CHAPTER XXVII
FIRE FANCIES
Perhaps they were taking some chances as they sat there by their fire that evening; but there was no help for it. Being without blankets or any furs to keep them warm when sleep overcame them, they dared not risk being frozen as the cold became more intense with the passing of the night.
Roger meant to show as cheery a face as he could, but somehow he could not seem to think of anything but the delights of eating. It is doubtless so with all who have been deprived of their customary food for an unusual time.
“Do you know, Dick,” he said, as he sat hugging his knees and staring into the crackling flames, “I was just thinking how, many a night, when the wind would be whistling around the corners of our cabin, Sister Mary and myself used to sit and look into a roaring fire like this, one on either side of the big hearth. I can picture her sitting there to-night, with mother and father close by. And, Dick, perhaps they are talking about us, wondering whether they will ever see us again.”
Dick moved uneasily as he listened, for, to tell the truth, his thoughts had also gone roaming back to the dearly loved home, and in imagination he was following the forms of his mother, father and brother, as they moved to and fro in the well-remembered living room.
Immediately afterwards Roger’s plaint took another turn, induced no doubt by the feeling of emptiness that caused him such uneasiness.
“Yes, and it seems to me I can even catch the fine odor of the stew that is cooking in the big black pot swinging over the fire, with the lid lifting to let out the clouds of steam. And oh! Dick, how splendid it used to smell, too! What wouldn’t I give to be sitting down with a plate of it heaped up before me, some of mother’s tea in a tin cup and a plate of her fried sweet-cakes to top off with.”
Once Roger got started on that strain he seemed to take especial delight in recollections of about every feast in which he had ever indulged. Dick let him talk on undisturbed. How vividly he himself could recall all those special occasions, when they had attended some country dance among the settlers’ young folks at harvest home times. The faces of all the absent friends came clearly before him and, spurred on by Roger’s graphic descriptions, it seemed almost possible to get a whiff of the fresh bread being taken from the big old Dutch oven in which, as a small child, Dick had so often hidden from his companions when they played games.
Roger prattled on as the hour grew late. It seemed as though his recollections had no limit, judging from the way in which he kept calling up events of happy days.