From one to the other went Lydia giving simple remedies, praying for them and doing all in her power to relieve their sufferings.
Once in a while the neighbors would come in and try to help her all they could, although they had their own sick ones at home to attend. Whenever they did come, they would say to her:
"Sister Knight, you can not keep that child; why do you cling so to him? You will displease our Father. Let him go, give him up, and his sufferings will be at an end."
"Oh I cannot think of such a thing!" replied the quiet woman. "Father Smith said in my blessing that my heart should not be pained because of the loss of my children. And I cannot, let him go because I feel that it is not the Lord's will that I should part with him."
On the Sunday following this, the child lay like a breathing skeleton. The skin drawn, the eyes glassy and the breath all but stopped.
The mother knelt over him in an agony of watchfulness.
"Oh Newel, what shall I do? He is sinking so fast. Tell me, advise me! I must do something, or he cannot live!"
The husband looked sadly from the sick bed where he lay, at his little child, but with more sorrow in his eyes for his distracted wife, and at last said:
"You can do no more. Give him up and ask God to soften this great blow to us both."
"Give him up," cried the mother, "give up my boy to the arms of the destroyer! It is impossible. I cannot give him up."