They were doing well in Illinois, on a large farm within two miles of a village, but he had visions of a bonanza near the setting sun.

Accordingly they started.

At the end of one month the baby died.

A piece of wood from the cradle was all they had to mark its lonely resting place.

With sad hearts they went on, and, in a few weeks, with grief for her child, her old home, her kindred and friends, the mother also died.