“The fire roared, and the flames leaped higher.”
“Suppose you tell us about it, then,” said Ben, whose long form had hardly stirred since the fire had been kindled.
“That’s just what I was intending to do,” replied Bob.
“It’ll be a good lullaby,” drawled Ben. “If you hear any sound that leads you to suspect that I have fallen asleep, please don’t blame me. I always go to sleep when I try to read history.”
“As long as there are live coals here, you’d better not go to sleep,” warned Bob. “I’ll serve you worse than the tithing-men used to serve the old farmers who went to sleep during the sermon.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. It won’t be my fault if you put me to sleep. Did you ever hear what Henry Ward Beecher said about the tithing-man and his pole?”
“No. What did he say?”
“He said if he saw anybody going to sleep when he was speaking, he didn’t want any tithing-man to come around with his stick and stir the man up, but he wanted him to take his stick and stir him up, for it was his fault if he let a man go to sleep. See?”