these things.

Lucy drank eagerly the words of life. Her father sat unmoved, making no
comment or objection. He had never been one to wrangle over religion;
had prided himself, in fact, on being liberal and broad-minded; so he
would not dispute even though he could not altogether agree. The Elder's
words came to him in a strange way. Had he heard all this before? If so,
it had been in some long-forgotten past; and this man's discourse only
awakened a faint remembrance as of a distant bell tolling across the
hills. Away back in his youth, he must have heard something like this;
or was it an echo of some pre-existent world--he had heard of such
things before. Perhaps it was the man's tone of voice, his mannerism
that recalled, in some way, some past impression.

The Elder stopped. Lucy touched her father's arm.

"Father," she said, "I believe you are cold. I had better get your
coat."

The minister arose, as if stiffened in the joints by long sitting. He
reached out his hand to the Elder. "I have enjoyed your gospel talk," he
said. "May I ask your name, and to what Church you belong, for evidently
you are a preacher."

"My name is George Malby, and I am an elder of the Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly known as 'Mormons.'"

"A 'Mormon!'" a number of voices chorused.

Some confusion followed, and the party broke up. Lucy, her father, and