"At least my eyes were on it
when I opened them. It is wonderful!"
"It is very cold, and the frost is thick," said Thoreau. "It will go
quickly after I have built a fire, m'sieu. And then you will see the
sun--the real sun."
David watched him as he built the fire. The first crackling of it sent a
comfort through him. He had slept well, so soundly that not once had he
roused himself during his six hours in bed. It was the first time he had
slept like that in months. His blood tingled with a new warmth. He had
no headache. There was not that dull pain behind his eyes. He breathed
more easily--the air passed like a tonic into his lungs. It was as if
those wonderful hours of sleep had wrested some deadly obstruction out
of his veins. The fire crackled. It roared up the big chimney. The
jack-pine knots, heavy with pitch, gave to the top of the stove a rosy
glow. Thoreau stuffed more fuel into the blazing firepot, and the glow
spread cheerfully, and with the warmth that was filling the cabin there
mingled the sweet scent of the pine-pitch and burning balsam. David
rubbed his hands. He was rubbing them when Marie came into the room,
plaiting the second of her two great ropes of shining black hair. He
nodded.
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