XXVII 



THE SUMMER CAMP-FIRE 



A THIN column of smoke seen rising 

 lazily among the leafy trees and fading 

 to a wavering film in the warm morning 

 air or the hotter breath of noon, a flick- 

 ering blaze kindling in the sultry dusk 

 on some quiet shore, mark the place of 

 the summer camp-fire. 



It is not, like the great hospitable 

 flare and glowing coals of the autumn 

 and winter camp-fires, the centre to 

 which all are drawn, about which the 

 life of the camp gathers, where joke and 

 repartee flash to and fro as naturally and 

 as frequently as its own sparks fly up- 

 ward, where stories come forth as con- 

 tinuously as the ever-rising volume of 

 smoke. 



Rather it is avoided and kept aloof 



from, held to only by the unhappy 



wretch upon whom devolves the task of 



tending the pot and frying-pan, and he 



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