In another moment she was on her way to the Chicago, Burlington and
Quincy ticket-office to get the pass countersigned. At three o'clock
she reached her quarters with the paper, having been absent seven
hours.

As the pass was good for three days only, despatch was necessary in
getting matters into shape and in leaving the city. Dr. Lively pawned
his watch--a fine gold repeater--for twenty dollars, and the next day,
with an aching heart but smiling face, turned his back on the city
whose bold challenges, splendid successes and dramatic career made it
to him the most fascinating spot, the most dearly loved, this side of
heaven.

In due time these Chicago sufferers were landed at Montrose, a
miserable little village in Iowa, at the head of the Keokuk Rapids.
Just across the wonderful river lay the historical Nauvoo, fair and
beautiful as a poet's dream, though the wooded slopes retained but
shreds of their autumn-dyed raiment. Mrs. Lively was pleased, the
doctor was enthusiastic. They forgot that "over the river" is always
beautiful. They crossed in a skiff at a rapturous rate, but when they
had made the landing the disenchantment began. A two-horse wagon was
waiting for passengers, and in this our friends embarked. The driver
had heard they were coming, and knew the house that had been engaged
for them--the Woodruff house, built by one of the old Mormon elders.
The streets through which they drove were silent, with scarcely a
sound or sight of human life. It all looked strange and queer, unlike
anything they had ever seen. It was neither city nor village. The
houses, city-like, all opened on the street, or had little front
yards of city proportions, and to almost every one was attached the
inevitable vineyard. It was indeed a city, with nineteen out of every