In the room above the kitchen, at that moment, something happened. Perhaps the old hands slipped in their eagerness, or perhaps the old eyes judged a distance wrongly. Whatever it was, there came a puff of smoke, a sputter, and a flare of light; then red-yellow flames leaped to the flimsy shade at the window, and swept on to the century-seasoned timbers above. With a choking cry, Huldah turned and stumbled across the room to the stairway. Out at the barn door Cyrus, too, saw the flare of light at the window, and he, too, turned with a choking cry. They met at the foot of the stairway. "Huldah!" "Cyrus!" It was as if one voice had spoken, so exactly were the words simultaneous. Then Cyrus cried: "You ain't hurt?" "No, no! Quick--the things--we must get them out!" Obediently Cyrus turned and began to work; and the first thing that his arms tenderly bore to safety was an oblong brown-paper parcel. From all directions then came the neighbors running. The farming settlement was miles from a town or a fire-engine. The house was small, and stood quite by itself; and there was little, after all, that could be done, except to save the household goods and gods. This was soon accomplished, and there was nothing to do but to watch the old house burn. Cyrus and Huldah sat hand in hand on an old stone wall, quite apart from their sympathetic neighbors, and--talked. And about them was a curious air of elation, a buoyancy as if long-pent forces had suddenly found a joyous escape. "'T ain't as if our things wan't all out," cried Cyrus; his voice was actually exultant. "Or as if we hadn't wanted to build a new one for years," chirruped his wife. "Now you can have that 'ere closet under the front stairs, Huldah!" "And you can have the room for your tools where it'll be warm in the winter!" "An' there'll be the bow-winder out of the settin' room, Huldah!" "Yes, and a real bathroom, with water coming right out of the wall, same as the Wileys have!" "An' a tub, Huldah--one o' them pretty white chiny ones!" "Oh, Cyrus, ain't it almost too good to be true!" sighed Huldah: then her face changed. "Why, Cyrus, it's gone," she cried with sudden sharpness. "What's gone?" "Your dinner--I was cooking such a beautiful turkey and all the fixings for you." A dull red came into the man's face. "For--me?" stammered Cyrus. "Y-yes," faltered Huldah; then her chin came up defiantly. The man laughed; and there was a boyish ring to his voice. "Well, Huldah, I didn't have any turkey, but I did have a tidy little piece o' black silk for yer gown, an' I saved it, too. Mebbe we could eat that!--eh?" It was not until just as they were falling asleep that night in Deacon Clark's spare bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Gregg so much as hinted that there ever had been a quarrel. Then, under cover of the dark, Cyrus stammered: "Huldah, did ye sense it? Them 'ere words we said at the foot of the stairs was spoke--exactly--_together_!"