After a journey of five weeks, Benjamin Parker and his wife, with their family of three children, arrived at their new home in the West.  It was early in the spring.  The main body of the farm, which was densely wooded, lay upon the eastern bank of a small, sluggish river, with broad, marshy bottom-lands.  The cabin, which had been put up the year before on a small clearing, stood on an eminence just above this river, and was five miles away from any other human habitation.  It consisted of two rooms and a small loft above.  One of these rooms had only a ground floor.  The windows were not glazed.  The last thirty miles of the journey to this wild region had been performed in a wagon, which contained their furniture and a small supply of provisions.

The first night spent in this lonely, cheerless place was one that brought no very pleasant reflections to either Parker or his wife.  He was disappointed in his expectations, and she felt as if a heavy hand were pressing upon her bosom.

But there they were, and the only thing for them to do was to make the best of what was in their hands.  Parker obtained an assistant and went to work to prepare the cleared ground for spring crops, and his wife, with a babe at her breast and no help, assumed all the duties pertaining to her family.  In cooking, washing, milking, sewing, etc., she found enough to occupy all her time late and early.  It was a rare thing for her to lay her head upon her pillow without extreme weariness and even exhaustion.

Time went on, and they began to reap the first fruits of their industry.  The wilderness and solitary place blossomed.  The little clearing widened gradually its circle, and many little comforts, at first wanting, were obtained.  Still they suffered many privations and Mrs. Parker far more than her husband imagined.

The first summer, hot and sultry, drew near to its close.  Thus far they had been blessed with health.  But now slight headache, nausea, and a general feeling of debility were experienced by all.  The first to show symptoms of serious illness was the oldest child.  She was nearly five years of age, her name was Rachel, and she was aptly named, for she was the image of her mother.  The bright eyes, sweet, loving face, and happy voice of little Rachel, that was heard all day long, lightened the mother’s toil, refreshed her spirits, and often made her forget the loneliness and seclusion in which they lived.  She was like a cool spring in the desert, a bright flower in a barren waste, a ray of sunshine from a wintry sky.

Little Rachel was the first to droop.  Saturday was always the busiest day of the week; it was the day of preparation for the Sabbath; for even separate and lonely as they were, this family sacredly regarded the Sabbath as a day of rest from worldly care and labor.  It was Saturday, and Mrs. Parker, in the more earnest attention which she gave to her household duties, did not notice that the child was more quiet