came toiling
out over a pile of brick, covered with ashes and dust, her hair
dishevelled and hands grimy, but she was perfectly happy.

"See," said she, "I found half a dozen cups and saucers as good as
new. They are fine china and they will be worth more than ever now."

I asked her if she needed them.

"Oh, dear no!" said she, laughing. "I live over in Oakland. I just
wanted them to keep as souvenirs!"

Some hard-hearted jokers were abroad also. Humor dies hard, and
perhaps it is just as well that it does, for the six men who started
the bogus bread lines would have needed much of it if the soldiers had
caught them.

The people of San Francisco had become accustomed to eating out of the
hand. They put in long hours every day standing in line waiting for
something to be given out. Many of them did not know what was being
distributed, but they knew it would be good, so they fell into line
and waited.

There were thousands of people in San Francisco who fell into a line
every time they saw one. They had the bread line habit.

This impressed itself on these six men, for they went about the town
and every time they found a promising spot they lined up and looked
expectant. Men came and fell in behind. Women with baskets joined the
brigade and in ten minutes these sidewalk comedians had a string a
block long behind them and more coming every minute. Then the six
jokers slipped away and left the confiding ones to wait. It was a mean
trick.

The stranger and the wayfarer was made to feel at home anywhere in
Oakland and the luxury of sleeping within four walls was not denied to
any one. Only a few hardy men who were willing to sacrifice themselves
for the good of the weaklings went without covering. The people
stripped the portieres and hangings from their walls, tore up their
carpets and brought in every spare piece of cloth which would do for a
night's covering. The women and children who preferred to stay indoors
and on hard floors were taken care of in the public halls, the school
buildings, and the basements of the churches. Beds were improvised of
sheets and hay and the weaker refugees, who were beginning to go down
under the strain, slept comfortably. Oakland did nobly. People shared
their beds with absolute strangers, and while the newcomers in the
park camps were dead to the world, those who came the day before
cheered up considerably. One camp of young men got out a banjo and
sang for the entertainment of