ldren had come home again, especially when Anthea had
lighted the nursery fire. But, as usual, the children treated the loving
little blackbeetles with coldness and disdain.

I wonder whether you know how to light a fire? I don't mean how to
strike a match and set fire to the corners of the paper in a fire
someone has laid ready, but how to lay and light a fire all by yourself.
I will tell you how Anthea did it, and if ever you have to light one
yourself you may remember how it is done. First, she raked out the ashes
of the fire that had burned there a week ago--for Eliza had actually
never done this, though she had had plenty of time. In doing this Anthea
knocked her knuckle and made it bleed. Then she laid the largest and
handsomest cinders in the bottom of the grate. Then she took a sheet
of old newspaper (you ought never to light a fire with to-day's
newspaper--it will not burn well, and there are other reasons against
it), and tore it into four quarters, and screwed each of these into a
loose ball, and put them on the cinders; then she got a bundle of wood
and broke the string, and stuck the sticks in so that their front ends
rested on the bars, and the back ends on the back of the paper balls.
In doing this she cut her finger slightly with the string, and when she
broke it, two of the sticks jumped up and hit her on the cheek. Then she
put more cinders and some bits of coal--no dust. She put most of that
on her hands, but there seemed to be enough left for her face. Then
she lighted the edges of the paper balls, and waited till she heard the
fizz-crack-crack-fizz of the wood as it began to burn. Then she went and
washed her hands and face under the tap in the back kitchen.

Of course, you need not bark your knuckles, or cut your finger, or
bruise your cheek with wood, or black yourself all over; but otherwise,
this is a very good way to light a fire in London. In the real country
fires are lighted in a different and prettier way.

But it is always good to wash your hands and face afterwards, wherever
you are.

While Anthea was delighting the poor little blackbeetles with the
cheerful blaze, Jane had set the table for--I was going to say tea, but
the meal of which I am speaking was not exactly tea. Let us call it a
tea-ish meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea's fire blazed and
crackled so kindly that it really seemed to be affectionately inviting
the kettle to come and sit upon its lap. So the kettle was b