Flint and steel are not easily handled even by the most skillful,
and Henry saw the spark leap up and die out many times before it
finally took hold of the end of the tiniest splinter and grew.
He watched it as it ran along the little piece of wood and
ignited another and then another, the beautiful little red and
yellow flames leaping up half a foot in height. Already he felt
the grateful warmth and glow, but he would not let himself
indulge in premature joy. He fed it with larger and larger
pieces until the flames, a deeper and more beautiful red and
yellow, rose at least two feet, and big coals began to form. He
left the door open a while in order that the smoke might go out,
but when the fire had become mostly coals he closed it again, all
except a crack of about six inches, which would serve at once to
let any stray smoke out, and to let plenty of fresh air in.
Now Henry, all his preparations made, no detail neglected,
proceeded to luxuriate. He spread the soaked blanket out on the
bark floor, took off the sodden moccasins and placed them at one
angle of the fire, while he sat with his bare feet in front.
What a glorious warmth it was! It seemed to enter at his toes
and proceed upward through his body, seeking out every little
nook and cranny, to dry and warm it, and fill it full of new glow
and life.
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