ideofthehouse,IplayedaboutthestumpswhichIhadgotoutofmybean-field.AsmydriverprophesiedwhenIwasploughing,theywarmedmetwice,oncewhileIwassplittingthem,andagainwhentheywereonthefire,sothatnofuelcouldgiveoutmoreheat.Asfortheaxe,Iwasadvisedtogetthevillageblacksmithto“jump”itbutIjumpedhim,and,puttingahickoryhelvefromthewoodsintoit,madeitdo.Ifitwasdull,itwasatleasthungtrue.
Afewpiecesoffatpinewereagreattreasure.Itisinterestingtorememberhowmuchofthisfoodforfireisstillconcealedinthebowelsoftheearth.InpreviousyearsIhadoftengone“prospecting”oversomebarehill-side,whereapitch-pinewoodhadformerlystood,andgotoutthefatpineroots.Theyarealmostindestructible.Stumpsthirtyorfortyyearsold,atleast,willstillbesoundatthecore,thoughthesapwoodhasallbecomevegetablemould,asappearsbythescalesofthethickbarkformingaringlevelwiththeearthfourorfiveinchesdistantfromtheheart.Withaxeandshovelyouexplorethismine,andfollowthemarrowystore,yellowasbeeftallow,orasifyouhadstruckonaveinofgold,deepintotheearth.ButcommonlyIkindledmyfirewiththedryleavesoftheforest,whichIhadstoredupinmyshedbeforethesnowcame.Greenhickoryfinelysplitmakesthewoodchopper’skindlings,whenhehasacampinthewoods.OnceinawhileIgotalittleofthis.Whenthevillagerswerelightingtheirfiresbeyondthehorizon,ItoogavenoticetothevariouswildinhabitantsofWaldenvale,byasmokystreamerfrommychimney,thatIwasawake.—
Light-wingedSmoke,Icarianbird,
Meltingthypinionsinthyupwardflight,
Larkwithoutsong,andmessengerofdawn,
Circlingabovethehamletsasthynest
Orelse,departingdream,andshadowyform
Ofmidnightvision,gatheringupthyskirts
Bynightstar-veiling,andbyday
Darkeningthelightandblottingoutthesun
Gothoumyincenseupwardfromthishearth,
Andaskthegodstopardonthisclearflame.
Hardgreenwoodjustcut,thoughIusedbutlittleofthat,answeredmypurposebetterthananyother.IsometimesleftagoodfirewhenIwenttotakeawalkinawinterafternoonandwhenIreturned,threeorfourhoursafterward,itwouldbestillaliveandglowing.MyhousewasnotemptythoughIwasgone.ItwasasifIhadleftacheerfulhousekeeperbehind.ItwasIandFirethatlivedthereandcommonlymyhousekeeperprovedtrustworthy.Oneday,however,asIwassplittingwood,IthoughtthatIwouldjustlookinatthewindowandseeifthehousewasnotonfireitwastheonlytimeIremembertohavebeenparticularlyanxiousonthisscoresoIlookedandsawthatasparkhadcaughtmybed,andIwentinandextinguisheditwhenithadburnedaplaceasbigasmyhand.Butmyhouseoccupiedsosunnyandshelteredaposition,anditsroofwassolow,thatIcouldaffordtoletthefiregooutinthemiddleofalmostanywinterday.
Themolesnestedinmycellar,nibblinge