XXIX 



THE RELUCTANT CAMP-FIRE 



THE depressing opposite of the fire 

 that is the warm heart of the camp is 

 the pile of green or rain-soaked fuel that 

 in spite of all coaxing and nursing re- 

 fuses to yield a cheerful flame. Shav- 

 ings from the resin-embalmed heart of a 

 dead pine and scrolls of birch bark fail 

 to enkindle it to more than flicker and 

 smoke, while the wet and hungry campers 

 brood forlornly over the cheerless centre 

 of their temporary home, with watery 

 eyes and souls growing sick of camp life. 



Night is falling, and the shadows of 

 the woods thicken into solid gloom that 

 teems with mysterious horrors, which 

 stretch their intangible claws through 

 the darkness to chill the backs of the 

 timid with an icy touch, and the silence 

 is terrible with unuttered howlings of 

 imaginary beasts. 



Each one is ready to blame the other 

 for the common discomfort, and all, the 

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