At the close of the ninth day the physician informed the parents that he could do no more for their child. When Mrs. Parker received this intelligence, there was little change in her external appearance, except that her pale, anxious face grew slightly paler. She tried to say in her heart, as she endeavored to lift her spirit upward--"Thy will be done." But she failed in the pious effort. It was too much to take from her this darling child; this companion of her loneliness; this blossom so gently unfolding and loading the desert air with soul-refreshing sweetness. It was too much--she bowed her spirit in meek endurance, but she could not say--"Thy will be done." Little Rachel died. The father dug her grave near by their humble dwelling; he made the rough coffin in which they enclosed her; and then bore out the body and laid it in the ground, while the weeping mother stood by his side. Sole mourners were they at these sad funereal rites. No holy words from the book of consolation were read, no solemn hymn was sung--all was silence, heart-oppressing silence. On the succeeding day Parker had to go for the physician again. His next child was taken sick. His wife was far from being well, and he felt strangely. After the doctor had prescribed for the family, and was about leaving, he took Mr. Parker to an eminence overlooking the river that bounded his farm on the western side, and spoke to him thus: "My friend, do you see that river, with more than half of its muddy bed exposed to the hot sun? Your farm lies upon its eastern side, and the poisonous miasma that arises from its surface and banks is steadily blown upon you by the south-westerly and westerly winds of summer. Is it any wonder that your family have become sick? I wouldn't live here if you would give me fifty farms like this! Already a whole family have died on this spot, and your's will be the next if you do not leave immediately. You have lost one child; let that suffice. Flee from this place as hurriedly as Lot fled from Sodom. Medical aid I solemnly believe to be useless while you remain here. The village of A-- is healthy. Remove your wife and children there immediately. Do not wait for a single day. It is the only hope for their lives." A warning like this was not a thing to be let go by unheeded. Parker promptly announced to his wife what the doctor had communicated, and ended by saying-- "We must go at once." "And leave Rachel?" she returned, sadly. "Our staying here cannot do her any good," replied the husband, in a choking voice. "I know--I know," quickly answered the mother. "I am weak and foolish. Yes--yes--we had better go."