Earthquake in the Early Morning

we’ll
lend
them to you,” said Jack.
    He and Annie handed their boots to the two boys.
    â€œThank you, thank you,” said Aunt Mary. She started crying again.
    The two boys put their new boots on. Then Peter whispered something to Andrew.
    Andrew held out the piece of wood to Jack and Annie.
    â€œHere’s something
we
can lend you,” he said.
    Jack and Annie read a poem the brothershad written on the piece of wood:

    â€œThanks,” said Annie.
    â€œIt’s a great gift,” said Jack. “We needed some hope.”
    â€œIt’s the only thing we can lend you,” said Andrew.
    â€œLend?” said Annie. She looked at Jack. “Oh, wow. They just gave us the special writing—
something to lend!
”
    Jack smiled. They could go home now.
    â€œYou should go to Golden Gate Park—that’s what a reporter told us,” he said to the boys and their aunt.
    â€œIs that where you’re going?” asked Aunt Mary. She had stopped crying at last and looked stronger.
    â€œWe have to go home to our parents,” said Annie.
    â€œWill you be safe?” asked the aunt.
    â€œYes. Once we’re home, we’ll be safe,” said Jack.
    â€œThanks for lending us your boots!” said Peter. “You’re good friends!”
    â€œ
You’re
good friends!” said Annie.
    â€œYou’ve helped us more than you know,” said Jack.
    â€œBe careful,” said Aunt Mary.
    â€œWe will!” said Jack and Annie.
    They waved as their new friends headed off to the park.
    Jack sighed.
    â€œReady?” he said.
    â€œYeah,” said Annie. “I guess we just go back the way we came.”
    Jack looked down the street. Smoke billowed up from the bottom of the hill.
    â€œThat might not be as easy as it sounds,” he said.

“We’d better be careful,” said Annie.
    They stepped in their sock feet over the broken cobblestones, trying not to cut themselves.
    They headed down the hillside. On their way, they passed policemen carrying stretchers with injured people on them.
    They passed soldiers directing all those trying to escape the fires.
    One man was trying to push a piano downthe street. Another man was wearing a bunch of hats, all piled on top of one another. A woman carried her three little dogs in a bag.
    â€œEveryone’s trying to save what’s important to them,” said Annie.
    â€œLike the librarian,” said Jack. “And us—we’re trying to save this sign.” He clutched the piece of wood.
    When they were halfway down the hill, a soldier on a horse galloped in front of them.
    â€œGet off the street! We’re setting off dynamite!” he shouted.
    â€œDynamite?” said Jack.
    â€œYikes,” said Annie.
    People started running in all directions. Jack and Annie looked around wildly for a safe place to go. Jack saw an alley.
    â€œThere!” he said.
    They ran into the alley and crouched on the ground.
    Jack reached into his bag for their research book. He looked in the index for the word “dynamite.” He found it. Then he turned to the right page number and read:
    After the fires started, the mayor had an idea. He thought that if some buildings were destroyed, the sparks would not fly from one wooden roof to the next. He ordered some buildings to be blown up by dynamite. His plan did not work. The firestorm raged from building to building, from street to street.
    Firestorm,
Jack thought. The word sounded terrible.
    Just as he put the book away, a huge blast of dynamite shook the ground.
    Dust and dirt flew everywhere, even down the alley.
    Jack clutched their sign with one hand. He covered his eyes with the other. Annie did the same.
    Another huge blast rocked the ground.
    Jack tasted grit in his mouth. He looked at Annie. She was caked with dust from head to toe. He looked down at himself. He was just as dirty as she was.
    â€œHey, would you look at those two!” someone said. “Now,
that’s
a story!”
    Jack looked up. Betty, the newspaper reporter, and Fred, the photographer, were standing in front of them.
    Even though they were also covered with dirt, Fred was setting up his camera. And Betty was taking notes in her notebook.
    â€œHold up your sign, sonny,” said Betty.
    Too stunned to say anything, Jack held up the sign with the poem about hope.
    Fred took a picture.

    Another dynamite blast shook the ground.
    â€œCome with us!