FIRELIGHT
When supper was done the three put away the supper things, carried the
table back to its place in the corner, and set the candles in their
brackets about the walls. Then almost at once the mother said it was
bath-time and bed-time.
Bath-time! Baths had been rare in Eric's life, and when they did happen
were unhappy adventures,--cold water in a hand basin in the kitchen
sink, a scratchy sponge, and a towel too small. So if Mrs. Freg had said
"bath-time and bed-time" to him now, he might have run away. But if
Ivra's mother said it, it must be. She was _his_ mother too, now, and he
loved her and thought her beautifully strange.
A surprise was waiting for him. The bath was a deep basin set in the
wall. There was a fountain in it that one had only to turn on to have
the basin fill with clear water. Eric slipped out of his ragged shirt
and trousers and climbed up into it. The fountain came splashing down on
his dusty, shaggy head, falling in rivulets down his back and breast. He
was like a bird taking a bath; there was such happy splashing and
dipping.
But no bird had ever the gentle soft drying, or was wrapped in such a
warm night gown as the mother found for Eric. It was one of Ivra's night
gowns, but quite large enough. Then she tucked him into a narrow couch
far from the fire. It was the first time Eric could ever remember having
slept alone.
Ivra was already in a bed against the opposite wall. Before the mother
got into hers, which was open and ready for her, she blew out all the
candles and opened the door and windows.
"Good night, my lambs," she said, and a very few minutes afterwards Eric
could see by the firelight that his mother and playmate were asleep.
How cold the wind felt as it blew over his face! But how warm and snug
his body was, there in the soft, clean night gown between the light,
warm blankets! How fine to be there so warm in bed while his cheeks grew
red in the cold air and burned deliciously. How could he ever sleep? He
was too happy!
He looked at the fire. And then he looked harder. It was not a fire at
all, but a young girl, all bright and golden, sitting with her head
drowsily bent forward on her knees and her arms wrapped close about her
legs. But as he watched she slowly lifted her bright head, and looked
quietly about the room. Then she gradually and beautilully rose and
stepped out of the fireplace onto the floor. Slowly she moved across to
the mother's couch and stood still as though looking down at her. Slowly
she bent and drew the bed-clothes higher about her shoulders, and kissed
the flower-petal hair curled back on the pillow.
She moved then to Ivra's couch, still slowly and very beautifully, and
Eric could see her smile at the little one huddled there, half on her
face, one arm thrown up over her head. Gently the fire-girl rolled her
into a relaxed position on her side, tucked in the flung arm, and kissed
the closed eyelids.
Then she stood a minute, looking away, Eric did not know where. But his
heart began to ache with wonder and longing. Would she come to him
too--or was he only a stranger?
He lay still, watching her from his dark corner. At last she stopped
looking away, and came across the floor to him. She brought all the
brightness of the room with her, and her feet made no sound on the
boards. When she stood above him he shut his eyes, though he wanted very
much to look up into her face. She bent down and her hands smoothed his
covers, warmed his pillow and lay still for a minute like sunlight on
his cheek.
When he opened his eyes again, she had gone back to the fireplace, all
her brightness with her, and was resting there, a drowsy, golden girl,
her head bent forward on her knees and her slim arms wrapped close about
her legs.
Eric lay and watched her for many sleepy minutes while her light fell
dimmer and dimmer, lower and lower. When it was just a tiny flicker he
dropped to sleep.