Soon brilliant yellow and red flares shot up through the smoke, and I named them in an instant—FLAMES—and I was right, too, though these were the very first flames that had ever been in the world. They climbed the trees, then flashed splendidly in and out of the vast and increasing volume of tumbling smoke, and I had to clap my hands and laugh and dance in my rapture, it was so new and strange and so wonderful and so beautiful!
He came running, and stopped and gazed, and said not a word for many minutes. Then he asked what it was. Ah, it was too bad that he should ask such a direct question. I had to answer it, of course, and I did. I said it was fire. If it annoyed him that I should know and he must ask; that was not my fault; I had no desire to annoy him. After a pause he asked:
“How did it come?”
Another direct question, and it also had to have a direct answer.
“I made it.”
The fire was traveling farther and farther off. He went to the edge of the burned place and stood looking down, and said:
“What are these?”
“Fire-coals.”
He picked up one to examine it, but changed his mind and put it down again. Then he went away. NOTHING interests him.