"How sad," said Mrs. Schwarmer, in the even tone which made it difficult to tell whether she meant the uncle's sickness or the father's and mother's absence from home. "Mr. Bombs is in Chicago, too. He went there to meet Mr. Pang, the celebrated Pyrotechnic King. Chicago is to celebrate its centennial before long, and Mr. Pang is to do wonders there. A _fac simile_ of old Fort Dearborn will be built on purpose for him to burn down, and he will give a realistic representation of the "Great Chicago Fire" by covering the roofs of all the highest and largest buildings in the city with Roman lights, which are to be lighted all at once and burn for hours and hours, and make it appear as though the city were really being burned up again. No doubt it will be splendid. Did Mr. Bombs say anything about it in the letter you got this morning, Adelaide? I was too busy to read it." "He didn't say he'd seen Pang himself, but the Pang Co. are making great preparations for the burning," said Adelaide, "and I think it's horrid. It's bad enough to have a city half burned up by accident; but to pay thousands of dollars to have it burned up in play is silly and sinful and I'm going to tell Bombs so when he comes back." "Hush, Adelaide," said Mrs. Schwarmer, authoritatively. "You are too young to express such strong opinions." "My poor uncle lost his all in that terrible fire, his wife and children even. It broke him down utterly. He has never seen a well day since," said Ruth. "To him even the shadow of such an experience would be dreadful." "Indeed! what a pity!" said Mrs. Schwarmer in the same even tone that left one in doubt as to where her pity came in, as she went into an adjoining room to have another consultation with the Librarian, after which she rustled out to her carriage and drove swiftly away. "I am going to take you home in my phaeton when you are ready to go," said Adelaide; "but you must see the rare books first." "Certainly," replied Ruth, "and I would like to do something to help you, and perhaps I can." "It would help me to have you here, to see you and talk with you," replied Adelaide; "but you must not climb or reach or handle the heavy books. It isn't necessary. I can climb like a cat, and I know some nice boys who would handle them as carefully as you or I or mamma. It's all moonshine, what the Librarian says about them. They will have to be handled by anybody who chooses, if they are going to be of any use to the town." "Ralph would be delighted to help--help climb," laughed Ruth, "I know he would. Then how about the catalogues? I can write fairly well--so my husband says?" "Oh I'm so glad, Mrs. Ruth. Pardon, let me call you Ruth. It's such a pretty name. I write a horrid hand. Besides, I want your company. Mamma is going to be awfully busy up to the house, and Mr. Bombs is coming back in a few days. May I drive around for you every morning at ten o'clock?"