"
When the weary, shivering dog sees this miracle, he knows that his
master is a great man and a lord of things.
After all, that is the only real open fire. Wood is the fuel for
it. Out-of-doors is the place for it. A furnace is an underground
prison for a toiling slave. A stove is a cage for a tame bird.
Even a broad hearthstone and a pair of glittering andirons--the best
ornament of a room--must be accepted as an imitation of the real
thing. The veritable open fire is built in the open, with the whole
earth for a fireplace and the sky for a chimney.
To start a fire in the open is by no means as easy as it looks. It
is one of those simple tricks that every one thinks he can perform
until he tries it.
To do it without trying,--accidentally and unwillingly,--that, of
course, is a thing for which any fool is fit. You knock out the
ashes from your pipe on a fallen log; you toss the end of a match
into a patch of grass, green on top, but dry as punk underneath; you
scatter the dead brands of an old fire among the moss,--a
conflagration is under way before you know it.
A fire in the woods is one thing; a comfort and a joy. Fire in the
woods is another thing; a terror, an uncontrollable fury, a burning
shame.
But the lighting up of a proper fire, kindly, approachable,
serviceable, docile, is a work of intelligence.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187