THE GRANDFATHER MOUNTAIN 367 
brush a sort of magic, for try as you will you cannot 
whittle a brush that will burn like his. It never fails, 
and he uses only one match. Our back-log is the 
trunk of an ash tree seasoned to perfection. Against 
this is laid various kinds of wood, each kind giving 
forth its own flames and its own sparks ; for trees do 
not all burn alike. The oak, for instance, expresses 
itself as distinctly in its flames as in its leaves and 
fruit, or in its voice in the wind, or its color or the 
odors it sends forth. Even the different species of 
oak burn differently. One can sit in reverie before 
the calm blaze of a white-oak fire, but your Spanish 
oak explodes and sputters and shoots out sparks 
in a way to induce anything but reverie. Hickory 
burns with a steadfast glow, but the unstable chest- 
nut pops and sputters worse, if anything, than 
Spanish oak. Your firemaker says it is linwood that 
sends out those fascinating broods of fiery dragons 
that leap with lashing tails high into the air. 
There are some things one would like to know 
about trees. One would like to know from the flames 
what tree is burning, how old it is, and what have 
been its experiences in life, as well as how to tell, by 
the sound of the wind among the leaves, beneath 
what tree one is passing, and by the smell of the 
opening buds as you go along what trees are about 
you. 
As we lie on the fragrant earth watching the flames 
and the fiery serpents ascend into the black vault 
above, this seems to us no common fire, but rather 
the sudden rush into elemental freedom of those 
