“‘What is it this time?’ said I.
“‘Well, I don’t know,’ said he, ‘as there’s much in it, but I’m going to try the lens again.’
“‘That’s of no use,’ said I.
“‘I’m not so sure,’ said he; ‘you know we made a great deal of heat with our lens the other time,—so much that it almost burned my hand. I think the trouble was in my old pocket, which, having once been in salt water, wouldn’t burn; now I think I’ve found out something that is better.’
“‘What’s that?’ said I.
“‘Why, some cotton stuff,’ said he, ‘that I found blowing about among the stones.’
“‘Cotton!’ I exclaimed, in great surprise; ‘there’s no cotton growing here.’
“‘Well, it looks like cotton for all that,’ answered the Dean, ‘and I’m sure it will burn. Let me get some of it, and I’ll try it.’
“So the Dean ran off, and soon came back again with a little wad of white stuff, that looked very much like cotton, only much finer in its texture. I remembered it perfectly, for I had seen it, everywhere I went, about the little willow-bushes; and I had even plucked a willow-blossom to find it covered all over with this tender cotton-like substance, which I blew from it with my breath. But the idea had never once come into my head that it would be of any use.
“‘What are you going to do with this?’ said I to the Dean, when he had showed it to me.