to the afflicted one; but Myra's health failed rapidly from the time of Japho's return from Zarahemla, till when the months had multiplied and the time numbered more than three years, Ishma laid her to rest.

Then Ishma moved her few belongings from the little stone dwelling to the home of Rachel, her mother's friend, and with her found a safe abiding place. Rachel's home was in a small hamlet but a short distance from the leper village, so near that in the evening when the day's work was done Ishma often ran to the hill slope, from where she could call to Japho and talk to him across the narrow valley. It was something, too, for both to look forward to, and brought them much comfort.

In the companionship of Rachel, Ishma found a second mother, and one who taught to her a living faith. Amid the contentions and the perilous conditions that were on every hand at this period of time in the Nephite history, Rachel held a firm and unswerving faith in the religion of her fathers and in the hope of the promised Messiah; and fixed firmly in her memory was that wonderful event that had occurred when she was but a child of fourteen years-the sign of the coming of the Messiah to earth-the day and the night and the day that had been as but one day.

"The Messiah is on the earth, Ishma," she would say often, as she related over and over many times to her the scenes and strange events that happened on this continent at the time of his birth. "The Messiah is with the children of men. Among the Jews in the old land he is doing his work. I feel it and I know it."

"But why, Rachel, should he come to them and not to us? Thou sayest he will heal their sick and raise their dead. Surely we are in need our people are in need of help, and why, if he has been on the earth all these years, should he not visit us as well as they?” "Wait thou patiently, Ishma, the Lord's time. In his own due time he will come, but to the Jews first, and behold, the time is not long till he shall be slain by them. There will be earthquake and darkness then, for the earth at his death shall mourn, so my father told me, who read much in the scriptures, and then will he not forget his people in this land."