“Let’s go and look again.”
“So we will.”
They went to the gate—Pan, they noticed did not follow—and looked over again: this time longer and more searchingly. They could see the ground for a few yards, and then the mist obscured it like fleece among brambles.
“Pan’s afraid to come,” said Mark, as they went back to the shed.
“The fire ought to be lit,” said Bevis. “They are afraid of fire.”
“You watch,” said Mark, “and I’ll light it.”
He drew on his boots, and put on his coat—for they ran out in waistcoat and trousers—then he held the gun, while Bevis did the same; then Bevis took it, and Mark hastily gathered some sticks together and lit them, often glancing over his shoulder at the fence behind, and with the axe always ready to his hand. When the flames began to rise they felt more at ease; they knew that wild beasts dislike fire, and somehow fire warms the spirit as well as the body. The morning was warm enough, they did not need a fire, but the sight of the twisted tongues as they curled spirally and broke away was restorative as the heat is to actual bodily chill. Bevis went near: even the spaniel felt it, he shook himself and seemed more cheerful.
“The thing was very near when we first went out,” said Bevis. “I wish we had run to the gate directly without waiting for the gun.”
“But we did not know what it was.”
“No.”