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.
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