The second summer had nearly passed away, when sickness visited Elmwood. Mr. Merritt was prostrated by a violent fever. Early and late his wife watched by his bed. Sleep was a stranger to her eyes. Agonizing prayers ascended in petition for his recovery. At last they were heard. Slowly the sick man improved, and after many weeks, was able to breathe the fresh air, and walk abroad. Then, the dear little prattler, the youngest child, drooped. The petted one lay helpless in its willow cradle, and pale and anxious faces gathered around it. Eyes, red with weeping, witnessed its struggles. Several days it lingered after hope had fled the broken-hearted mourners, and then the little sufferer was called in its pure, unspotted innocence, to Heaven! CHAPTER X. A STORM ON THE PRAIRIE. A short time after Mr. Merritt settled at Elmwood, a small village sprung up about twenty miles distant, on the edge of the prairie; and, as the country filled up beyond, it was made the county-seat; and a store or two being established there, it became quite a market-place for the farmers on the prairie. On a cold morning in January of the third winter of his residence at Elmwood, Mr. Merritt, having some business which called him to the village, Miss Emma improved the opportunity to accompany him, for the purpose of exercising her taste in the purchase of a few articles from the store. The snow was too thin for sleighing, and the wagon was therefore rigged with two chairs and a cloak, together with a buffalo robe for the feet; and, all things being ready, they set off in high spirits. Emma succeeded to her utmost satisfaction in cheapening and securing the requisite bargains, and was ready to return, long before her father had completed his share of the business of the day. It was nearly night, and she was quite out of patience, when Mr. Merritt drove up with the one-horse wagon, to convey them homeward. “I am afraid you will have a storm, sir,” said the polite shopkeeper, bowing a farewell, and glancing at the clouds. “I hope not before we reach Elmwood,” replied Mr. Merritt, returning the salutation, and applying the whip. He cast an anxious eye overhead, and applied the whip more vigorously. Dark clouds had gradually overspread the sky, and were thickening every moment, while an occasional gust sweeping along the prairie, gave evident manifestation of an approaching storm. They had not gone half the distance, when a feathery snow-flake floated slowly down, and then another, and another. Now they came thicker and faster, and the darkness increased so much, that Mr. Merritt could hardly discern the road. “Emma, dearest, wrap your cloak closely, it will be very cold,” said he, urging his horse to greater speed. “I am very comfortable, now, father,” returned Emma; “are we not nearly home?” “I hope that we may be, for it will be a dreadful night.”