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Show 237 agreements, play your cards close. Something like that. When you rang the bell I thought it was somebody selling life insurance or something." "That's a good one all right," said Sorenson. Lorin rumbled with laughter. "But it is. late," she said, smiling now. Sorenson glanced at his watch and looked startled. "Good grief, so it is." He smiled ruefully at Lorin. "Well, we've done it again, Elder." He turned back to the girl behind the storm door. "I'm sorry Mrs.--" He glanced at the nameplate under the doorbell, but the name was behind a clear plastic strip that had frosted over. Lorin looked at it too. "Well, we won't keep you any longer," said Sorenson, turning again to the girl, the corners of whose mouth twitched slightly. "Let me just leave you a little brochure if I may, a pamphlet really, and you can-well, I seem to have run out." He stood on one foot, balancing his open attache case on his knee and fumbled between two of the dividers, while Lorin watched a few granules of snow drop past him from the porch-eave and eddy onto a manteled rose bush. "Well, I'll have to leave you this one instead," said Sorenson, snapping the case shut, holding a tract between his teeth. "My card is stapled inside, and if you think you'd like to see the other pamphlet, just give me a call. Or for that matter," he said quickly, "we could just stop by tomorrow and leave it with you. We have time to come by in the morning don't we, Elder?" Lorin glanced at his watch. "Yes, I think so." "No, I think I'd better call you," she said, her eyes hard and suspicious again. She opened the crack a little further to accept the tract that Sorenson handed in. She looked at the cover and burst out laughing. "I'm afraid it's not a very good picture," admitted Sorenson. The tract was the one called "Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story," and the |
