Nephi Anderson - Added Upon

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"Yes," answered Signe, "but you must remember one thing, that 'as in
Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.' The
resurrection from the dead comes through Christ without any effort on
our part. We were not responsible for Adam's transgression, therefore we
are redeemed from its effects through the atonement of Christ, all
mankind are, both good and bad--all will arise and stand before God to
be judged by the deeds done in the body."

"Yes; I admit all that; but it is hardly plain to me what we must do to
be freed from our individual sins. We are in the midst of sin. We are in
a mortal state and partake of our surroundings. Now, there must be a
plan by which we may be rid of these imperfections, for if we are ever
to live in the presence of God, it seems to me that we must be pure and
holy, without sin."

Signe had her book open. "I will read here an answer to your question,"
she said. "You remember that on the day of Pentecost when the Holy
Spirit was given, Peter preached to a large crowd of people. Many of
them believed, and being pricked in their hearts, they said: 'Men and
brethren, what shall we do?' You know they are not the only ones who
have asked that question."

"No, you are right."

"'And Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in
the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive
the gift of the Holy Ghost.' That's plain enough, isn't it? Words can
make it no clearer. When Peter saw that they had faith, he told them to
repent, then be baptized for the remission of their sins, then they
would get the Holy Ghost."

"And the promise was to them and to their children and to them that were
afar off. Signe, is it not to us also?" Rupert asked, eagerly, "why
shouldn't it be?"

"The promise is not limited--it is to you and to me. I, Rupert, have
obeyed Peter's word, and have received the promise. You may do the same,
and the same blessings will follow. The gospel is a law, a natural law,
and oh, such a beautiful one!"

"Why haven't I heard this before?" exclaimed he. "Why isn't it written
in our books, and taught us in our childhood? Signe, I am a bit
bewildered yet."

"Rupert," said she, with a smile that had something of sadness in it,
"the world is 'Ever learning but never able to come to the knowledge of
the truth.' 'Darkness has covered the earth and gross darkness the
people.' 'And as with the people, so with the priest.' 'The earth also
is defiled under the inhabitants thereof; because they have transgressed
the laws, changed the ordinance, broken the everlasting covenant.' Is
there any wonder that you have not heard these doctrines before? Though
you may read about them in the Bible, the world has been without their
living presence for many hundreds of years. But a new time has come to
the world. The gospel in its fulness and purity has been restored. We
read here that John, on the Isle of Patmos, saw that in the latter days
an angel would 'fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting
gospel to preach to them that dwell on the earth.' That angel has come,
Rupert, that gospel has been restored; and what I have been telling you
are the teachings of that gospel. Man is again endowed with power from
on high to preach the gospel and administer its ordinances to those who
believe."

Rupert listened with deepest interest. He became as a disciple at her
feet. They talked far into the night, and when Mr. and Mrs. Janson came
home they found them bending low over the fire reading from the "good
old book." Their heads were close together, the dark-brown one and the
one of soft, silken tresses.

X.

"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept
the faith."--_II Tim. 4:7._

Rupert was now continually thinking of the great questions of life.
Never before had he been so stirred in his feelings; never before had he
contemplated life in the light which now came to him. His heart was full
of love, gratitude, and praise which swelled within him, and seemed to
take possession of his whole being.

The winter passed, and Rupert closed his school. He came to the
conclusion that school teaching was not his forte, though the people
were satisfied with his work. He longed to be out digging ditches. He
liked it far better, and conjectured that in this world his mission was
to make the physical deserts to blossom as the rose.

During the summer, Chamogo valley did undergo a change. One side of the
valley was brought under irrigation, and a number of farms were sold at
a good profit. Mr. Janson did right by Rupert, and together they worked
and prospered.

And that which now filled Rupert's cup of happiness was the fact that he
had rendered obedience to the gospel of Jesus Christ, and had received
the promised gifts and blessings following. The light that leadeth into
all truth was his. With Signe and her co-religionists, he could now see
eye to eye, all having the same glorious hope for the future.

