The
children shriek in transports of admiration, little George loudest of
all, because Susan is holding him tight, lest he should run into the
brilliant flame. Miss Fosbrook is rather appalled, but the children
are all safe on the windward side, and seem used to it; so she
supposes it is all right, and the flame dies down faster than it
rose. It is again an innocent smouldering heap, like a volcano after
an eruption.
"We must not let it blaze again just yet," said Sam; "keep it down
well with sticks, to make some nice white ashes for the potatoes.
See, I'll make an oven."
They were all stooping round this precious hot corner, some kneeling,
some sitting on the ground, David with hands on his sturdy knees--all
intent on nursing that creeping red spark, as it smouldered from chip
to chip, leaving a black trace wherever it went, when through the
thick smoke, that was like an absolute curtain hiding everything on
the farther side, came headlong a huge bundle of weeds launched
overwhelmingly on the fire, and falling on the children's heads in an
absolute shower, knocking Johnnie down, but on a soft and innocent
side of the fire among the cabbage-stumps, and seeming likely to bury
Sam, who leant over to shelter his precious oven, and puffed away as
if nothing was happening, amid the various shouts around him, in
which "Purday" was the most audible word.
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