Fiercely as the dry old barn burned, it used itself up all the quicker on that account, and it was less than thirty minutes from the time Ham and Dabney got at work before roof and rafters fell in and the worst of the danger was over.  The men and boys from the village were eager enough to do any thing that now remained to be done, but a large share of this was confined to standing around and watching the “bonfire” burn down to a harmless heap of badly smelling ashes.  As soon, however, as they were no more wanted on the roof, the two volunteer “firemen” came down, and Ham Morris’s first word on reaching the ground was: 

“Dab, my boy, how you’ve grown!”

Not a tenth of an inch, in mere stature, and yet Ham was correct about it.  There was plenty of light, just then, moon or no moon, and Ham’s eyes were very busy for a minute.  He noted the improvements in the fences, sheds, barns, the blinds on the house, the paint, a host of small things that had changed for the better, and then he simply said:  “Come on, Dab,” and led the way into the house.  Her mother and sisters had already given Miranda a hurried look at what they had done, but Ham was not the man to do anything in haste.  Deliberately and silently he walked from room to room and from cellar to garret, hardly seeming to hear the frequent comments of his enthusiastic young wife.  That he did hear, however, was manifest, for at last he asked: 

“Dab, I’ve seen all the other rooms, where’s yours?”

“I’m going to let you and Miranda have my room,” said Dab.  “I don’t think I shall board here long.”

“I don’t think you will, either,” said Ham, emphatically.  “You’re going away to boarding-school.  Miranda, is there any reason why Dabney can’t have the south-west room, upstairs, with the bay-window?”

That room had been Samantha’s choice, and she looked at Dab reproachfully, but Miranda replied: 

“No, indeed; not if you wish him to have it.”

“Now, Ham,” said Dabney, “I’m not big enough to fit that room.  Give me one nearer my size.  That’s a little loose for even Sam, and she can’t take any tucks in it!”

Samantha’s look changed to one of gratitude, and she did not notice the detested nickname.

“Well, then,” said Ham, “we’ll see about it.  You can sleep in the spare chamber to-night.  Mother Kinzer, I couldn’t say enough about this house business if I talked all night.  It must have cost you a deal of money.  I couldn’t have dared to ask it.  I guess you’d better kiss me again.”

Curious thing it was that came next.  One that nobody could have reckoned on.  Mrs. Kinzer—­good soul—­had set her heart on having Ham’s house and Miranda’s “ready for them” on their return, and now Ham seemed to be so pleased about it she actually began to cry.  She said, too:  “I’m so sorry about the barn!” But Ham only laughed in his quiet way as he kissed his portly mother-in-law, and said: