a loaf of bread, a ham, some coffee and sugar. Mrs. Lively sat down
in the kitchen on a wooden chair with a feeling of utter desolation in
her heart. Napoleon looked longingly at the loaf of bread. The doctor
flew round in a way that would have cheered anybody not foregone to
despondency. He brought in some cobs from the yard and kindled a fire
in the stove, filled the tea-kettle, and put some slices of ham to fry
and some coffee to boil.

"Go up stairs, dear," he said to Mrs. Lively, "and lie down while
I get supper ready. You are tired: I feel as smart as a new whip. I
haven't been a soldier for nothing: I'll give you some of the best
coffee you ever drank. Nappy, run across the street and see if you
can't get a cup of milk: I see the people have a cow. Won't you lie
down?" he continued to his wife. She looked so ineffably wretched that
his heart ached for her.

"I think I shall feel better if I do something," she said drearily;
"but," she continued, firing with something of her old spirit, "how in
the world is anybody to do anything here? Not even a dishcloth!"

"Oh, never mind," laughed the doctor, piling the dusty dishes in a
pan for washing, "we'll just set the crockery up in this cullender to
drain dry."

"We'd better turn hermits, go and winter in a cave, and be done with
it. How are we ever to live?"

"Why, my dear, I never felt so plucky in my life. We mustn't show the
white feather: we must prove ourselves worthy of Chicago. Come, now,
we'll work to get back to Chicago. We can live economically here, and