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“Amelia! Don't touch it!” shouted Father, “you'll burn your hands.”

“No I won't,” said Amelia, digging underneath. “The moss is as cold as
twigs. So are my fingers. Come back, Signore Fire!” she said, as though trying
to coax a kitten out of a hole. “We won't hurt you. Father and I just want to
warm our hands and feet just a little.”

A tiny ember, the size of a pin's head, glowed ever so slightly brighter
from underneath the moss. Or, or was Amelia just imagining that? “Yes,
Signore Fire, yes, do glow for me. Only a few minutes, we promise. Then you
can share your wonderful heat with the rest of the world, and we promise we
won't ask any more of you. Signore?”

“That's foolish, Amelia, talking to a fire. Stop it.”

“But I saw it glow.”

“No, you just wished that.”

And the glow sizzled out into darkness. If it had ever been there in the
first place.

“Oh dear,” said Father, “That was the last charcloth. Here, Amelia, here
are three denari. Run right over to Carlo Vendiri in his general store, and buy
us a bundle of charcloths. A great big bundle, Amelia! We'll have fire tonight.
You just see if we don't.”

And so it was that Amelia walked to the general store in order to ask
Signore Vendiri for some charcloth. Oh how cold were her feet and hands,
even in her boots and mittens. Oh how hard it was to turn the handle on the
door to the general store. And oh, how cold it was inside Signore Vendiri's
store! Usually it was so merry-bright, with a nice hot sputtering coming from
the foot-stove in the corner. But today, why, it seemed just as cold inside the
store as out.

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