One more winter passed; and when nature had spread her robe of green
over Chamogo valley, preparations were made for the ceremony that would
make Rupert and Signe husband and wife. Rupert longed to see Willowby
and Dry Bench once more, so it was decided that after they had visited
the Temple of God and had been sealed to each other for time and all
eternity, they would take a trip to Rupert's old home. They were married
in the Temple. Within its sacred walls they experienced more fully than
ever before what still sweetness there is in the ministrations of the
Spirit of God.

They reached Willowby late in September. He had written Nina when he
would be there, and she and her husband were at the station to meet
them.

There were tears in their eyes at the meeting.

"Nina, this is my wife," said Rupert. "Signe, my sister, Mrs. Furns."

A number of Rupert's old friends were there who now came forward and
welcomed him home.

Then they rode through the valley behind two spirited grays. Nina had
not changed much, but she declared that had she met her brother on the
street, she would not have known him.

"What has changed you so, brother?" asked she.

"Experience, Nina, experience with the world I have lived a long time in
the two and a half years that I have been away--but never mind that now.
Everything looks the same hereabouts. I seem to have been absent but a
few days. How strange it is! Signe, there you see Willowby, on that
rise; quite a town yet. How's Dry Bench, James?"

"Much the same, Rupe. No improvements since you left."

"And the reservoir?"

"As you left it, though it needs repairing badly."

In the few moments of silence that followed, Rupert contrasted his
condition now with what it was when he left the place. What a change! He
was wiser if not much older. And then he had a wife--and he looked
lovingly at her as he thought of all she had done for him. As they drove
into town, friends greeted him and seemed pleased at his return.
Married? Yes; that is his wife. Not so dashing as Miss Wilton, but far
more charming, was the general expression.

That evening there was quite a social gathering at Nina's.

Early next morning, before others of the household were astir, Rupert
and Signe went up to Dry Bench. A beautiful morning greeted them. They
walked up towards the hill that they might get a good view of the farm,
and when they turned, Dry Bench was before them. The trees had grown,
but otherwise it was the same scene that he had looked upon many and
many a time. The memory of a particular morning came to him--the morning
when Miss Wilton's horse had run away. Miss Wilton had never been heard
of since she left Willowby.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Signe. "Do you know, Rupert, it reminds me of
a scene in Norway. I must make a sketch here before we leave."

"Sit down on this rock," said he, "while I tell you something. Here's my
overcoat." He made a seat for her and he stood by her side.

"Signe, nearly six years ago, I stood here on this spot. I was the owner
of the farm that you see. In fact, I dug this ditch. I set out that
orchard, I planned and built the reservoir that has made all this
possible; and then I stood here, and in the pride of my heart I said:
'All this is mine. I have done it all.' Now I understand that God put me
on trial, lent me some of His riches to try me, and then, seeing that I
was not in a condition to stand such favors, took them all from me. Yes,
it was a blessing in disguise. Darling, for this knowledge I am indebted
to you," and he leaned over and kissed her.

"There you are wrong again," she said; "what about God above?"

"You are right. 'Tis He only who should have our gratitude. You have
been but an instrument in His hand. I see it all. O Father, forgive my
foolish thoughts." He uncovered his head, as if in prayer.

He sat down with her on the stone. The smoke began to rise from the
chimneys of the town below, and soon the Dry Bench farm-houses showed
signs of life. He pressed her cheek against his own.

"Sweetheart," said he, "'When love has blended and molded two beings in
an angelic and sacred union, they have found the secret of life;
henceforth they are only the two terms of the same destiny, the two
wings of one mind. Love and soar.' That is from Victor Hugo; how true it
is."

After a time they went down to the old home. A Mr. Temming was living
there, as a renter. He was not acquainted with Mr. Ames, and was not
disposed to show much courtesy, so they left.

"What do you think of the place?" he asked.

"I like it."

"Could you live there?"

"All my life, I could. Rupert, I see you in every tree, fence, and
ditch."

He laughed at that.

"I can now buy the place. Shall I?"

"Yes, do."

"You don't object? Would you really like to live there?"

"I think, my dear, that you can do much good here. We ought to live
where we can do the most good."

And so it was settled. Next day Rupert inquired after the owner of the
farm which once was his, and learned that it was in the hands of a real
estate dealer. He made his way to the office and knocked at the door,
which was partly open. A man was sitting at a desk, but he evidently did
not hear, so Rupert stepped into the room, at the same time giving the
door another loud rap. Still the man did not hear.

