<h2><SPAN name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></SPAN>XXVII</h2>
<p class="caption">THE SUMMER CAMP-FIRE</p>
<p>A thin column of smoke seen rising
lazily among the leafy trees and fading
to a wavering film in the warm morning
air or the hotter breath of noon, a flickering
blaze kindling in the sultry dusk
on some quiet shore, mark the place of
the summer camp-fire.</p>
<p>It is not, like the great hospitable
flare and glowing coals of the autumn
and winter camp-fires, the centre to
which all are drawn, about which the
life of the camp gathers, where joke and
repartee flash to and fro as naturally and
as frequently as its own sparks fly upward,
where stories come forth as continuously
as the ever-rising volume of
smoke.</p>
<p>Rather it is avoided and kept aloof
from, held to only by the unhappy
wretch upon whom devolves the task of
tending the pot and frying-pan, and he<span class="pagenum">[130]</span>
hovers near it fitfully, like a moth about
a candle, now backing away to mop his
hot face, now darting into the torrid
circle to turn a fish or snatch away a
seething pot or sizzling pan. Now and
then the curious and hungry approach to
note with what skill or speed the cookery
is progressing, but they are content to
look on at a respectful distance and to
make suggestions and criticisms, but not
to interfere with aid. The epicurean
smoker, who holds that the finest flavor
of tobacco is evoked only by coal or blazing
splinter, steals down upon the windward
side and snatches a reluctant ember
or an elusive flame that flickers out
on the brink of the pipe bowl, but most
who burn the weed are content now to
kindle it with the less fervid flame of a
match.</p>
<p>And yet this now uncomfortable necessity
is still the heart of the camp,
which without it would be but a halting
place for a day, where one appeases hunger
with a cold bite and thirst with
draughts of tepid water, and not a temporary
home where man has his own
fireside, though he care not to sit near<span class="pagenum">[131]</span>
it, and feasts full on hot viands and refreshes
himself with the steaming cup
that cheers but not inebriates.</p>
<p>Its smoke drifted far through the
woods may prove a pungent trail, scented
out among the odors of balsams and the
perfume of flowers that shall lead hither
some pleasant stranger or unexpected
friend, or its firefly glow, flashing but
feebly through the gloaming, may be a
beacon that shall bring such company.
In its praise may also be said that the
summer camp-fire demands no laborious
feeding nor careful tending, is always a
servant, seldom a master.<span class="pagenum">[132]</span></p>
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