e, 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,