was extremely warm, but he required it to
cook with, and the mere _sight_ of a blaze in a dark place is a most
heart-cheering thing as every one knows.

When the fire was lighted he filled his pannikin at the brook and put it
on to boil, and, cutting several slices of buffalo tongue, he thrust
short stakes through them and set them up before the fire to roast. By
this time the water was boiling, so he took it off with difficulty,
nearly burning his fingers and singeing the tail of his coat in so
doing. Into the pannikin he put a lump of maple sugar and stirred it
about with a stick, and tasted it. It seemed to him even better than
tea or coffee. It was absolutely delicious!

Really one has no notion what he can do if he makes believe _very hard_.
The human mind is a nicely balanced and extremely complex machine, and
when thrown a little off the balance can be made to believe almost
anything, as we see in the case of some poor monomaniacs, who have
fancied that they were made of all sorts of things--glass and porcelain,
and suchlike. No wonder then that poor Dick Varley, after so much
suffering and hardship, came to regard that pannikin of hot syrup as the
most delicious beverage he ever drank.

During all these operations Crusoe sat on his haunches beside him and
looked. And you haven't--no, you haven't--got the most distant notion
of the way in which that dog manoeuvred with his head and face! He
opened his eyes wide, and cocked his ears, and turned his head first a
little to one side, then a little to the other. After that he turned it
a _good deal_ to one side and then a good deal more to the other. Then
he brought it straight and raised one eyebrow a little, and then the
other a little, and then both together very much. Then, when Dick
paused to rest and did nothing, Crusoe looked mild for a moment, and
yawned vociferously. Presently Dick moved--up went the ears again and
Crusoe came--in military parlance--"to the position of attention!" At
last supper was ready and they began.

Dick had purposely kept the dog's supper back from him, in order that
they might eat it in company. And between every bite and sup that Dick
took, he gave a bite--but not a sup--to Crusoe. Thus lovingly they ate
together; and, when Dick lay that night under the willow branches
looking up through them at the stars, with his feet to the fire, and
Crusoe close along his side, he thought it the best and sweetest supper
he ever