"Good morning, sir," said Rupert.

The man turned.

"Volmer, Volmer Holm, is it you?"

"Rupert Ames, I'm pleased to see you. When did you come to town? Have a
chair."

"Are you in the real estate business?"

"I can't hear very well, and you'll have to speak at close range, Rupe."

So they put their chairs close together, and Rupert repeated his last
question.

"Yes, a man must do something; but there's nothing going on now--nothing
in our line."

Rupert looked in pity at his friend. Quite shabbily dressed he was, and
a careworn expression on his face made him look ten years older. He wore
glasses, which he pushed up on his forehead, and then took a good look
at Rupert.

"Well, well, Rupe, and where have you been keeping yourself? An' I've
had luck, I tell you--you haven't heard, perhaps?"

"No; I haven't. What's it been, Volmer?"

"Was getting fifty dollars a week leading the orchestra at the Grand in
Chicago, when I got sick. Don't know what it was, Rupe--the doctors
didn't know. Got into my ears, and that knocked me--couldn't tell one
note from another; so, of course, that let me out. Hard luck, Rupe, hard
luck. Tough world this, Rupe. Why God Almighty crams a fellow's head
full of music, and then disables him so's he can't make use of it, I
don't know--I don't know."

Rupert sympathized with his friend, and then told him of his errand. A
ray of sunshine seemed to enter the musician's life. The property was
for sale, yes, and cheap, dirt cheap; so the transaction was partly
arranged, and Volmer Holm went home to his wife and four children with
quite a happy heart that day.

"It's too bad about Volmer Holm," said Rupert to his sister. "I had not
heard of his misfortune. Such a genius in music, too."

"Well, I don't know," answered Nina, "it may be all for the best. Rumor
had it that he was fast getting into bad ways in Chicago; and some men
are better off by being poor, anyway."

"Yes, that's so," was all he said.

* * * * *

Rupert Ames was again the owner of Dry Bench farm, and the next spring
they moved into the old home. Mr. and Mrs. Janson came with them to
visit, but their interests in Chamogo would not allow of a protracted
stay. Signe was already in love with her new home. With her taste for
the artistic, she soon had the place comfortable, and Rupert was never
more satisfied than when he came in where his wife's adept fingers had
been at work to adorn. It was the dear old home to him with an added
beauty, lacking only his mother's presence to make it perfect.

Then they sent for Signe's family. It was hard for the father to make
ends meet in his native land, and Rupert needed just such help as Hr.
Dahl could give. In due time they arrived, and were installed in a
cottage near Rupert's farm.

In peace and prosperity, the days, months, and years went by; and
Rupert Ames became a light to the surrounding world, and a teacher of
righteousness to his brethren.

* * * * *

It was the sixth year after Rupert's return that the citizens of the
Bench decided to enlarge the reservoir in Dry Hollow. Rupert was given
the work to supervise, and he entered upon the task with his usual
energy.

That morning in September, when he gave his wife the usual departing
kiss, the children--four of them, were hanging about his legs and
clinging to his coat in great glee.

"Now papa must go," said he, as he tried to shake them off.

"A kiss, another kiss," "A tiss, some more tisses," they shouted.

So he lifted them up, one by one, and kissed them again. Then his arm
went around his wife's neck, and he drew her face to his.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," said he, "take care of the children, and don't
forget me," and he tried to hum a song as he walked to the gate. Signe
stood watching him. The tune which floated back to her was, "O, my
Father." Then a peculiar feeling came over her, and she sat down crying,
while the children climbed over her with questions and comforting words.

* * * * *

Terrible news from Dry Hollow! A blast, prematurely exploded, had
seriously injured some of the workmen, and Rupert Ames had been
killed--hurled down the ravine and nearly buried under falling rock.

Break the news gently to his wife and children. Do not let them see that
bruised, bleeding form. Spare them all you can.

Yes; it was all done--all that lay in human power was done; and hundreds
of people to whom Rupert Ames had opened up new light, and in the
providence of God, had given them a tangible hope of the future,
gathered around his body and mingled their tears with those of his
children's.

