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 brought and tea made. But no milk could be
found--so every one had six lumps of sugar to each cup instead.
The things to eat, on the other hand, were nicer than usual.
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