THE DEVIL'S POOL
"This wood will never catch fire; it is too damp."
"You are always doubting, Germain. Don't you remember when you were a shepherd, and made big fires in the fields right in the midst of the rain?"
"Yes, that is a knack that belongs to children who take care of sheep; but I was made to drive the oxen as soon as I could walk."
"That is what has made your arms strong and your hands quick! Here, the fire is built; you shall see whether it does not burn. Give me the light and a handful of dry ferns. That is all right. Now blow; you are not consumptive, are you?"
"Not that I know of," said Germain, blowing like a smith's bellows. In an instant the flame leaped up, and throwing out a red glare, it rose finally in pale blue jets under the oak branches, battling with the fog, and gradually drying the atmosphere for ten feet around.
"Now I am going to sit by the child, so that the sparks may not fall on him," said the young girl. Pile on the wood and stir up the fire, Germain; we shall not catch cold nor fever here, I will answer for it."
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