Therefore, why should not I also be interested in the prospective bonfire? It would transmute the unsightly rubbish of the place into fertilizing ashes, and clear the ground for the plow. The mellow soil would produce that which would give brain and muscle—life to those whose lives were dear.
He who spreads his table with food secured by his own hands direct from nature should feel a strong incentive to do his best. The coarse, unvaried diet, common to many farmers’ homes, is the result of stolid minds and plodding ways. A better manhood and womanhood will be developed when we act upon the truth that varied and healthful sustenance improves blood and brain, and therefore character.
I was growing abstracted, when my wife remarked, “Robert, will you deign to come back from a remote region of thought and take some rice pudding?”
“You may all fare the better for my thoughts,” I replied.
The children, however, were bolting their pudding at railroad speed, and I perceived that the time demanded action. Winnie and Bobsey wished me to light the fire at once, but I said: “No, not till mamma and Mousie are ready to come out. You must stay and help them clear away the things. When all is ready, you two shall start the blaze.”
Very soon we were all at the brush pile, which towered above our heads, and I said: “Merton, it will burn better if we climb over it and trample it down a little. It is too loose now. While we do this, Winnie and Bobsey can gather dry grass and weeds that will take fire quickly. Now which way is the wind?”
“There isn’t any wind, papa,” Merton replied.
“Let us see. Put your forefingers in your mouths, all of you, then hold them up and note which side feels the coolest.”
“This side!” cried one and another.
“Yes; and this side is toward the west; therefore, Winnie, put the dry grass here on the western side of the heap, and what air is stirring will carry the blaze through the pile.”
Little hands that trembled with eagerness soon held lighted matches to the dry grass; there was a yellow flicker in the sunshine, then a blaze, a crackle, a devouring rush of flames that mounted higher and higher until, with the surrounding column of smoke, there was a conflagration which, at night, would have alarmed the countryside. The children at first gazed with awe upon the scenes as they backed farther away from the increasing heat. Our beacon fire drew Junior, who came bounding over the fences toward us; and soon he and Merton began to see how near they could dash in toward the blaze without being scorched. I soon stopped this.
“Show your courage, Merton, when there is need of it,” I said. “Rash venturing is not bravery, but foolishness, and often costs people dear.”
When the pile sank down into glowing embers, I turned to Bobsey, and added: “I have let you light a fire under my direction. Never think of doing anything of the kind without my permission, for if you do, you will certainly sit in a chair, facing the wall, all day long, with nothing to cheer you but bread and water and a sound whipping. There is one thing which you children must learn from the start, and that is, you can’t play with fire except under my eyes.”
At this direful threat Bobsey looked as grave as his round little face permitted, and, with the memory of his peril in the creek fresh in mind, was ready enough with the most solemn promises. A circle of unburned brush was left around the embers. This I raked in on the hot coals, and soon all was consumed.
“Now I have a suggestion,” cried my wife. “We’ll have some roast potatoes, for here are lots of hot coals and ashes.” Away scampered Winnie to the cellar for the tubers. Our bonfire ended in a feast, and then the ashes were spread far and wide. When the exciting events were past, Winnie and Bobsey amused themselves in other ways, Mousie venturing to stay with them while the sun remained high. Merton and I meanwhile put the horse to the cart and covered all the ground, especially the upper and poorer portions, with a good dressing from the barnyard.
In the evening Junior gave Merton a good hint about angleworms. “Follow the plow,” he said, “and pick ’em up and put ’em in a tight box. Then sink the box in a damp place and nearly fill it with fine earth, and you always have bait ready when you want to go a-fishing. After a few more warm days the fish will begin to bite first-rate.”
Early the next morning Mr. Jones was on hand with his stout team, and, going twice in every furrow, he sunk his plow to the beam. “When you loosen the soil deep in this style,” he said, “ye needn’t be afraid of dry weather unless it’s an amazin’ long spell. Why, bless you, Mr. Durham, there’s farmers around here who don’t scratch their ground much deeper than an old hen would, and they’re always groanin’ over droughts. If I can get my plow down eighteen inches, and then find time to stir the surface often in the growin’ season, I ain’t afraid of a month of dry weather.”
We followed Mr. Jones for a few turns around the garden, I inhaling the fresh wholesome odors of the soil with pleasure, and Merton and the two younger children picking up angleworms.
Our neighbor soon paused and resumed: “I guess I’ll give you a hint that’ll add bushels of pertaters to yer crop. After I’ve
