Joyce was standing so that she could see straight into the kitchen range and she saw exactly what was the matter. There were flames bursting out from the cracks of the gas range oven, and flames lighting up the seams of the broiling oven. Having had the same thing happen to herself once when she was cooking she understood just what had occurred. Without more ceremony she threw the screen door open and walked in, straight through into the kitchen. While the owner of the calm eyes was hurrying distractedly about the kitchen seeking for the pie lifter and a holder, Joyce quickly turned out the gas under the oven, and threw open the lower door. It was as she supposed, there was grease and drippings from the broiling chops in the pan below the broiler and it had caught on fire and was blazing high. It was of no use to try to smother it out or to save the chops. They were burned to a crisp already and the kitchen was filling fast with a black, oozy soot that was fastening to every immaculate pot and pan and to the wall and ceiling. The gray-eyed woman moaned, for the chops were many and expensive and she was preparing for a company dinner. Then her despair was changed to terror as she saw the flames shoot out into the room bringing dense, black smoke with them. “I’d better call the Fire Company!” she gasped and turned toward the telephone. “No! Wait!” gasped Joyce amid the smoke, “Give me that bread blanket! Quick!” The woman seized the thick, soft woollen cloth that lay tucked snugly about three pans of biscuits on the table and Joyce swathed her hands in its folds and courageously gripping the broiling pan, broiler, chops and all, carried them flaming to the back door and flung them out into the grass. It was all done in a second and the two stood in the doorway and watched the conquered fire flash up a few times and go out. Then the woman turned to the girl: “You’re wonderful!” she said earnestly, “I can’t thank you enough. I don’t know what I should have done if I’d been alone. I never could have carried that out all afire that way. I don’t see how you did it. And you got burned! I’ll bet you did! Yes, and there on your arm too. That’s too bad! Now come over here and I’ll do it up. I’ve got some sweet oil and linen--.” The tears of pain were stinging into Joyce’s eyes but she shook her head and tried to smile. “No, thank you,” she said, “I haven’t time to wait. I’ll just put it in cold water a minute to take the smart out, and then if you have some baking soda I’ll cover it up and it’ll be all right. It’s not much of a burn anyway, and it was my fault your meat burned. If I hadn’t hindered you, you wouldn’t have forgotten it. I’m afraid you were going to have company too. I think I ought to pay for that meat.”