Then the entire populace of Amalon, in its Sunday best of “valley tan” or store-goods, flocked to the little square and sat expectantly on the benches under the green roof of the bowery, ready to absorb the droppings of the sanctuary.

In due time came Brigham, strolling between Elder Wardle and Bishop Wright, bland, affable, and benignant.  On the platform about him sat his Counsellors, the more distinguished of his suite, and the local dignitaries of the Church.

Among these came the little bent man with an unwonted colour in his face, coming in absorbed in thought, shaking hands even with Brigham with something of abstraction in his manner.  Prudence and Follett came late, finding seats at the back next to a generous row of the Mrs. Seth Wright.

The hymn to Joseph Smith was given out, and the congregation rose to sing:—­

  “Unchanged in death, with a Saviour’s love,
   He pleads their cause in the courts above.

  “His home’s in the sky, he dwells with the gods,
   Far from the rage of furious mobs.

  “He died, he died, for those he loved,
   He reigns, he reigns, in the realms above.

  “Shout, shout, ye Saints!  This boon is given,—­
   We’ll meet our martyred seer in heaven.”

When they had settled into their seats, the Wild Ram of the Mountains arose and invoked a blessing on those present and upon those who had gone behind the veil; adding a petition that Brigham be increased in his basket and in his store, in wives, flocks, and herds, and in the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

They sang another hymn, and when that was done, the little bent man arose and came hesitatingly forward to the baize-covered table that served as a pulpit.  As President of the Stake it was his office to welcome the visitors, and this he did.

There were whisperings in the audience when his appearance was noted.  It was the first time he had been seen by many of them in weeks.  They whispered that he was failing.

“He ought to be home this minute,” was the first Mrs. Wardle’s diagnosis to the fifth Mrs. Wardle, behind her hymn-book, “with his feet in a mustard bath and a dose of gamboge and a big brewing of catnip tea.  I can tell a fever as far as I can see it.”

The words of official welcome spoken, he began his discourse; but in a timid, shuffling manner so unlike his old self that still others whispered of his evident illness.  Inside he burned with his purpose, but, with all his resolves, the presence of Brigham left him unnerved.  He began by referring to their many adversities since the day when they had first knelt to entreat the mercy of God upon the land.  Then he spoke of revelations.

“You must all have had revelations, because they have come even to me.  Perhaps you were deaf to the voice, as I have been.  Perhaps you have trusted too readily in some revelation that came years ago, supposedly from God—­in truth, from the Devil.  Perhaps you have been deaf to later revelations meant to warn you of the other’s falseness.”