and many others. There they were in that old deserted cemetery, a
company of strangers, not one of whom had ever seen the other's face
before, exchanging their confidences and mingling their tears.

All day long the fugitives poured into this strange encampment, and by
night they numbered thirty thousand. There was shouting, swearing,
laughing, weeping, waiting. There was pallid stupefaction, sullen
silence, faces of black despair--every kind of face except the happy
variety. The air was thick with frightful stories of arson; of men
hanged to lamp-posts; of incendiaries hurled headlong into the fires
they had kindled; of riot, mobs and lawlessness. There was scarcely a
suburb that was not reported to be burning up, and prairie-fires were
said to be raging. The fate of Sodom was believed to have overtaken
Chicago and her dependent suburbs.

"There's no safety here," said Mrs. Lively nervously as the flames
approached the cemetery. "Do let's get out of this horrid place. What in
the world do you want to stay here for?"

"My dear," replied the doctor with a twinkle, "I don't want to stay
here. We are not certainly safe, but I don't know of any place where our
chances would be better."

"Let's go down to the beach, get on a propeller and go out into the
lake."

"But, my dear, 'the Sands' and the lake shore are already thronged. It
is said that people were lying in the lake, and others standing up to
their necks in water--women with children in their arms. The propellers
have doubtless taken off fugitives to their entire capacity."

In the mean time the fire came on. Everywhere over the dead leaves and
dry grass and piles of household goods, and against the headboards and
wooden crosses, the brands were falling; and the people were running and
dodging, and fighting the incipient fires.

"Oh, we shall be burned to death here: I knew all the time we should,"
cried Mrs. Lively, dodging to the right to escape a torch, and then
running backward over a grave, beyond the reach of a second. Dr. Lively
stamped out the fires. "What under the sun are we going to do?"
persisted the lady.

"Dodge the brands--that's your work--and look out that Napoleon doesn't
get on fire in one of his dreams."

"Look there!" said Napoleon.

"Look where?" cried Mrs. Lively, whirling around.

"There."

"Where is _there_?"

"Dead-house."

"The dead-house! Good Heavens! it's afire!"

"This fire-demon," said the doctor, "isn't going to l