The greatest trouble we have, or did have during our first winter
here, was in holding the fire, for the wood, having just been cut in
the forest, is green, and the fire very like to desert it unless we
keep close watch. Neither mother nor I can strike a spark with flint
and steel as ably as can many women in the village; therefore, when,
as happened four or five times, we lost our fire, one of us took a
strip of green bark, or a shovel, and borrowed from whosoever of our
neighbors had the brightest blaze, enough of coals to set our own
hearth warm again.
[Illustration]
Some of the housewives who are more skilled in the use of firearms than
my mother or myself, kindle a blaze by flashing a little powder in the
pan of a gun, allowing the flame to strike upon the tinder, and thus be
carried to shavings of dry wood. It is a speedy way of getting fire;
but one needs to be well used to the method, else the fingers or the
face will get more of heat than does the tinder. Father cautions us
against such practice, declaring that he will not allow his weapons to
remain unloaded simply for kitchen use, when at any moment the need may
arise for a ready bullet.
But we have in Plymouth one chimney of which even you in Scrooby might
be proud.