Chapter X: Section 88: 'All kingdoms have a law given; and there are many kingdoms;

for there is no space in the which there is no kingdom; and there is no kingdom in which there is no space, either a greater or a lesser kingdom. And unto every kingdom is given a law; and unto every law there are certain bounds also and conditions.'

"There is a hymn in our hymn book in which W.W. Phelps expresses this idea beautifully. Let me read it:

'If you could hie to Kolob,
In the twinkling of an eye,
And then continue onward,
With that same speed to fly.

'Do you think that you could ever,
Through all eternity,
Find out the generation
Where Gods began to be?

'Or see the grand beginning
Where space did not extend?
Or view the last creation,
Where Gods and matter end?

'Methinks the Spirit whispers:
No man has found "pure space,"
Nor seen the outside curtains,
Where nothing has a place.

'The works of God continue,
And worlds and lives abound;
Improvement and progression
Have one eternal round.

'There is no end to matter,
There is no end to space,
There is no end to spirit,
There is no end to race.

'There is no end to virtue,
There is no end to might,
There is no end to wisdom,
There is no end to light.

'There is no end to union,
There is no end to youth,
There is no end to priesthood,
There is no end to truth.

'There is no end to glory,
There is no end to love,
There is no end to being,
Grim death reigns not above.'

"The Latter-day Saints have been adversely criticized for holding out such astounding hopes for the future of the human race; but let us reason a little more, beginning nearer home. What has the race accomplished, even within the short span of our own recollection? Man is fast conquering the forces of nature about him, and making these forces to serve him. Now, we must remember that duration extends ahead of us in the same limitless way in which it reaches back. Give, then, the race today all the time necessary, what cannot it accomplish? Apply it again either to an individual or to the race, in time, some would attain to what we conceive of as perfection, and the term by which such beings are known to us is God. I can see no other logical conclusion."

The chairs were now pushed back, and Mrs. Trent threw a cloth over the table just as it stood, explaining that she would not take the time from her company to devote to the dishes. She invited them into Dorian's little room, much to that young man's uneasiness.

His mother had tidied the room, so it was presentable. His picture, "Sunset in Marshland" had been lowered a little on the wall, and directly over it hung a photograph of Mildred Brown. To Dorian's questioning look, Mrs. Trent explained, that Mrs. Brown had sent it just the other day. Dorian looked closely at the beautiful picture, and a strange feeling came over him. Had Mildred gone on in this eternal course of progress of which Uncle Zed had been speaking? Was she still away ahead of him? Would he ever reach her?

On his study table were a number of books, birthday presents. One was from Uncle Zed's precious store, and one--What? He picked it up--"David Copperfield." He opened the beautiful volume and read on the fly leaf: "From Carlia, to make up a little for your loss." He remembered now that Carlia, some time before, had asked him what books were in the package which had gone down the canal at the time when he had pulled her out of the water. Carlia had not forgotten; and she was not here; the supper was over, and it was getting late. Why had she not come?

The party broke up early, as it was a busy season with them all. Dorian walked home with Uncle Zed, then he had a mind to run over to Carlia's. He could not forget about her absence nor about the present she had sent. He had never read the story, and he would like to read it to Carlia. She had very little time, he realized, which was all the more reason for his making time to read it to her.

As every country boy will, at every opportunity, so Dorian cut crosslots to his objective. He now leaped the fence, and struck off through the meadow up into the corn field. Mr. Duke had a big, fine field that season, the growing corn already reaching to his shoulder. The night was dark, save for the twinkling stars in the clear sky; it was still, save for the soft rustling of the corn in the breeze.

Dorian caught sight of a light as of a lantern up by the ditch from which the water for irrigating was turned into the rows of corn and potatoes. He stopped and listened. A tool grated in the gravelly soil. Mr. Duke was no doubt using his night turn at the water on his corn instead of turning it on the hay-land as was the custom. He would inquire of him about Carlia.

