By GRACE MILLER

Marie Raber sits in a bentwood rocker, working her needle in and out of the hem of a tiny white dress. The shouts of children can be heard faintly down at the barnyard, where six or seven young cousins are playing a final rousing game of Rabbit as dusk closes in. From the kitchen come the rattle of dishes and the quiet voices of Marie's sister-in-law, sister and mother as they wash up after supper. The front room where Marie sits is silent except for the labored, irregular breathing of her gross dawddy (grandfather) as he lies in his hospital bed with his eyes closed. Marie sets her sewing aside to smooth the covers and tuck them more carefully around his still figure. At 86 years of age, Daniel Miller is failing fast.

Daniel has lived a long and productive life. After his marriage in 1936, he farmed 100 acres, milking cows and feeding pigs. He and his wife Lizzie raised eight children who, in turn, presented them with 52 grandchildren. Including 17 great-grandchildren, Daniel and Lizzie's descendants total 77, with three more babies scheduled to arrive before fall. Daniel and Lizzie long ago sold the farm to their son Levi and his wife and built a small dawddy haus ("Grandpa house") beside the big old farmhouse. Late last winter, when Daniel's deteriorating health made it impossible for Lizzie to continue caring for him, Levi and Maryann brought a hospital bed into their living room and took over his care. Daniel has spent the past three months lying beside the big front window, watching birds feeding and squirrels chasing each other merrily through the trees. He is at peace with God, his family and his community. His children and grandchildren take turns sitting at his bedside, chatting about old times or sharing the latest news when the old man is awake, or lovingly watching over him when his weakness or the medication prescribed by his doctor puts him into a doze.

As Marie gently rocks and puts the final stitches into her handiwork, her mind travels back in time, to the happy childhood she can recall growing up in this very house. As far back as she can remember, Grandma and Grandpa Miller were a part of her life. Grandma taught her to work in the garden, patiently pointing out the weeds and helping her to identify the vegetable plants that would feed the family all winter. Grandpa scolded Marie when he caught her teasing her little sister, then slipped her Snickerdoodles out of Grandma's cookie jar.

With a pang, Marie remembers the terrible time, more than 12 years ago, when two of her little brothers were killed in a buggy accident. Levi had gone to the Mount Hope sale to see if he could buy another heifer or two, taking six-year-old David and four-year-old Steven with him. As he reined in the horse to check for traffic before turning at an intersection, a speeding car crested the hill behind them and, unable to stop in time, plowed into the back of the buggy. An English neighbor who witnessed the accident called an ambulance, but the ambulance attendants knew immediately on their arrival that it was too late for the little boys. Levi was taken to the hospital with a concussion and several broken bones, and the horse had to be put down.

Marie remembers the two small pine boxes set out on sawhorses in the front room, and the crowds of silent friends, relatives and community members who sat with her mother for two days and nights. She can still hear the ragged sobs behind closed bedroom doors, and the mournful creak of the wheels as the closed boxes were taken away on a wagon to the Amish cemetery two miles down the road. Marie's grandparents counseled their children to forgive the careless driver, who was a visitor from another part of the state and did not realize the caution that must be exercised in an area where a slow-moving buggy or farm tractor might be just over every hill or right around every blind curve. But Marie still finds it painful to visit the plain little white stone markers, with only the names and the all-too-brief lifespans engraved in simple lettering on the front.

Marie sighs and folds up the white fabric. Her husband will be arriving soon to take her home and she looks forward to giving her own three children an extra hug before tucking them in for the night.

It is only two days later when the message comes from Marie's parents: Daniel Miller has passed away quietly in his sleep. They are saddened, but comforted by the knowledge that Daniel is with God. A local English undertaker has already removed the body with his hearse, and is preparing it for burial. An Amish cabinetmaker will supply the simple but beautifully crafted box, staining it a dark cherry, and coating it with several layers of varnish, carefully sanded to a glossy shine. The body is returned to the home of Levi and Maryann, where the open coffin rests on sawhorses, lanterns constantly burning at head and foot while neighbors, friends and community members call to pay their respects to the family.

On Thursday the church family gathers for the funeral in Levi's big barn. For about two hours, three ministers take turns preaching the Bible from Creation to Revelation, giving testimony to Daniel's humble and obedient life and pleading with those still following the pathway of sin to give their lives to God. The congregation sits quietly on backless benches, women on one side and men on the other, as they do for a church services.

Then the coffin is loaded on the back of a wagon and a long line of buggies follows it to the Amish cemetery. Rows of plain granite tablets mark the spaces where many of Daniel's family members " including the two little grandsons " are already buried. The minister prays and gives another brief message over the open grave. The upper section of the divided lid is lifted to allow relatives to say a final good-bye to the patriarch of their family. Finally, the lid is closed and fastened with screws. The coffin is lowered into the grave with ropes and, with all the family and congregation gathered around, young men begin shoveling in the dirt that has been piled nearby. When the soil is tamped down and mounded over, the congregation files out of the graveyard and back into their waiting buggies.

A dozen women of the church have been hard at work in Maryann's kitchen, cooking and organizing the contributions of food brought in by mourners. Just as the congregation returns from the gravesite, a lunch is being set out on long tables in the back yard. Starting with the elders of the congregation, everyone files by to fill their plates and find a place to sit on the lawn, in the house, or in the barn. The afternoon is spent in fellowship, with some tears, many chuckles and even some loud laughter as family members and friends fondly recall Daniel's life.

Marie Raber, her husband and children leave a little earlier than most. If all goes as expected, Marie will be bringing a new little life into the family in a few months, adding to the line that the Millers can trace back to an ancestor's arrival in America in the late eighteenth century.

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord," Marie quotes from the Old Testament as the horse turns toward home. And so the endless circle of life in the Amish community continues.