When she returned she was surprised to see that both Mrs.Parkinson and the babe were gone.

Everyone turned out to search for her.

I ran to the smokehouse, the barn, the stable in quick order, and not finding her a search was made for tracks, and we soon discovered that she had passed over a few steps leading over a fence and down an incline toward the spring house, and there fallen, face downward, on the floor of the house which was covered only a few inches deep with water lay the unfortunate woman and her child, both dead.

This was doubly distressing to Mr.
Parkinson and saddened the whole community.

Both were buried in one grave, not far from the house, and a more impressive funeral I never beheld.
I now worked awhile again with Mr.Henry and we sold our wood to Bill Park, a collier, who made and sold charcoal to the smelters of lead ore.
When the ice was gone in the streams, Henry and I shouldered our guns and bundles, and made our way to Milwaukee, where we arrived in the course of a few days.