In the year 1818 a mysterious epidemic passed over the region, working
havoc with men and cattle. It was called the "milk-sick." Just what it
was physicians are unable to determine, but it was very destructive.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow were attacked. They were removed, for better
care, to the home of the Lincolns, where they shortly died. By this
time Mrs. Lincoln was down with the same scourge. There was no doctor
to be had, the nearest one being thirty-five miles away. Probably it
made no difference. At all events she soon died and the future
president passed into his first sorrow.

The widowed husband was undertaker. With his own hands he "rived" the
planks, made the coffin, and buried Nancy Hanks, that remarkable woman.
There was no pastor, no funeral service. The grave was marked by a
wooden slab, which, long years after, in 1879, was replaced by a stone
suitably inscribed.

A traveling preacher known as Parson Elkin had occasionally preached in
the neighborhood of the Lincolns in Kentucky. The young boy now put to
use his knowledge of writing. He wrote a letter to the parson inviting
him to come over and preach the funeral sermon. How he contrived to get
the letter to its destination we do not know, but it was done. The
kind-hearted preacher cheerfully consented, though it involved a long
and hard journey. He came at his earliest convenience, which was some
time the next year.

There was no church in which to hold the service. Lincoln never saw a
church building of any description until he was grown. But the
neighbors to the number of about two hundred assembled under the trees,
where the parson delivered the memorial sermon.