Journal October 23-24, 1961
guilty parties stroll through a park and interview random people, asking their opinions on certain matters. Actually, the questions are so worded as to put into the conversation practically the content of the first missionary lesson!

But I digress. The first chap we tried this on responded very well, telling us that he is a “free-thinker” by religion and practically giving us an apostasy lesson! The next few people refused to talk to us, and shortly a very disagreeable representative of the park staff approached us with the information (unsolicited) that propaganda is forbidden in the park. Well, when we got on our bikes to leave, the gent who had spoken to us and [14] whose address we have came over and said that the official shouldn’t have kicked us out; that we had been very mannerly, and that what we’d said hadn’t been at all like propaganda. He was all for telling the official where to get off. Maybe he did! There’s one that’ll be to our meeting.

Tracted until 8:30 with very little success. Must study now and then sack out. Bonsoir.

10-24 Tracted all morning with some success as usual. Elder Higley is leaving me more and more to my own resources when talking at the doors, and it scares me.

Things are getting down to a routine now; this journal should soon have less in it for a day, for this reason. It’s raining like mad, and I’m soaked where my raincoat doesn’t cover. Sure hope those rubbers get here quickly, before my shoes depart piecemeal.
Well, I was wrong; interesting things don’t stop happening — at least not yet. This afternoon I met a real old Bretonne [Sister Calloc’h] who still remembers the language that the Gauls left here. She was born ages ago on the little island known as l’Isle des Groix (Breton for sorcerers). She told us [15] fascinating stories about white and black magic, pacts with the devil, and her experiences as caretaker of the tower of an ancient château on a cliff over perpetually rough seas. She used to be all alone out there except for two large dogs. Exciting!

Held a fine cottage meeting with a young chap, half French and half Spanish, who is studying painting at the University. The devil didn’t want us to go there: on the way, (1) Elder Higley’s bike developed carburetor trouble; (2) Elder H. got sick and almost passed out; (3) the chain on my bike slipped out of its sprocket; and (4) we were caught and soaked by a rather solid downpour. But we got there, and I’m glad we did. Bonsoir.


Soeur Grohan
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