“Well, I don’t know ‘pyramids,’ but I do know beans, and how to cook them. Fall to. Let’s get a fire. I’m near froze.”
“Fire? Can you make one?”
“I can try and—I’ve got to. When needs must, you know.”
Adrian hastily collected some dry twigs and decaying chips and heaped them in the sunniest place, but for this was promptly reprimanded by the shivering Pierre.
“Don’t you know anything at all? Wood won’t light, nor burn after ’tis lighted, in the sunshine. Stick up something to shade the stuff, whilst—”
He illustrated what he did not further say by carefully selecting some hard stones and briskly rubbing them together. A faint spark resulted and a thistledown caught the spark. To the thistledown he held a dried grass blade and another. By this small beginning they had soon a tiny blaze and very soon a comforting fire.
When they were partially dried and rested, said Pierre:
“Now, fetch on your beans. While they’re cooking, we’ll take account of what is left.”
Adrian brought the bag, refraining from any questions this time. He was wondering and watchful. Pierre’s misadventures were developing unsuspected resources, and the spirits of both lads rose again to the normal.
“You’re so fond of splitting birch for pictures, split me some now for a bucket, while I sharpen this knife again. Lucky for me, my pocket buttoned, else it would have gone to the bottom of that pool. Got yours?”