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."