When I was young and playing with cousin Harold, young but probably old enough to know better, we started a fire. There was something about Janet and Harold my mother said, “They would do things that neither of them would ordinarily do.”
There was a big pile of dry leaves in our yard and we decided to burn them – have a nice bon-fire. The pile was near the house so we moved it up against the wall and lit it. It smouldered for a minute and then exploded into flame, like dry leaves do, and it scared the living daylights out of us. We started stamping of the fire like mad man. We had been around and probably helped control fires on the prairie and in stubble so we knew about stamping and they stamped as fast and hard as we could.
The fire went out and we tried to hide the event as much as we could. Harold went home with his family and I waited for the discovery of the evidence. It never came. Either no one went around that side of the house for several days, or for some reason my parents decided not to mention it and give me some discipline. Harold and I never talked about it and he would not have been spanked anyway, because he just was never spanked for anything. I have often wondered which it was with my parents, ignorance or mercy.