After striving to cook food in front of one of the two fireplaces in
that house, I was actually ashamed of having complained because our
stove in the wagon on a stormy morning had seemed to me like some
contrary animal.
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However much trouble we might have had with wet fuel and lack of draft
owing to the shortness of the stovepipe, it was as nothing compared
with those rude fireplaces, where our faces were burned almost to a
crisp, our eyes filled with smoke, and whatever was cooking came from
the heat thickly incrusted with ashes.
I resolved not to grumble at anything we might find in California,
provided we had conveniences where we could cook with some degree of
comfort, and a place in which to lie down where we would be protected
from insects.