Through this strange place their new friend led them to where one furnace burnt by night and day. The man who had been watching this fire, and whose task was ended for the present, gladly withdrew, and left them with their friend. He at once spread Nell's little cloak upon a heap of ashes, and showing her where she could hang her outer clothes to dry, signed to her and the old man to lie down and sleep. Then he took his station on a ragged mat before the furnace door, and resting his chin upon his hands, watched the flame as it shone through the iron chinks, and the white ashes as they fell into their bright, hot grave below.
The warmth of her bed, hard and humble as it was, soon caused the noise of the place to fall with a gentler sound upon the child's tired ears, and was not long in lulling her to sleep. The old man was stretched beside her, and with her hand upon his neck she lay and dreamed.
It was yet night when she awoke, nor did she know for how long or how short a time she had slept. But she found herself protected, both from any cold air that might find its way into the building and from the heat, by some of the workmen's clothes; and glancing at their friend, saw that he still sat looking towards the fire, and keeping so very quiet that he did not even seem to breathe.
Nell lay in the state between sleeping and waking, looking so long at him that at length she almost feared he had died as he sat there; and softly rising and drawing close to him, she whispered in his ear.
He moved at once, and looked into her face.
"I feared you were ill," she said. "The other men are all moving, and you are so very quiet."
"They leave me to myself," he replied. "They know my way. They laugh at me, but don't harm me in it. See yonder, there—that's my friend."
"The fire?" said the child.
"It has been alive for as long as I have," the man made answer. "We talk and think together all night long."
The child glanced quickly at him in her surprise, but he had turned his eyes away and was musing as before.