Ever since the night Cully, with the news of the hair-breadth escape of the bid, had dashed back to Tom, waiting around the corner, he had been the hero of the hour. As she listened to his description of McGaw when her bid dropped on the table—“Lookin' like he'd eat sumpin' he couldn't swaller—see?” her face was radiant, and her sides shook with laughter. She had counted upon McGaw falling into her trap, and she was delighted over the success of her experiment. Tom had once before caught him raising a bid when he discovered that but one had been offered.  
In recognition of these valuable services Tom had given Cully two tickets for a circus which was then charming the inhabitants of New Brighton, a mile or more away, and he and Carl were going the following night. Mr. Finnegan was to wear a black sack-coat, a derby hat, and a white shirt which Jennie, in the goodness of her heart, had ironed for him herself. She had also ironed a scarf of Carl's, and had laid it on the window-sill of the outer kitchen, where Cully might find it as he passed by.
 
The walks home from church were now about the only chance the lovers had of being together. Almost every day Carl was off with the teams. When he did come home in working hours he would take his dinner with the men and boys in the outer kitchen. Jennie sometimes waited on them, but he rarely spoke² to her as she passed in and out, except with his eyes.
 
When Cully handed him the scarf, Carl had already dressed himself in his best clothes, producing so marked a change in the outward appearance of the young Swede that Cully in his admiration³ pronounced him “out o' sight.”
 
Cully's metamorphosis was even more complete than Carl's. Now that the warm spring days were approaching, Mr. Finnegan had decided⁴ that his superabundant locks were unseasonable, and had therefore had his hair cropped close to his scalp, showing here and there a white scar, the record of some former scrimmage. Reaching to the edge of each ear was a collar as stiff as pasteboard. His derby was tilted⁵ over his left eyebrow⁶, shading a face brimming over with fun and expectancy⁷. Below this was a vermilion-colored necktie and a black coat and trousers. His shoes sported three coats of blacking, which only partly concealed⁸ the dust-marks of his profession.
 
“Hully gee⁹, Carl! but de circus's a-goin' ter be a dandy,” he called out in delight, as he patted a double shuffle¹⁰ with his feet. “I see de picters on de fence when I come from de ferry. Dere's a chariot-race out o' sight, an' a' elephant what stands on 'is head. Hold on till I see ef de Big Gray 's got enough beddin' under him. He wuz awful stiff dis mornin' when I helped him up.” Cully never went to bed without seeing the Gray first made comfortable for the night.
 
The two young fellows saw all the sights, and after filling their pockets with peanuts and themselves with pink lemonade, took their seats at last under the canvas roof, where they waited impatiently for the performance to begin.
 
The only departure from the ordinary routine was Cully's instant acceptance of the clown's challenge to ride the trick mule¹¹, and his winning the wager¹² amid the plaudits of the audience, after a rough-and-tumble scramble¹³ in the sawdust, sticking so tight to his back that a bystander remarked that the only way to get the boy off would be to “peel the mule.”
 
When they returned it was nearly midnight. Cully had taken off his “choker,” as he called it, and had curled it outside his hat, They had walked over from the show, and the tight clutch of the collar greatly interfered¹⁴ with Cully's discussion of the wonderful things he had seen. Besides, the mule had ruined it completely for a second use.
 
It was a warm night for early spring, and Carl had his coat over his arm. When they reached the outer stable fence—the one nearest the village—Cully's keen nose scented¹⁵ a peculiar¹⁶ odor. “Who's been a breakin' de lamp round here, Carl?” he asked, sniffing¹⁷ close to the ground. “Holy smoke! Look at de light in de stable—sumpin' mus' be de matter wid de Big Gray, or de ole woman wouldn't be out dis time o' night wid a lamp. What would she be a-doin' out here, anyway?” he exclaimed in a sudden anxious tone. “Dis ain't de road from de house. Hully gee! Look out for yer coat! De rails is a-soakin' wid ker'sene!”
 
At this moment a little flame shot out of the window over the Big Gray's head and licked its way up the siding, followed by a column of smoke which burst through the door in the hay-loft¹⁸ above the stalls of the three horses next the bedroom of Carl and Cully. A window was hastily opened in Tom's house and a frightened shriek¹⁹ broke the stillness of the night. It was Jennie's voice, and it had a tone of something besides alarm.
 
What the sight of the fire had paralyzed in Carl, the voice awoke.
 
“No, no! I here—I safe, Jan!” he cried, clearing the fence with a bound.
 
Cully did not hear Jennie. He saw only the curling flames over the Big Gray's head. As he dashed down the slope he kept muttering the old horse's pet names, catching²⁰ his breath, and calling to Carl, “Save de Gray—save Ole Blowhard²¹!”
 
Cully reached the stable first, smashed the padlock with a shovel²³, and rushed into the Gray's stall. Carl seized a horse-bucket, and began sousing the window-sills of the harness-room, where the fire was hottest.
 
By this time the whole house was aroused. Tom, dazed by the sudden awakening²⁴, with her ulster thrown about her shoulders, stood barefooted on the porch. Jennie was still at the window, sobbing²⁵ as if her heart would break, now that Carl was safe. Patsy had crawled out of his low crib by his mother's bed, and was stumbling downstairs, one foot at a time. Twice had Cully tried to drag the old horse clear of his stall, and twice had he fallen back for fresh air. Then came a smothered²⁶ cry from inside the blinding smoke, a burst of flame lighting²⁷ up the stable, and the Big Gray was pushed out, his head wrapped in Carl's coat, the Swede pressing behind, Cully coaxing²⁸ him on, his arms around the horse's neck.
 
Hardly had the Big Gray cleared the stable when the roof of the small extension fell, and a great burst of flame shot up into the night air. All hope of rescuing the other two horses was now gone.
 
Tom did not stand long dazed and bewildered. In a twinkling she had drawn²⁹ on a pair of men's boots over her bare feet, buckled³⁰ her ulster over her night-dress, and rushed back upstairs to drag the blankets from the beds. Laden³¹ with these she sprang down the steps, called to Jennie to follow, soaked the bedding in the water-trough, and, picking up the dripping mass, carried it to Carl and Cully, who, now that the Gray was safely tied to the kitchen porch, were on the roof of the tool-house, fighting the sparks that fell on the shingles³².
 
By this time the neighbors began to arrive from the tenements³³. Tom took charge of every man as soon as he got his breath, stationed two at the pump-handle, and formed a line of bucket-passers from the water-trough to Carl and Cully, who were spreading the blankets on the roof. The heat now was terrific; Carl had to shield his face with his sleeve as he threw the water. Cully lay flat on the shingles, holding to the steaming blankets, and directing Carl's buckets with his outstretched finger when some greater spark lodged³⁴ and gained headway. If they could keep these burning brands under until the heat had spent itself, they could perhaps save the tool-house and the larger stable.
 
All this time Patsy had stood on the porch where Tom had left him hanging over the railing wrapped in Jennie's shawl. He was not to move until she came for him: she wanted him out of the way of trampling³⁵ feet. Now and then she would turn anxiously, catch sight of his wizened³⁶ face dazed with fright, wave her hand to him encouragingly, and work on.
 
Suddenly the little fellow gave a cry of terror and slid from the porch, trailing the shawl after him, his crutch^............