ployee,"
he said, speaking slowly, "and I have reported according to orders."

"Well, give us your name and go to work down at the lower works,"
suggested Mr. Smith.

"No, sir, I think not," he muttered, after a pause. "I am not staying in
this town any longer than I can help, I guess. I've lost two children
and they will be buried to-day."

"All right, my man, but if you want work we have plenty of it for you."

The reporting of names and these quiet mutual congratulations of the men
went on rapidly, but expected faces did not appear. This led Mr. Smith
to ask, "How about George Thompson? Is he alive?"

"I do not know," answered the man addressed. "I do not think so."

"Who do you know are alive?" asked Mr. Smith, turning to another man.
Mr. Smith never once asked who was dead.

"Well," answered the man speaking reflectively, "I'm pretty sure Frank
Smith is alive. John Dagdale is alive. Tom Sweet is alive, and I don't
know any more, for I've been away--at Nineveh." The speaker had been at
Nineveh looking for the body of his son. Not another word was said to
him.

"Say, boys," exclaimed Mr. Smith suddenly, a few minutes after he had
looked over the list, "Pullman hasn't reported yet."

"But Pullman's all right," said a man quickly, "I was up at his sister's
house last night and he was there. That's more than I can say of the
other men in Pullman's shift though," added the speaker in a low tone.
Mr. Short took this man aside, "That is a fact," said he, "yesterday I
knew of a family in which five out of six were lost. To-day I find out
there were twenty people in the house mostly our men and only three
escaped."

Each Thought the Other Dead.

Just then two men met at the door and fairly fell on each other's necks.
One wore a Grand Army badge and the other was a young fellow of
twenty-three or thereabouts. They had been fast friends in the same
department, and each thought the other dead. They knew no better till
they met at the office door. "Well, I heard your body had been found at
Nineveh," said the old man.

"And I was told you had been burned to death at the bridge," answered
the other. Then the two men solemnly shook hands and walked away
together.

A pale-faced woman with a shawl over her shoulders entered and stood at
the table. "My husband cannot report," she said simply, in almost a
whisper. "He worked for the Gautier Mill?" she was asked. She nodded,
bent forward and murmured something. The ma