Another immortal soul's earthly mission was ended. Life's school had
closed for him. Into another sphere he had gone. The Great Schoolmaster
had promoted him.

And Mrs. Signe Ames, after it all, simply said:

"God knows best. He has but gone before. He was my husband for time, he
is my husband for eternity. His mission is there, mine is here. In the
morrow, we shall meet again."

XI.

"Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every
creature."--_Mark 16:15._

Hr. Henrik Bogstad leaned back in his chair before the fire in great
relief. He had just shown out a young man who was distributing religious
tracts dealing with some "new-fangled religion" lately imported from
America, that land of all new-fangled things. All the day, Hr. Bogstad
had been adjusting some difficulties among his tenants, and that evening
he was somewhat ill-humored. His treatment of the missionary, was,
therefore, harsher than he was wont to treat either strangers or
friends.

His conscience smote him a little as he thought of what the young
American had said. He could find no fault with the religious doctrines
advanced, but why should he be bothered with religion anyway? He had
cares enough; for a great responsibility had come to him since he had
been put in charge of the estate left by his father's death. Just now
was the season of gaiety in Christiania, and here he was missing a good
many things by his enforced visit to his country home.

After musing for some time, he got up and went to the window. Outside,
the snow covered everything--the fields, the roads, the frozen lake and
river. The houses were half hidden, and the pines on the hill bore up
great banks of snow. From the window the view was beautiful in its
solemn whiteness. From the white level of the distant frozen lake,
broken patches of brown protruded. These were the islands on one of
which Signe Dahl had lived. Henrik wondered what had become of her, and
where in the big America she had taken up her abode. He had heard that
she was well and happy, but further than that he had not set himself to
learn. Long ago he had put behind him philosophically his affair with
Signe. He had ceased to think of her as anything more than a sweet, yet
strange girl who could resist such an offer as he had extended to her.

As Henrik was looking out of the window, he saw the young stranger who
had visited him less then an hour ago, returning down the road. Just as
he was about to pass, Henrik hailed him and asked him to come in again,
meeting him at the door.

"Come in," he said; "I want to talk with you."

The missionary placed his grip on a chair and seated himself on another.

"I was somewhat cross with you when you called," said Henrik. "I don't
want you to think that I am rude, especially to strangers."

"I was not the least offended," smiled the other.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now I want you to tell me something about America.
I've never been there, though I expect to go some day. I have some
friends and a good many relatives over there. From what part do you
come?"

"I am from Wyoming."

"That's away out west, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Two uncles of mine live in Minnesota, but that's a long way from
Wyoming. Where are you staying here, for the night?"

"I am a traveling minister of the gospel and I stay wherever there is an
opportunity."

"Then you'll stay with me tonight. I am not much on religion, but if you
will mix a little information about America with your preaching, I shall
be pleased to listen to you."

These conditions were easily agreed to. So, after a good supper, the two
young men seated themselves comfortably by the shaded lamp on the
library table. The missionary spread out his book of views and explained
each of the pictures. He told of the great stretch of arid land in
western America, of the ranches, of the high mountains, of the fertile
valleys made fruitful by irrigation, and of the wonders of the great
Salt Lake.

"This is the Temple."

"Yes; and what is that for?"

The purposes of temples were explained.

"You say you baptize for the dead?" enquired Henrik, "How is that?"

"Well, as I was telling you when I called on you some time ago--"

"Pardon me, but I must confess that I did not pay enough attention to
what you said to remember. I was thinking about those quarreling tenants
of mine. Tell me again."

The other smiled good-naturedly, and did as he was asked. Henrik
listened this time, and was indeed interested, asking a good many
questions.

"Now, about the Temple," continued the missionary--"we believe that
every soul that has ever lived on the earth, that is living now, or that
will ever live must have the privilege of hearing this gospel of Jesus
Christ. There is only one name given under heaven by which men may be
saved, and every creature must hear that name. Now, the great majority
of the human race has never heard the gospel; in fact, will not hear it
in this life."

"Where, then, can they hear it?"

"In the great spirit world. Christ, when He was put to death went and
preached to the spirits in prison--those who were disobedient in the
days of Noah and were destroyed in the flood; and no doubt the saving
power of Christ has been proclaimed in that spirit world ever since.
Among those who hear, many will believe. They have faith, they repent of
their sins, but they can not be baptized in water for the remission of
their sins."

