  I had been spending the winter, as you know, with my sister in San Francisco, going to school, and I was expecting to come home in a few days when the thing happened. I was awakened by being flung violently out of bed across the room, where all the light furniture, such as chairs and all loose things, followed me. I tried to get up, but I could not stand, the house shook so. It seemed like a ship in a rough sea. In a minute the plastering began to fall, and I feared it would fall on my head, so by hard work I dragged myself to the door, which I tried to open. At first it was jammed so tight together that I could not stir it, but the next shake of the house flung it wide open, and I crept into the hall, where I found the whole family hurrying out of their rooms, all in nightclothes, of course, and scared most to death. “We must get out of the house before the walls fall,” said my brother-in-law, helping his wife down the stairs, which swayed and tottered as if they would fall, every minute. We all followed them in such a hurry that I don’t remember how I got to the bottom. I only remember finding myself on the sidewalk in my nightdress, barefooted and bareheaded, of course. We did not think how we looked; the street was full of people, many of them as little dressed as we, and all hurrying to get out of the streets, where any minute the houses might fall on them. Our apartment was in a large apartment house in a street full of tall buildings, and when I looked up at them I saw them rock and bend towards each other, so that it seemed as if they would fall together and crush us all. My first trouble was getting separated from my sister and her husband, in the confusion of the crowd. I soon found myself alone among strangers. I tried to turn back to find them, but everybody was going the other way and I couldn’t move a step, so I had to go with the crowd. I was pushed and hurried on with the rest towards a park at the end of the street, feeling desolate enough, you may be sure. Strange things I saw on the way; none of the people more than half dressed, and many of them just as they got out of bed, but one and all, except myself, carrying some of their possessions. Some had armfuls of clothes which they had snatched up as they ran, and they kept dropping shoes and light things, so that the street was littered with them and I was constantly stumbling over them; some had an armful of books or papers; others carried pieces of china or silver; many had satchels or suit-cases, and one or two were dragging trunks. A great many people had children; some holding one and dragging one or two others; more than one I saw carrying sick persons unable to walk. It was curious to see the number of pets that were being carried; birds, of course, many in cages, but some in the hands—such as parrots. One woman had three cages of canaries, which she had the greatest difficulty in holding; another had a birdcage in one hand and a great cat in the other arm. There was no end to the small dogs in arms—barking and howling, most of them; but the cats were struggling as if scared out of their wits. Sometimes a bird or a cat would break away and disappear at once in the crowd, and I wondered where the poor things went. But many were carried safely, I am sure, for the park, where we all—thousands of us—spent the day and night, seemed to have almost as many animals as people. In the park I found the baby. She was sitting on the ground, holding in her arms a big cat. She was smiling and talking to “Kitty,” and did not seem at all frightened by the crowd and the confusion around her. I thought her mother must have left her for a minute, and I sat down beside her to keep watch that no harm came to her. There I sat all that day and night, but no one came to claim her. She could not tell me anything, of course, but she took kindly to me. Indeed, she seemed to adopt me from the first minute, and she was so sweet I couldn’t bear to leave her. She never once cried except when she got very hungry, and when she found, in the morning, that her cat had gone. In the park I found a baby ... and I sat down beside it. In the park I found a baby ... and I sat down beside it. I had, after the first attempt, given up going about looking for my sister. I knew she would be looking for me, and I could not bear to leave the baby, as I said. Through that long night I sat watching the city burn, holding in my arms the dear little thing, who slept through it all. I was so excited that I almost forgot that I was not dressed. Many people around me were in the same plight, but it was a warm night, so that we did not suffer. But how alone I did feel! I did not know whether Belle and Harry were alive, nor how I should ever get home. It seemed as if we should all be burned