Henry Ware devoutly hoped that it would be.

His task was easy. The forest all about was littered with the fallen and
dead wood of preceding years, and in a few moments he gathered up an
armful, with which he returned to the house. Then he brought in dry
leaves, and heaped leaves and wood together in the chimney-place. He
glanced at Paul and saw him trembling. As if by chance he touched his
comrade's hand, and it felt ice-cold. But he did not depart one jot from
his cheerful manner, all his words showing confidence.

"Now, Paul," he said, "In less than a minute you'll see burning before you
the finest, warmest, glowingest and most comfortable fire in all the
West."

Paul's eyes glistened.

Henry drew forth flint and steel, and with a few strokes sent out the
vivifying spark. The dry leaves caught, a light flame formed, the wood
caught in its turn, and then the blaze, leaping high, roared up the
chimney. In a moment the hearth was glowing, and presently a bed of deep
red coals began to grow.

Paul uttered a low laugh of joy, and spread out his hands to the flames.
The red light glowed across the delicately cut but strong face of the boy,
and Henry noticed now that all his color was gone, leaving his features
white and drawn.

"Sit a little closer, Paul, a little closer," he said, still in tones of
high, good cheer. "Isn't it the most beautiful fire you ever saw?"