As he approached the light, the scraping ceased, and he saw a dark figure dart into the shelter of the tall corn. When he reached the lantern, he found a hoe lying in the furrow where the water should have been running. No man irrigates with a hoe; that's a woman's tool. Ah, the secret was out! Carlia was 'tending' the water. That's why she was not at the party.

He stood looking down into the shadows of the corn rows, but for the moment he could see or hear nothing. He had frightened her, and yet Carlia was not usually afraid. He began to whistle softly and to walk down into the corn. Then he called, not loudly, "Carlia".

There was no response. He quickened his steps. The figure ran to another shelter. He could see her now, and he called again, louder than before. She stopped, and then darted through the corn into the more open potatoe patch. Dorian followed.

"Hello, Carlia," he said, "what are you doing?"

The girl stood before him, bareheaded, with rough dress and heavy boots. She was panting as if with fright. When she caught a full sight of Dorian she gave a little cry, and when he came within reach, she grasped him by the arm.

"Oh, is it you, Dorian?"

"Sure. Who else did you think it was? Why, you're all of a tremble. What are you afraid of?"

"I--I thought it was--was someone else. Oh, Dorian, I'm so glad it is you!"

She stood close to him as if wishing to claim his protection. He instinctively placed his arm about her shoulders. "Why, you silly girl, the dark won't hurt you."

"I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm afraid of--Oh, Dorian, don't let him hurt me!" There was a sob in her voice.

"What are you talking about? I believe you're not well. Are your feet wet? Have you a fever?" He put his hand on her forehead, brushing back the dark, towsled hair. He took her plump, work-roughened hand in his bigger and equally rough one. "And this is why you were not to my party," he said.

"Yes; I hated to miss it, but father's rheumatism was so bad that he could not come out. So it was up to me. We haven't any too much water this summer. I'd better turn the water down another row; it's flooding the corn."

They went to the lantern on the ditch bank. Dorian picked up the hoe and made the proper adjustment of the water flow. "How long will it take for the water to reach the bottom of the row?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes."

"And how many rows remain?"

Carlia counted. "Twelve," she said.

"All right. This is a small stream and will only allow for three rows at a time. Three into twelve is four, and four times fifteen is sixty. It is now half past ten. We'll get through by twelve o'clock easy."

"You'd better go home. I'm all right now. I'm not afraid."

"I said we will get home. Sit down here on the bank. Are you cold?" He took off his coat and placed it about her shoulders. She made no objections, though in truth she was not cold.

"Tell me about the party," she said.

He told her who were there, and how they had missed her.

"And did Uncle Zed preach?"

"Preach? O, yes, he talked mighty fine. I wish I could tell you what he said."

"What was it about?"

"About God," he answered reverently.

"Try to tell me, Dorian. I need to know. I'm such a dunce."

Dorian repeated in his way Uncle Zed's argument, and he succeeded fairly well in his presentation of the subject. The still night under the shining stars added an impressive setting to the telling, and the girl close by his side drank in hungrily every word. When the water reached the end of the rows, it was turned into others, until all were irrigated. When that was accomplished, Dorian's watch showed half past eleven. He picked up the lantern and the hoe, and they walked back to the house.

"The party was quite complete, after all," he said at the door. "I've enjoyed this little after-affair as much as I did the party."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

"And it was wonderfully good of you to give me that present."

"I'm glad," she repeated.

"Do you know what I was thinking about when I opened the book and saw it was from you?"

"No; what?"

"Why, I thought, we'll read this book together, you and I."

"Wouldn't that be fine!"

"We can't do that now, of course; but after a while when we get more time. I'll not read it until then.... Well, you're tired. Go to bed. Good night, Carlia."

"Goodnight, Dorian, and thank you for helping me."

They stood close together, she on the step above him. The lamp, placed on the kitchen table for her use, threw its light against the glass door which formed a background for the girl's roughened hair, soiled and sweat-stained face, and red, smiling lips.

"Goodnight," he said again; and then he leaned forward and kissed her.