up, anyway. The park was almost as crowded as a city; people everywhere around me; some lying asleep, tired out, on the bare ground; others mourning over their losses, and others guarding the few things they had saved. One woman near me had two pillow-cases full of things, which she sat on all night, and another had a bedquilt, which she spread out for her four children to lie on. It’s very queer, but I seem to forget about a good deal of the time the next day, for I can hardly remember how long it was when, after hours of walking, it seemed to me, I reached the place where food was being given out, the baby in my arms, of course. And not until I had eaten a piece of bread and seen her nibbling on one, too, did I seem to come to myself and rouse myself to see what I could do. All this time baby was still mourning her lost kitty, and trying to take every cat she saw. It was wonderful how many people had cats with them; some held by a string, some in birdcages, but many held in arms. When the people got food I noticed that they always seemed to share with their pets. There were a great many dogs, but they were not so wild as the cats; they stayed by their friends. There were lots and lots of canaries in cages, and parrots and other large birds, some in cages and some held in hands or seated on the shoulders of their owners. After having something to eat and getting really waked up, I began to think what I should do. My first thought was to try to get over to Oakland, where we had friends, so I started off towards the ferry. My feet were blistered and sore, and it was hard to walk; my hair was flying every way, for of course my braids had come out and I had no comb or brush. I must have looked like a crazy creature. As I came past a wagon in which a woman was distributing clothes, she noticed me and spoke to me. I had not seen that she had clothes. She called out, “See here, my girl! I think I have a bundle for you,” and she put a large package in my hands, marked, “To be given to some one girl in need.” “You look like the one for whom this was intended,” she said kindly, as I took the package, “and I think I can give you something for the baby, too,” she went on. She did not find any clothes suitable, but she gave me a white flannel petticoat to wrap round her. Then I borrowed a knife from a man who was cutting bread, and cut armholes, and slipped the petticoat over her. The band came around her shoulders, and her nightgown covered her neck and arms. She did look too cute for anything in her odd dress. As soon as I could find a rather quiet place under a low tree—for I was still in the park—I opened my bundle. I wish I could know the woman who made up that package, I should like to have her know what a godsend it was; why, it held a complete outfit for a girl of my size, from shoes and stockings up to a hat. Nothing had been forgotten—underclothes—towel—soap—comb—pins—handkerchief—even ribbons to tie the hair. Above all, a comfortable dress of some gray goods, which fitted me pretty well. It didn’t take me long to put them on, to comb my hair, and wash myself and baby with the towel wet in a pond, and then I began to feel more like myself. With both of us comfortably dressed I started again with fresh courage for the ferry to Oakland. I had to go a very roundabout way, so many streets were closed because of the fires raging everywhere. I haven’t said much about the fires, but it seemed to me the whole world was burning up. I am sure I walked miles, and not knowing that part of the city very well, I guess I walked more than I needed to. As I was passing wearily down one of the streets I happened to glance over the other side, and saw my brother-in-law. He was hurrying the other way, going out towards the park, looking for me. I cried out, “Harry!” He turned, looked over, but seeing only a well-dressed girl with a child in her arms, was rushing, on when I called out again. “Harry! don’t you know me? I’m Kate!” Then he hurried over, perfectly astounded. “Why, Kate!” he cried, “where did you get those clothes? Did you bring them from the house? And whose baby is that? Thank God I have found you! Belle is nearly crazy about you!” Of course I told my story as we hurried to the ferry. He did not object to the baby; he fell in love with her as I had, and neither of us dreamed of leaving her, and he carried her himself. He told me that he and my sister, after looking in vain for me, and suffering agonies about me, had managed to get over the ferry that first day, and were with friends in Oakland. As soon as he got Belle safely through he had come back to look for me. He had great trouble to get back, for people were not allowed to land in the city. He had to hire a man who had a small boat to bring him over. He had been roaming the