"Yes, I think perhaps she is a first wife and has 'been through the mill' herself," replied Frank.

They strolled around the meetinghouse to where a group of men were laughing and talking boisterously, and came upon the musicians who, sure enough, were taking, not only "a drink" but several of them. They soon filed into the dance hall again, still laughing and talking noisily, but Frank and Wilbert lingered near the door in front of the building.

They heard the musicians strike up again, and some one singing in a coarse, loud voice.

"Shall we go in now?" asked Frank.

"Wait till that brawler gets through, I don't like his voice." "He's singing something about the Mormons.

clapping, let's go and hear what it is he's singing." As they stepped in, they heard:

66 -wives two and three,

Just hear them

The little baby on his knee cries, 'Daddy, I'm a Mormon.'
Hey the merry, ho the merry, hey the merry Mormons,
I never knew what joy was, till I became a Mormon."

The singer was a large, uncouth looking young man, and sang in a gruff, loud voice with a decided nasal twang. The clapping and cheering was repeated once more, and he returned to the rostrum with a broad grin on his face, said something to the musicians, then turned to the audience and bowed with a short, quick jerk of the head. The musicians struck the chord, and he sang another song, the chorus of which was:

It was sung to the tune "Marching Through Georgia," and the whole audience joined in on the chorus.

The dancing was now renewed with diligence, and Wilbert watched the door in hope that the "Belle of the ball" might return; but he soon gave up hope in that direction, and concluded that she had acted wisely in not returning, for the musicians were not the only ones who had taken "a drink" from all appearances.

The bishop and most of the elderly people having departed, the crowd grew more and more boisterous and noisy. Wilbert sat in a corner, disconsolate and alone, waiting for Frank, who was dancing and having a merry time with the little girl of the auburn hair. After what seemed to Wilbert a very long waiting, Frank came hurriedly up to him and said: "Don't wait for me, Gray; I'm going to see the young lady home."

"The deuce you are! Why did you not say so long ago?"

"Why I forgot about you till just now. Good-night, I'll see you later," and he turned, and walked quickly away again, leaving Wilbert to find his way back to the boarding-house alone.

CHAPTER III. THE BISHOP'S COURTSHIP.

A few days later, late in the afternoon, June stood looking out of the window at a genuine winter's snowstorm; the street and the little garden in front of the house were wrapped in a mantle of white; the bare limbs and trunks of the trees stood out like sentinels, with the snow heaped high around them; the evergreens and shrubs were heavy laden, and the brown stalks of last year's flowers bent feebly in the wind; the air was full of the feathery snowflakes, and the whole scene was one of melancholy beauty. The wind rattled the windows and whistled merrily around the chimney, as if defying the blazing fire that leaped high there, throwing a ruddy glow over the room and its occupants.

June had stood looking out on the storm for some time, as if fascinated with the somber beauty of the scene. She turned from the window with a sigh and said: "I do wish mamma and May would come, for it is getting dark and it is snowing fast."

Her brother Fred, a lad of about fifteen years, was the only other occupant of the room, who sat near the fire deeply interested in a book. He looked up and said, "Oh, they will soon be here now, I guess," and resumed his book.

June went to the piano, ran her fingers idly over the keys for a few moments, then began to sing in a soft, mellow tone. The great charm of her singing was the feeling and expression with which she sang. The beauty of the snowstorm, the whistling of the wind, and the twilight hour seemed to cast a spell over her, for the song she chose seemed in keeping with them. She sang in a plaintive voice:

CHORUS:

In the early days of spring, love, I think of thee;
When the robins come to sing, then I think of thee;
When I see the blooming flowers

In the cool, refreshing showers,

Or in summer's sultry hours, still I think of thee.

"I think of thee" ever shall be my song,

Oh, remember the one who has loved thee long.
Far, far away, down by the deep blue sea;

Darling, do you ever bestow a thou ht on me?

When the autumn days have come, love, I think of thee;
Leaves are falling, one by one, then I think of thee;

At the setting of the sun,

When the busy day is done,

Stars come twinkling, one by one, still I think of thee.

When the winds of winter blow, love, I think of thee;
Hedge and housetop white with snow, still I think of thee;

At the first sweet dawn of light,

Or at noontide, clear and bright,

In the silent hush of night, then I think of thee.

I think of thee.

"There they are now," said Fred, as footsteps were heard on the porch outside. June ran to open the door, and Bishop Jenkins stood on the threshhold, bowing and laughing to see the look of surprise

on her face. "I beg your pardon; I thought it was mamma and May," she said.

The bishop shook the snow from his coat, stamped his feet, and stepped in.

"You look very cozy and comfortable here," he said as he proceeded to remove his overcoat, which she took. He stepped up close to the fire, still rubbing his hands and smiling.

"Please be seated. Mamma and May will soon be back," she said. "So your ma and May have gone out to brave the elements, eh?" he remarked, as he drew the chair near the fire, and sat down. Fred took his book and retired to a more distant part of the room to continue his reading.

