"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 you looking just now?"

The question went deeper than Chester thought possible. He colored a
trifle, but there was no time to reply, for the other continued:

"Mine was farther than that gray blot called New York, farther than the
Alleghany mountains; in fact, it extended across the plains of the west
to the Rocky Mountains--"

"So was mine!" exclaimed the younger man. "Let's shake hands upon it. My
name is Chester Lawrence, and I'm a Mormon."