Off they ran after Aunt Emma, and soon they were scrambling about the wood which grew along the shore, picking up the dry sticks and dry fern under the trees. Milly filled her cotton frock full, and gathered it up with both her hands; while Olly of course went straight at the biggest branch he could see, and staggered along with it, puffing and panting.
“You grasshopper, you!” said Mr. Norton, catching hold of him, “don’t you think you’d better try a whole tree next time? There, let me break it for you.” Father broke it up into short lengths, and then off ran Olly with his little skirts full to Aunt Emma, who was laden too with an armful of sticks. “That’ll do to begin with, old man. Come along, and you and I’ll light the fire.”
What fun it was, heaping up the sticks on the stones, and how they did blaze and crackle away when Aunt Emma put a match to them. Puff! puff! out came the smoke; fizz—crack—sputter—went the dry fir branches, as if they were Christmas fireworks.
“Haven’t we made a blazey fire, Aunt Emma?” said Olly, out of breath with dragging up sticks, and standing still to look.
“Splendid,” said Mr. Norton, who had just come out of the wood with his bundle. “Now, Olly, let me just put you on the top of it to finish it off. How you would fizz!”
Off ran Olly, with his father after him, and they had a romp among the heather till Mr. Norton caught him, and carried him kicking and laughing under his arm to Aunt Emma.
“Now, Aunt Emma, shall I put him on?”
“Oh dear, no!” said Aunt Emma, “my kettle wouldn’t sit straight on him, and it’s just boiling beautifully. We’ll put him on presently when the fire gets low.”
“Olly, do come and help mother and me with the tea-things,” cried Milly, who was laying the cloth as busily and gravely as a little housemaid.
“Run along, shrimp,” said his father, setting him down.