The Imp and the Angel
This was the kind of thing one dreamed of: to come, wet and draggled, upon a sudden brilliant bonfire; to dance barelegged and happy in the fascinating glow; to poke it with sticks and feed it as occasion required; to fish out the hot and delicious potatoes, burst their ashy skins, and sprinkle salt, which the little girl brought from the cottage, upon them—this was well worth a supper in bed! And the Imp and the Angel confided to the big boy, whose name was Alf, and who grew more social as one got to know him better, that they would, if he wished, sever all connection with their families and live there with him and his brothers forever round the bonfire. They were quite dry and warm now, with the heat of the fire and the dancing; and the bright sun and the shining water with the white ships scattered over it far away, the comfortable, fishy cottage—what a home for a boy that must be!—with the nets and the dog, the ring of dancing brothers and sisters, and the smell of the seaweed and the smoke and the potatoes, all made an impression upon the Imp that never faded quite away. It was the happiest, freest, heartiest time he had ever had—all the better for its delicious
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