streets ever since—that was a whole day and another night, you know. He had brought from Oakland a raincoat to put over me, the only thing that could be found, our friends having already given everything they had to destitute people. Even my sister, he said, was not more than half dressed. The raincoat, which he held on his arm, I did not need, and when we came upon a lady not even so well dressed as I had been, I proposed to give it to her. She took it with sobs and tears of thanks. Learning that she had friends in Oakland, Harry offered to have her join us, but she was looking for her family and would not go. You can’t imagine what crowds were packing the ferry boats. We had to wait hours before we could get on one. Such a jam I never saw. I should never have got over alone. I had to hang on to Harry’s arm with all my strength, while he held baby up high so that she should not be crushed. It was fearful! On the boat were more strange sights. I saw several women with big hats on, and nothing else but nightclothes; but queerest were men in similar costume with hats on their heads—they did look too funny for anything. I saw girls with dolls in their arms, and some with cats and dogs and parrots. A good many women had Japanese kimonos, and others were loaded with jewelry, chains and bracelets, and there were people wrapped like Indians, in blankets and sheets they had snatched from their beds. Oh, I can never tell you half the strange things I saw on that boat! When we got to our friends in Oakland we found the house full, and my sister had been almost wild about me. She was surprised enough to see me well dressed, and with baby, too. Of course none of us had any money, and our friends had given away all they happened to have out of the bank at the time, so we had to stay there a few days. The railroads carried people free to Los Angeles, and there my brother-in-law could get money and buy clothes, but the cars were so crowded that it was two or three days before we could get a chance to go, and when we did get there we stayed a few days to prepare for our journey home. Belle came with me and baby, but Harry went back to San Francisco to see about starting business again. Belle wants to keep baby herself, unless her parents appear, but I can’t bear to give her pup, though I suppose it would be ridiculous for a schoolgirl to adopt a baby, and mother such an invalid that she couldn’t have the care of her. Isn’t she sweet, though? “She’s a precious pet,” said Mrs Crawford, holding her closely in her arms. “I should dearly love to keep her myself!” “Oh, do!” cried Kristy eagerly, “that is, if Kate’ll give her up. What’s her name, Kate?” “Of course I don’t know her real name,” said Kate; “but I think I shall call her Francesca, after the place where I found her.” “That’ll be good,” said Kristy. But now Uncle Tom interrupted, taking the sleepy baby in his arms. “Miss Francesca ought to be in bed long ago, so we must say good-night, everybody,” and he started off. Kristy cried after him, “Good-night, Uncle Tom, and thank you for the fine ending to my Rainy Day Picnic.” By Olive Thorne Miller THE BIRD OUR BROTHER. 12mo, $1.25 net. Postage 11 cents. HARRY’S RUNAWAY AND WHAT CAME OF IT. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25. WHAT HAPPENED TO BARBARA. 12mo, $1.25. KRISTY’S RAINY DAY PICNIC. Illustrated in color. 12mo, $1.25. KRISTY’S SURPRISE PARTY. Illustrated in color. 12mo, $1.25. KRISTY’S QUEER CHRISTMAS. With colored frontispiece. 12mo, $1.25. WITH THE BIRDS IN MAINE. 16mo, $1.10 net. Postpaid, $1.20. TRUE BIRD STORIES FROM MY NOTE-BOOKS. With a colored frontispiece and illustrations by Louis Agassiz Fuertes. Square 12mo, $1.00, net. Postpaid, $1.08; also School Edition, 60 cents, net. THE FIRST BOOK OF BIRDS. With many Illustrations, including 8 full-page colored Plates. Square 12mo, $1.00; also School Edition, 60 cents, net. THE SECOND BOOK OF BIRDS: Bird Families. Illustrated with 24 full-page pictures, eight of which are in color, after drawings by Louis Agassiz Fuertes. Square 12mo, $1.00, net. Postpaid, $1.10. UPON THE TREE-TOPS. With 10 Illustrations by J. Carter Beard. 16mo, $1.25. A BIRD-LOVER IN THE WEST. 16mo, $1.25. LITTLE BROTHERS OF THE AIR. 16mo, $1.25. BIRD-WAYS. 16mo, $1.25; also in Riverside School Library, 16mo, half leather, 60 cents, net. IN NESTING TIME. 16mo, $1.25. FOUR-HANDED FOLK. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.25; also in Riverside Library for Young People, 16mo, 75 cents. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Transcriber’s Note: Variations in hyphenated words have been retained as in the original publication. On page 117 an open quotation mark has been added before This is something new.” |
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