to the pulpit and spoke to the minister and he looked over in my
direction. At this I began to weep bitterly, seemed to be taken up, and sat
down on the front bench. I could not have told any one what I wept for,
except it was a longing to be better. I had often thought before this
that I was in danger of going to the "Bad place," especially I would be
afraid to think of the time that I should see Jesus come. I wanted to hide
from Him. My father had a cousin living at Hickman's Mill, Ben Robertson.
His wife, cousin Jennie, came up to me at the close of the service,
and said: "Carry, I believe you know what you are doing." But I did not.
Oh, how I wanted some one to explain to me. The next day I was taken to
a running stream about two miles away, and, although it was quite cold
and some ice in the water, I felt no fear. It seemed like a dream. I know
God will bless the ordinance of baptism, for the little Carry that walked
into the water was different from the one who walked out. I said no word.
I felt that I could not speak, for fear of disturbing the peace that is
past understanding. Kind hands wrapped me up and I felt no chill. I
felt the responsibility of my new relation and tried hard to do right.

A few days after this I was at my aunt Kate Doneghy's. Uncle
James, or "Jim," we called him, her husband, was not a Christian. He
shocked me one day by saying: "So those Campbellites took you to the
creek, and soused you, did they 'Cal'?" (A nick name.) What a blow!
My aunt seemed also shocked to have him speak thus to me. I left
the room and avoided meeting him again. How he crushed me! It
had the effect to make me feel like a criminal.

The Protestant Church here makes a fatal error which the Catholics
avoid. The ministers of the latter have all young converts come so
often to them for instruction. A child may be born, but not being nursed
and fed, it will die. God has command them to be fed in the sincere