“I guess he can,” said Amanda. “Amos is real smart at queer things like that, that other boys don’t think about.”
“I’ve found some!” shouted Amos, as he leaped down the bank; “just a little bit, in the stump of an old oak tree up here. Now wait till I get the thole-pins, and you’ll see,” and he ran toward the dory and returned with a pair of smooth, round thole-pins, and sat down on the sand in front of the brush heap. The precious piece of punk was carefully wrapped in a piece of the sleeve of his flannel blouse.
“I had to tear it off,” he explained, when Amanda pointed to the ragged slit, “for punk must be kept dry or it isn’t a bit of use.”
He now spread the bit of flannel on the sand in front of him, and kneeling down beside it began to rub the thole-pins across each other as fast as he could move his hands. Anne and Amanda, kneeling on each side of him, looked on with anxious eyes.
“There’s a spark!” at last shouted Amanda.
The spark fell on the dry punk, in an instant the punk caught and there were several sparks, then Amos held a wisp of dry grass in front of it and blew vigorously, and the smouldering punk flamed up, the grass caught, Amos thrust it under the dry brush, and in less than a minute the whole mass was burning briskly. The children all jumped about it in delight.
“My, I wish we could have had a fire like that last night, when I was so cold,” said Amanda.
“We’ll keep it burning now,” said Amos. “I’ve always wanted to start a fire this way. I think it’s better than flint and tinder,” for in those days the wooden splint matches were not known in the settlement, and fires were started by rubbing flint and steel together until a spark caught.
“We are going home this afternoon,” said Amanda, so firmly that Amos looked at her in surprise.
“What for?” he asked. “I think it’s fine here. We’ve got a house and a fire, and we’ll have fish enough to last——”