"My dear," said the doctor, "don't worry about the future. I'll take care of it some way, if the fire will ever let us out of our present prison. We have our lives, our hands and our heads, and we must thank God."
"Heads! I feel as if I'd lost mine. I think sometimes that I'm insane."
"Oh no: you ain't of the kind that go insane."
"I suppose you mean by that I've got no feelings, no sensibility."
"No, I don't mean that;" and Dr. Lively became silent, as though it was useless to prolong the conversation.
They were sitting together on the ground, she leaning against a headstone.
"Let me sit there against that stone, and you put your head on my lap," the doctor proposed.
"What in the world is the use of it?" she said. "Do you think I'm deaf that I could sleep with all this moaning around me? Just hear it! One would think all these graves had just been made, and that all these people were chief mourners for the dead."
"The strangest bivouac ever seen under heaven!" said the doctor, looking around. "In a life liable to such vicissitudes," he continued softly, "it is important that we possess our spirits."
"Oh, for pity's sake, don't preach! What's the use?" said the wife.