e first building of our projected village was completed on the seventh
day. It was little more than a two-room shanty, but it represented the
most sought after prize of the moment, _privacy_!

We drew lots for it, and, with the uncommon justice, one of the hardest
working amateur carpenters won. The women brought in armloads of grass
for a couch and decorated it with wild-flowers. When evening fell it
seemed like an occasion for a celebration, and Benson relented on the
evening curfew.

We gathered scraps from the lumber mill, carefully cleared a sandy strip
on the beach of all inflammable matter and built a huge bonfire. In the
rich atmosphere even the green wood burned merrily, spitting green sap
and sending up clouds of pungent, aromatic smoke.

Sue had just curled up in the crook of my arm, and we were working on a
case of Earth-nostalgia, when we noticed our visitors again. They came
bounding, up to the wide rim of the firelight. They jabbered in excited,
ecstatic voices but stopped short of our human assembly. Only one, I
recognized him as Joe, picked his way through us and came close to
inspect the crackling blaze.

Fascinated, Sue and I watched his profile contort with an expression of
immense admiration. It was not the awe of a savage, but the heartfelt
appreciation of a human for a rare and beautiful spectacle.

"Fire must be unknown to them," Sue whispered.

"At least mighty rare," I said. "The handbook says no volcanoes and no
thunderstorms."

Joe turned at the sound of our low voices. With eyes half-blinded by the
glare he searched for me. "Samrogers!" he called clearly. "Samrogers!"

I rose to my feet and answered, "Joe! Right here, Joe."

He picked his way over to me, smiling broadly and glancing back at the
fire every step or two. A pace away he stopped, pointed at me, said,
"Samrogers," pointed at himself, said, "Joe!" _then pointed at the fire
and waited_.

It was a clearly indicated question. I answered it respectfully, "Fire!"

He repeated, "Fire," and his eyes glowed like sparks. Then he made
gestures of picking up some of the fire and taking it away, turning to
me to pose the question.

Sorenson, propped up on an elbow, said, "I'll be damned. He's asking you
to give him some of the fire."

"No," Benson said. "He knows fire, knows you can't take the flames. He's
asking for _the means to build a fire_."

I faced Joe, shook my head solemnly and said, "No!" To give meaning to
the word