Morgan Pioneer History Binds Us Together inches deep. When the relief party found them thus, the scene of joy and thanksgiving could scarcely be described and angels from heaven could not have been more welcome. The foregoing history is some of the things witnessed bv this little girl, eight years old. Her father had two carts, which were fastened together and pulled. Sarah Augusta pushed hundreds of miles across the plains. Her mother had not been able to help with the carts, as she was not very well. After being rescued by the relief party they continued their journey. While camped at Echo canyon one night, after scraping away two feet of snow to make a place to pitch a tent, her mother gave birth to a baby girl and they named her Echo in memory of her birthplace. One of the relief corps contributed a part of his under linen to clothe the little stranger. That same night, seven of the emigrants died and were buried in one grave. In three days, they arrived in Salt Lake, November 27,1856. "We stayed in Salt Lake. We went to my uncle John Squires, father's youngest brother and stayed there till mother was stronger to be moved. Then Uncle Thomas Squires, father's oldest brother, came and took us to his place at Kaysville. He was a school teacher. He taught school all that summer to help us children. I went to his school for a little while. I was the oldest of twelve children. My mother had five children when she started on the plains. We lived in Kaysville for two years. Then we moved to the city, father moved into the Twentieth Ward. I lived in the Twentieth Ward for seven years. Then I married when I was seventeen years old to Charles J. Toone in the endowment house. My husband was called to Dixie, St. George. But he took sick and had to stay in St. George all that winter. He was a very sick man. Then in the spring, we came back in May, as his health was bad. Then we moved out on a farm at Croydon. At this time, I had a little boy. I had all of my family there, eleven children and we lived there for thirty- one years. I raised my family to men and women. While at Croydon, I was the first president of the YLMIA in our ward, organized by Eliza R. Snow, in 1879, which office I held for thirteen years." She had many severe illnesses in her lifetime, but through the Holy Priesthood her life was spared and she went on in her service of loving and giving. Her beautiful songs and kind gentle ways won for her many devoted friends. September 5,1932, when she was eighty-four years old she attended a Toone family reunion at the old home town of Croydon, Morgan County. She took part on the program by reciting a poem, one of her own compositions. The poem was The End of the Way. WHEN WE GET TO THE END OF THE WAY Written by Sarah Augusta Toone For the Old Folks Our lives are a wearisome journey We are sick with the dust and the heat. The rays of the sun beat upon us The briars are wounding our feet. But the city to which we are journeying Then the toil of the road will be nothing When we get to the end of the way. There are so many hills to climb upward Oftimes we are longing for rest. But the Father who appointed our pathway Knows just what is needful and best. We know in his word he has promised Our strength shall be as our day. And the toil of the road will be nothing When we get to the end of the way. He loves us too well to forsake us Or give us one trial too much. Tho this people have been persecuted But Satan can never claim much. By and by we shall see Him and hear Him, In the city of Enoch day. Then the toil of the road will be nothing When we get to the end of the way. When the last feeble step has been taken And the gates of the city appear And the beautiful songs of the angels Float out on our listing ear. And all that now seems so mysterious Will be plain and as clear as the day. Then the toil of the road will be nothing, When we get to the end of the way. Cooling fountains will be there for the thirsty. There are cordials for those who are faint. There are robes that are purer and whiter Than ever the fancy can paint. Then we'll strive to press hopefully onward Thinking oft through each weary day. And the toil of the road will be nothing When we get to the end of the way. '.'Oh