"'I am a minister of the gospel, as you guess by my coat: to be
precise, a Congregational minister. At least, I passed through a
Congregational training college in England. But nice distinctions of
doctrine will be of little moment in the work before me. No, I have
no definite post awaiting me--that is, I have not received a call
from any particular congregation, nor do I expect one. The harvest
is over there, across the mountains; and the labourers are never too
many.'

"It was singular in my experience; but this young man contrived to
speak like a book without being at all offensive.

"'I was sent out to America,' he went on, 'mainly for my health's
sake; and the voyage did wonders for me. Of course I picked up a lot
of information on the way and in New York. It was there I first
heard of the awful wickedness of the Pacific Slope, the utter,
abandoned godlessness of the mining camps throughout the golden and
silver states. I had letters of introduction to one or two New
England families--sober, religious people--and the stories they told
of the Far West were simply appalling. It was then that my call came
to me. It came one night--But all this has nothing to do with my
health.'

"'It interests me,' said I.

"'It does one good to talk, if you're sure you mean that,' he went
on, with a happy laugh. Then, with sudden gravity: 'It came one
night--the clear voice of God calling me. I was asleep; but it woke
me, and I sat up in bed with the voice still ringing in my ears like
a bugle calling. I knew from that moment that my work lay out West.