“I must meet Rachel, too,” he said one day to his uncle. “Where can I find her?”
“She works in a down-town department store; at night she stays with some friends of hers. The fact is that Rachel is peculiar. She is not one with us. She has been led astray—”
“Oh!” cried Henrik.
“She is not a bad girl—no, no; but she has been led away into a false religion, and as she will talk and argue with us all, I thought it best that she stay away from our home until she comes to her senses; but—”
“What is this religion that has caused her to err so badly?”
“Why, she calls herself a Latter-day Saint.”
“Yes; I’ve tried to reason with the girl, but it’s been no use.”
“I want to see her—now, today,” said Henrik. “Give me her address.”
“Shall I go with you?”
“No, I can find her,—you need not bother.”
Henrik obtained the proper directions, and set out immediately. Was there then one other of his family that had received the gospel—one that could help him? He boarded a car, getting off at the store. Going to the department in which she worked, he asked the floor-walker where he could find Miss Bogstad. Then he saw her behind a counter, resting for a moment, unoccupied. Though she was an American, Henrik could see the Norwegian traits in his fair cousin. She was of the dark type, with round, rosy lips and cheeks, and heavy, brown hair.
“I am your cousin Henrik from Norway,” he said as he shook her hand.
Her smile burst into a soft, merry laugh as she greeted him. “I am glad to see you,” she said. “I heard you were here, but thought perhaps I might not get to meet you.”
He held her hand a long time, as he looked into the pretty, sweet face. Had he been an American, he would, no doubt, have kissed her then and there; but being a Norwegian, he only looked his wonder and pleasure.
They could not talk much because customers had to be served; but Henrik lingered until closing time, saying he would walk home with her that they might talk. She expressed her pleasure at the proposition; and promptly at the closing gong, she donned her wraps and joined him. The day was warm, and he suggested a walk around by the park, where they might sit down on a bench under the trees.
It was a difficult matter for seriously minded Uncle Jens and his family to laugh, and even a smile was seldom seen on their faces; but here was one who seemed bubbling over with merriment—one whose countenance shone as if from an inner light of happiness.
“Rachel,” said Henrik, “your father has told me about you.”
“Yes,” she replied with sobering face, “they think I am a very bad girl,—but—”
“Look here cousin, don’t make any apologies. I know, and understand.”