Chapter VI

The story of prosperity is so much easier to tell, and in truth is so much shorter than the tale of adversity and suffering, that we may well hasten over the remaining five years of their waiting in that far-distant land.

Everything prospered. But about the second year William's health commenced to break down. Gradually he became more and more incapable of work, until at last, one day, he came in and throwing himself down, he exclaimed, "Mary, I have done my last day's work." It was even so. But God did not fail them.

In 1875, two men came up to the door, and asked for food and shelter. When they announced themselves as Elders from Utah, Mary's hands were outstretched and her heart filled with great joy, even as her eyes ran over with happy tears.

The Elders were Jacob Miller of Farmington, and David Cluff of Provo, since dead. A month or two afterwards, Elder Charles Burton and John M. Young of Salt Lake City, also were warmly welcomed at the farm.

William's illness was Bright's disease of the kidneys, and he was slowly dying.

They left Sydney on the 7th of April, 1877, for Utah, six souls in all, William and Mary, their children Caroline, Louise and Hyrum, with the one grandchild, Lavinia.

On their arrival they went at once to Provo. William had much more to bear of poverty and suffering, than any one could have dreamed, even after their arrival here. Mary went out washing to eke out their store, (they had barely ten dollars left,) and the two girls got positions in the factory.

Within a year, Caroline married Eleazer Jones, and Louisa married Abraham Wild. The last named couple live near their mother now.

Caroline has moved with her husband to Arizona. Mary's eldest daughter, Mary Ann Mayberry, also came with her husband and family to Utah in 1879.

I would not linger if I could on the severe suffering, and painful death of William, just twelve months from the day they left home.

When the sad day came on which he left them all, in spite of his awful agony, he called his only boy Hyrum, who was then thirteen years old, and stretching out the thin, wasted hands he blessed him fervently, and said, "You are going to be a good boy to your mother, I think?"

"Yes, father, I will," answered the lad, manfully.

"My boy, I can do nothing, no work in the Temple for her, nor for myself; I have got to go."

"If you have got to go, father," tremblingly said the boy, "I will do all that lies in my power."

"Remember mother, Hyrum, she has been good to us, and worked hard for us all her days." Then again he blessed him, and soon the peaceful end came, and the poor aching frame was at rest.

A year or two of hard, constant work at the wash tub passed away, and one night the personage who had visited Mary before came to her in a dream and said:

"Mary, the time has now come for you to go and do the work for yourself and your husband. If you will go, you shall soon have a home afterwards."

Here was a command and a promise. Hyrum had shot up and was a tall, quiet-mannered young man, and had gone out on a surveying expedition, carrying chains for the men, to earn some money. His great ambition was to get a home for his mother.

On his return from the surveying expedition he put nearly $100.00 into his mother's hands. A day or two after he said, "Mother I would like to go down to St. George and do Father's work; you know I promised him to do it as soon as I could, and this is the first money I have ever had. I am sixteen years old, and if the Bishop thinks I am worthy, I would like to go."

Mary quickly told her dream, which she had hesitated mentioning, fearing he would not like it, but he believed it.

"Mother, I will go this very night," he said when she had concluded her story, "and see what the Bishop says."

So down he went, and Bishop Booth very willingly told him to go, and he felt pleased to give the necessary recommends.

They went and had a most glorious time, and on her return Mary went to washing again. But mark! In less than one year from that time they had bargained for a place, and got two little rooms built upon it.

If you come to Provo, go and see dear old Sister Chittenden; she is sixty-six years old, and quite a hearty, happy little woman yet.

She meditatively pushes aside her neat, black lace cap from her ear, with her finger, as I ask what to say to you in farewell, and with mild but tearful eyes, says:

"Tell them for me, always to be obedient to the counsel of those who are over them; and obey the whisperings of God, trusting to Him for the result! And then, God bless them all! Amen."