canister of
tea has disappeared. When Alfaretta went to get it for my supper, it had
gone."

"Oh," John said, smiling, while Helen began to pour some cream into his
coffee from a flat little silver jug, "I forgot to mention it: the fact
is, I took that tea with me this afternoon,--I thought probably they had
none in the house; and I wish you could have seen the woman's joy at the
sight of it. I cooked some for her,--she told me how," he said
deprecatingly, for Helen laughed; "and she said it was very good, too,"
he added.

But Helen refused to believe that possible. "It was politeness, John,"
she cried gayly, "and because, I suppose, you presented her with my
lacquered canister."

"I did leave it," John admitted; "I never thought of it." But he forgot
even to ask forgiveness, as she bent towards him, resting her hand on
his shoulder while she put his cup beside him.

"The fire has flushed your cheek," he said, touching it softly, the
lover's awe shining in his eyes; with John it had never been lost in the
assured possession of the husband. Helen looked at him, smiling a little,
but she did not speak. Silence with her told sometimes more than words.

"It has been such a long afternoon," he said. "I was glad to hurry home;
perhaps that is the reason I forgot the canister."

"Shall I send you back for it?" She put her lips for a moment against his
hand, and then, glancing out at the night for sheer joy at the warmth and
light within, she added, "Why, what is that glow, John? It looks like
fire."

He turned, and then pushed back his chair and went to the window.

"It does look like fire," he said anxiously.

Helen had followed him, and they watched together a strange light, rising
and falling, and then brightening again all along the sky. Even as they
looked the upper heavens began to pulsate and throb with faint crimson.

"It is fire!" John exclaimed. "Let me get my coat. I must go."

"Oh, not now," Helen said. "You must finish your supper; and you are so
tired, John!"

But he was already at the door and reaching for his hat.

"It must be the lumber-yards, and the river is frozen!"

"Wait!" Helen cried. "Let me get my cloak. I will go if you do," and a
moment later the parsonage door banged behind them, and they hurried out
into the darkness.

The street which led to the lumber-yards had been silent and deserted
when John passed through it half an hour before, but now all Lockhaven
seemed to throng it.