This abrupt wind-up rather took some of the audience aback.  “A ballroom!”

“A ballroom,” gravely repeated Brother Jarrum.  “A public ballroom not far from a hundred feet long; and we have got a theatre for the acting of plays; and we go for rides in winter in sleighs.  Ah! did you think it was with us, out there, as it is with you in the old country?—­one’s days to be made up of labour, labour, labour; no interlude to it but starvation and the crying of children as can’t get nursed or fed!  We like amusement; and we have it; dancing in particular.  Our great prophet himself dances; and all the apostles and bishops dance.  They dance themselves down.”

The assemblage sat with open eyes.  New wonders were revealed to them every moment.  Some of the younger legs grew restless at the mental vision conjured up.

“It’s part of our faith to dance,” continued Brother Jarrum.  “Why shouldn’t we?  Didn’t David dance?  Didn’t Jephthah dance?  Didn’t the prodigal son dance?  You’ll all dance on to the last if you come to us.  Such a thing as old legs is hardly known among us.  As the favoured climate makes the women’s faces beautiful, so it keeps the limbs from growing old.  The ballroom is hung with green branches and flags; you might think it was a scene of trees lit with lamps; and you’d never tire of listening to the music, or of looking at the supper-table.  If you could only see the suppers given, in a picture to-night, it ’ud spoil your sleep, and you’d not rest till you had started to partake of ’em.  Ducks and turkeys, and oysters, and fowls, and fish, and meats, and custards, and pies, and potatoes, and greens, and jellies, and coffee, and tea, and cake, and drinks, and so many more things that you’d be tired only of hearing me say the names.  There’s abundance for all.”

Some commotion amid Brother Jarrum’s hearers, and a sound as of licking of lips.  That supper account was a great temptation.  Had Brother Jarrum started then, straight off for the Salt Lake, the probability is that three-parts of the room would have formed a tail after him.

“What’s the drinks?” inquired Jim Clark, the supper items imparting to his inside a curious feeling of emptiness.

“There’s no lack of drinks in the City of the Saints,” returned Brother Jarrum.  “Whisky’s plentiful.  Have you heard of mint julep?  That is delicious.  Mint is one of the few productions not common out there, and we are learning to make the julep with sage instead.  You should see the plains of sage!  It grows wild.”

“And there’s ducks, you say?” observed Susan Peckaby.  “It’s convenient to have sage in plenty where there’s ducks,” added she to the assembly in general.  “What a land it must be!”

“A land that’s not to be ekalled!  A land flowing with milk and honey!” rapturously echoed Brother Jarrum.  “Ducks is in plenty, and sage grows as thick as nettles do here; you can’t go out to the open country but you put your foot upon it.  Nature’s generally in accordance with herself.  What should she give all them bushes of wild sage for, unless she gave ducks to match?”