CHAPTER 

 ABOUND THE FIRE 



THE last remnant of the awe Horace had at first in- 

 spired in us vanished with the "Episode of the Irate 

 Cook." The unexpressed antagonism toward him, 

 which had heretofore made his presence a constant 

 irritant, disappeared. He was looked upon hence- 

 forth as a joke, tolerated on the condition of com- 

 plete self-effacement, and squelched promptly and 

 openly whenever he appeared in danger of forget- 

 ting this tacit arrangement. 



As a result our nightly camp-fire confabs became 

 much more enjoyable gatherings. Those intimate 

 evenings stand out in memory as perhaps the pleas- 

 antest phase of the season's work. 



Bygone camp-fire talks long past, how clearly, with 

 what a warmth of detail, do they recur in recol- 

 lection I I can see now, in my mind's eye, the very 

 scene the camp and the familiar faces and the fire 

 burning lower and lower as the minutes pass. 



Supper is finished, and a feeling of indolent peace 

 and contentment steals over us with the lighting of 

 pipes and the relaxation of tired limbs. Sitting on 

 logs or stretched full length on the ground before 

 the gleaming embers, we muse and talk; lazily argu- 

 ing, spinning yarns, dreaming dreams. The faces 



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