“And now we’ll build our fire,” announced Aunt Bessie, rising. “I’ve had my eye on that driftwood over there for the last half hour. Sunny Boy and I will get it.”
Sunny Boy and Aunt Bessie carried over the wood, which proved to be light, dry pieces and was once, Aunt Bessie said, probably orange crates on some fruit steamer.
“Now we fold the paper under so,” said Auntie, when the wood was ready. “You may light it, Sunny Boy. Stand back, dear. There! isn’t that a splendid blaze? Oh, no, we don’t toast the marshmallows yet! We have to wait for the fire to burn down to red-hot coals. You watch.”
Sunny Boy watched.
“I think,” he said politely, “the fire’s going out.”
Aunt Bessie looked and laughed.
“I think it is, too,” she admitted. “Maybe we didn’t use enough paper.”
“Let me try,” said Mrs. Horton.
She folded more paper, arranged the wood, and touched a match to the pile. The flames shot up, and in a moment or so they heard the crackling that told them the wood had caught and would burn.
“Mother can do it,” said Sunny Boy proudly. “Where’s the pan, Aunt Bessie?”