THE SUMMER CAMP-FIRE 



hovers near it fitfully, like a moth about 

 a candle, now backing away to mop his 

 hot face, now darting into the torrid 

 circle to turn a fish or snatch away a 

 seething pot or sizzling pan. Now and 

 then the curious and hungry approach to 

 note with what skill or speed the cookery 

 is progressing, but they are content to 

 look on at a respectful distance and to 

 make suggestions and criticisms, but not 

 to interfere with aid. The epicurean 

 smoker, who holds that the finest flavor 

 of tobacco is evoked only by coal or blaz- 

 ing splinter, steals down upon the wind- 

 ward side and snatches a reluctant em- 

 ber or an elusive flame that flickers out 

 on the brink of the pipe bowl, but most 

 who burn the weed are content now to 

 kindle it with the less fervid flame of a 

 match. 



And yet this now uncomfortable ne- 

 cessity is still the heart of the camp, 

 which without it would be but a halting 

 place for a day, where one appeases hun- 

 ger with a cold bite and thirst with 

 draughty of tepid water, and not a tem- 

 porary home where man has his own 

 fireside, though he care not to sit near 

 130 