"No; of course not."

"And yet Christ definitely said that unless a man is born again of water
and of the spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of God. What is to be
done?"

The listener, leaning over the table, merely shook his head.

"Paul speaks in I Cor. 15:29 of some who were baptized for the dead--and
that is a correct principle. The living may be baptized for the dead, so
that those who have left this world may receive the gospel in the spirit
world and have the birth of the water done for them vicariously by
someone in the flesh."

"This is strange doctrine."

"Temples are used for these baptisms. The Latter-day Saints are busy
tracing back as far as possible their lines of ancestry, and then they
are going into their temples--for they have already four of them--and
are doing this work for their dead. In this way is being fulfilled
Malachi's prediction that Elijah the Prophet should come before the
great and dreadful day of the Lord, 'and He shall turn the heart of the
fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their
fathers,' lest the Lord come and smite the earth with a curse. You will
find this in the last chapter of the Old Testament."

The lamp burned late into the night as these two men sat by it talking;
and the conversation was not, as one of them had planned, for the most
part about the land of America and its material opportunities.

XII.

"Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he
cannot be my disciple."--_Luke 14:33._

"I cannot understand him," Frue Bogstad was saying. "His actions are so
strange."

"It's simply wicked of him," added Froken Selma Bogstad. "He is bringing
the whole family into disrepute."

The mother did not reply, but turned her face thoughtfully away from the
angry daughter.

"The boy is completely carried away with this American religion,"
continued the girl, pacing nervously back and forth in the room. "Pastor
Tonset called to see him the other day, and you ought to have heard
them! The pastor, as our friend, came to advise him; but do you think
Henrik would take any advice? Why, he even argued with the pastor,
saying that he could prove the truth of this religion from the
Scriptures."

"Has he talked to you about it?"

"Yes; and he wanted me to accompany him to Osterhausgaden where these
people hold meetings. I told him definitely and forcibly that I didn't
want him to mention religion to me."

"He seems to be in such deep earnest."

"And that's the pity of it. It does no good to talk to him. He takes it
for granted that he should be persecuted. I believe he is ready to give
up everything for this creed that has him in its grasp."

A violent ringing of the bell brought Selma to the door. It was Henrik,
who had forgotten his latch key. He hung up his hat, wiped the
perspiration from his face, for it was a warm evening; then he said
cheerily:

"Spring is coming; I feel it in the air. I'll be glad to get out to
Nordal--there is so much to do this summer--"

"Young man," interrupted the sister, "we have been talking about you."

"About my wickedness, I suppose."

"About your foolishness. It isn't very pleasant for us--what you're
doing."

"What am I doing? That which is unkind to you, mother?" He placed his
arms lovingly around her shoulders, but she sat without replying, her
face in her handkerchief. He turned to Selma.

"What have I done?" he asked. "Do I drink? Do I gamble? Do I steal? Do I
lie? Do I profane? Do I treat any of you unkindly? Am I disrespectful to
my mother or my sister?"

"You associate with a people known everywhere as the scum of the earth,"
snapped the sister, as she stood in front of him. "You are disgracing
us--the whole Bogstad family--you--but what's the use of talking to
you."

"Not a bit of use that way, dear sister. Suppose you answer some of my
questions. You accuse, but never bring proof. You would rather believe
uninformed people than me. You accept hearsay, but will not listen to
the truth I wish to tell you. I have asked you to point out some of the
bad things taught by the Latter-day Saints, but so far you have never
tried. I have invited you to go with me--"

"Do you think I would thus disgrace myself to appear in their meetings!"

"You will not even read a simple tract; you close your eyes and ears.
You push God from you when you say that He does not reveal Himself any
more; and so does Pastor Tonset and all his followers. Because I am
willing to receive light, even though it comes from a 'sect everywhere
spoken against,' I am a bad man. I tell you, my sister, and also you, my
mother, I may be looked upon as a disgrace to the Bogstad family, but
the time will come when you and all that family will thank the Lord that
one member of the family heard the truth, and had courage enough to
accept it!"

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