GALLANTRY AND HUNGER 199 



glimpse of a miserable little match. My search was 

 finally rewarded. Turning over an old dish-rag, I 

 discovered a box — an unmistakable match-box. I 

 seized it with trepidation. What if it should be 

 empty? Match-boxes have a chronic habit of that 

 sort. I tore off the lid and found that my fears were 

 almost, but not quite, realized. One solitary match 

 remained alone, like Tom Moore's " Last Rose of Sum- 

 mer," all its lovely companions faded and gone. 

 But one was enough and I soon had a fire burning. 

 Then I put the flour into a pan I found upon the 

 stove, and with a little water from the river — which 

 flows near the camp— mixed it into a firm dough. I 

 now put the piece of pork into a frying-pan that was 

 hanging in the camp, and placed it on the fire. Then 

 I formed the dough into ten little cakes, putting them 

 into the hot pork-fat and turning them over and over 

 until they were nicely browned. My dinner was now 

 ready for me and I was quite ready for my dinner. 

 Now it is said : 



** The art of our neoeteities is strange 

 That oan make vile things precions." 



Very true ; but I can tell you there was no vileness 

 about my dough cakes, although there was plenty of 

 preciousness, and I sat me down in front of them with 

 an appetite that a king might possibly envy ; but 

 whether he would or not, I am sure that no man, king 

 or no king, ever squeezed more enjoyment out of his 



