And that convinced her again of unjust
suspicions. But it was convincement through an obstinate faith.
She shuddered as she accepted it, and that shudder was the
nucleus of a terrible revolt.
Jane turned into one of the wide lanes leading from the main
street and entered a huge, shady yard. Here were sweet-smelling
clover, alfalfa, flowers, and vegetables, all growing in happy
confusion. And like these fresh green things were the dozens of
babies, tots, toddlers, noisy urchins, laughing girls, a whole
multitude of children of one family. For Collier Brandt, the
father of all this numerous progeny, was a Mormon with four
wives.
The big house where they lived was old, solid, picturesque the
lower part built of logs, the upper of rough clapboards, with
vines growing up the outside stone chimneys. There were many
wooden-shuttered windows, and one pretentious window of glass
proudly curtained in white. As this house had four mistresses, it
likewise had four separate sections, not one of which
communicated with another, and all had to be entered from the
outside.
In the shade of a wide, low, vine-roofed porch Jane found
Brandt's wives entertaining Bishop Dyer. They were motherly
women, of comparatively similar ages, and plain-featured, and
just at this moment anything but grave. The Bishop was rather
tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes of
light blue.
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