the gentlest touch was pain.

"I don't believe it," she cried. "I don't believe God wants us to do
anything except just good. That's what _my_ father told me. I'm going
home. I don't care how it rains."

Emma did not hear her. Over her pale young face had come the peculiar
expression of alert and loving listening. She had detected the sound of
a footstep which Susannah now heard coming heavily near.

A large man of about twenty-five years of age entered from the bluster
of the storm. As Susannah was trying to push out past him into its fury,
he paused, staring in rough astonishment.

Lucy hung on to her arm. "Stay a bit! Joseph must hold the umbrella over
Miss. Emmar, tell her she can't no wise go alone."

Susannah fled into the driving sheets of rain, but Joseph Smith,
umbrella in hand, followed her.




CHAPTER III.


The umbrella was a very heavy one. Susannah certainly could not have
held it against the wind. Joseph Smith held the shelter between Susannah
and the blast, looking at her occasionally with a kindly expression in
his blue eyes, but merely to see how far it sheltered her.