And hurry down to that mutton, Chad. Never
mind the basket. Leave it where it is."
Chad chuckled out to me as he closed the door: "'Spec' I know mo' 'bout
dat saddle den de colonel. It ain't a-burnin' none." And the colonel,
satisfied now that Chad's hand had reached the oven door below, made
a vigorous attack on the blazing logs with the tongs, and sent a flight
of sparks scurrying up the chimney.
There was always a glow and breeze and sparkle about the colonel's
fire that I found nowhere else. It partook to a certain extent of his
personality--open, bright, and with a great draft of enthusiasm always
rushing up a chimney of difficulties, buoyed up with the hope of the
broad clear of the heaven of success above.
"My fire," he once said to me, "is my friend; and sometimes, my dear
boy, when you are all away and Chad is out, it seems my only friend.
After it talks to me for hours we both get sleepy together, and I cover
it up with its gray blanket of ashes and then go to bed myself. Ah,
Major! when you are gettin' old and have no wife to love you and no
children to make yo' heart glad, a wood fire full of honest old logs,
every one of which is doing its best to please you, is a great comfort.
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