It was hard to go back to the puffs on that grenadine dress in the midst of all this, but with a resolute struggle she threw herself back into an argument as to whether she would stop on her way to make purchases, or run down to Albany as soon as she was comfortably settled at her hotel.  Mr. Bliss was the next one who roused her.

You have never heard him sing?  Then I am sorry for you.  How can I tell you anything about it?  You should hear Ruth tell it!  How his voice rolled out and up from under those grand old trees; how distinctly every word fell on your ear, as distinctly as though you and he had been together in a little room alone, and he had song it for you.

    “This loving Savior stands patiently—­
      Though oft rejected,
        Calls again for thee. 
    Calling now for thee, prodigal,
        Calling now for thee;
      Thou hast wandered far away,
    But he’s calling now for thee.”

What was the matter with everybody?  Was this an army of prodigals who had gathered under the trees this Sabbath afternoon?  Turn where she would they were wiping away the tears; she felt herself as if she could hardly keep back her own; and yet why should she weep?  What had that song to do with her? She certainly was not a prodigal:  she had never wandered, for she had never professed to be a Christian.

What strange logic, that because I have never owned my Father’s love and care, therefore I am not a wanderer from him!

Ruth did not understand it; she felt almost provoked; had she not decided this very afternoon and for the first time in her life that it was fitting and eminently the proper thing to do to unite with the church, and had she not determined upon doing it just as soon as the season was over?  What more could she do?  Why could she not now have a little peace?  If this was the “comfort” and “rest” that the Christians at Chautauqua had been talking about for a week, she was sure the less she had of them the better, for she never felt so uncomfortable in her life.  Nevertheless, she adhered to her resolution.

So settled was she that it was the next proper thing to do that she staid at home from the meeting that evening to write a letter to Mr. Wayne, the gentleman who you will perhaps remember, accompanied the girls to the depot on the morning of their departure, and expressed his disgust with the whole plan.

As this is the first religious letter Miss Ruth Erskine ever wrote, you shall be gratified with a copy of it: 

“DEAR HAROLD: 

“I am alone in the tent this evening—­the girls have all gone to meeting; but I, finding it exhaustive, not to say tiresome, to be so constantly listening to sermons, have staid at home to write to you.  I have something to tell you which I know will please you.  I am going to start for Saratoga to-morrow morning.  I think I shall take the 10:50 train.  Now don’t you make up your mind to laugh at me and say that I have grown tired of Chautauqua sooner than any of the rest.  It is true enough.