“Sidney Harrow dropped this when he was kindling the fire, and I thought of Comfort’s savin’ ways and picked it up. Can you guess what I am going to do? We must get together some brush-wood, and make a fine blaze that they will see in the village.”
"And even if they don’t come to bring us home," said Johnny, “it will keep us warm till morning, and then we can find our own way. But we must go down the rock to get the wood. Oh dear! I don’t think much of picnics, do you, Nell?”
Very soon a fire burned on the top of the rock, and notwithstanding their fatigue, the children kept it in a broad blaze. As the last bright cloud of sunset faded away, the flames spread boldly into the night air, a signal of distress to those who were safely housed in the farm-houses beneath.
Having got the fire well going, and a large stock of wood on hand to feed it, the weary, dispirited children sat down to rest, beside it.
Neither spoke for a long time. They listened intently for the expected aid, yet nothing but the dreary hoot of the owls met their ears, mingled with the moan of the wind, which now being steadily increasing, blew the flames high in the air.
Nelly got up to poke the coals with a branch she kept for that purpose, and when she had done so, she stood leaning upon it and looking sorrowfully into the valley, where she saw lights twinkling from windows.
“Johnny,” she said, softly, “do you believe anybody can be perfectly good in this world?”
“Yes,” said Johnny, carelessly, “I s’pose so, if a fellow tries hard enough. I guess it’s pretty tough work though, don’t you?”
“The more I try, the worse I seem to be; at least,—well, you see, the worse I feel myself to be.”