"They have gone to visit a poor sick lady, but they expected to have returned before this," she said, glancing at the clock. "I fear the storm has delayed them."

"Indeed. Some relation or friend, I suppose?"

"No; but a poor widow whose husband was killed; and she has four small children."

"Ah! They do not belong to this ward, I guess?"

"Not now; they did, but they were turned out of the house they lived in because they could not pay the rent, for she is ill and can not work now."

"Do you know their name?"

"Mrs. Jones. They have moved a long way from here; they are nearly out of town now."

"Indeed. I remember her case now. I visited her and took her some provisions when she was in this ward."

"Yes; I remember she told us that you came once to see her, and brought her half a sack of flour and a small piece of bacon," she said, glancing shyly at him.

His face grew red, but he soon regained his complacency and said, "Do you visit the poor, too? Why, it seems only yesterday that you were a little girl in short petticoats, in the Sunday school, and here you are a handsome young woman visiting the poor."

"I go with mamma sometimes, and she has been helping this poor widow ever since her husband was killed, and didn't she say that she was related to you in some way?-a sister to one of your wives, I think she said."

Once more the blood mounted to his brow, for this little girl, in her innocence, was probing where others older and wiser, would not dare. Though she covered him with confusion, he could but admire her frankness and childlike innocence, but he hastened to change the subject.

He glanced toward Fred, who seemed absorbed in his book, then drew his chair nearer to where she sat, leaned forward, and said in a low tone, "How would you like to be an 'old man's darling?" She looked up, surprised and startled, and he continued, "And be petted and have everything you want carriages, horses, and servants to wait on you?"

"I have not thought of marriage yet, bishop-why, I'm only

eighteen years old; and I don't want to be married yet," she stammered.

"My dear, girls are always better and happier to be married young; they are safer-especially when they have an older man to look after them and care for them. When I saw you at the dance the other night, I said to myself, 'Now, there's a little girl that I can make a great pet of-a jewel to add to my kingdom,' and you're just my style.'

She grew restless, but answered him nothing. He took advantage of the opportunity, and continued: "Yes, I can give you wealth, luxury, social position and arrection. I can make you queen over my kingdom here and hereafter. You know what that means, don't you?" peering into her face.

Footsteps were heard approaching once more, and much to June's relief. She bounded to the door, saying: "Here they are at last.' Mrs. Brownley was quick to notice the look of embarrassment and· confusion on their faces, and guessed the cause. She was more displeased than surprised-for she had observed the bishop's devotion at the dance, and she had the welfare of her daughters at heart. Fred was a great tease, and thought the bishop's courtship a good joke on his sister. He glanced at her, shrugged his shoulders, made a grimace, and began to snicker.

"What is the matter with you, Fred?" asked his mother. "Ask Sis, she'll tell you," as he glanced at her once more, rubbing his chin and giggling as he left the room. Apparently he had been more interested in their conversation than in his book.

The bishop looked embarrassed, but stood rubbing his hands and smiling, and when Fred had gone out, he said, "Sister Brownley, I've been having a little confidential talk with your daughter. She'll tell you all about it no doubt, and now I think I will be going." He donned his overcoat and shook hands with all. When he came to June, he held her hand and said, "Think over carefully what I've said to you, my dear, and I'll see you again very soon. Good-night," and he bowed himself out.

EDITOR'S CORNER

AUTUMN LEAVES is published monthly for the youth of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Price $1.00 per year in advance. Herald Publishing House, Lamoni, Iowa.

ELBERT A. SMITH, Lamoni, Iowa.

People Whom Jesus Commended.

1. JOHN THE BAPTIST.

It must indeed be a wonderful experience to merit and receive the personal commendation of the Son of God. There are a few individuals mentioned in the New Testament who were singled out by him for personal mention in that way. One of these individuals was John the Baptist. Of him Jesus said:

"For I say unto you, Among those that are born of women there is not a greater prophet than John the Baptist."-Luke 7: 28.

When we come to analyze the mission and character of John we discover the reason for these words. John the Baptist was great in mission and great in character. It is not said

that he was the greatest prophet. It is said that none other was greater. He was the immediate forerunner of the Messiah.

Others had prophesied of Christ, but it was his privilege to stand on the river bank and point out the Messiah in person, and declare, "Behold the Lamb of God." He baptized Jesus. He was also destined to have an important part in the restoration of the gospel in the latter days.

The characteristics that commended John to the favor of God were his sincerity, his humility, and his moral courage. He was a simple man who could live on locusts and wild honey. He was a sincere man who could not even deceive himself; he recognized the fact that though his work was great, and so popular with the people that it might have turned the head of a less honest man, yet the work of Jesus was infinitely greater.

Being sufficiently sincere to recognize and admit that fact without reservation, he was humble enough to say, "he must increase,