It seemed to me that for any human being to light a fire, laid as that fire was laid, would be a feat to be proud of.

To light a fire even under ordinary circumstances is not too easy a task: to do so, handicapped by MacShaughnassy's rules, would, I felt, be an achievement pleasant to look back upon.

My idea, had I succeeded, would have been to go round the neighbourhood and brag about it.
However, I did not succeed.

I lit various other things, including the kitchen carpet and the cat, who would come sniffing about, but the materials within the stove appeared to be fire-proof.
Ethelbertha and I sat down, one each side of our cheerless hearth, and looked at one another, and thought of MacShaughnassy, until Amenda chimed in on our despair with one of those practical suggestions of hers that she occasionally threw out for us to accept or not, as we chose.
"Maybe," said she, "I'd better light it in the old way just for to-day." "Do, Amenda," said Ethelbertha, rising.

And then she added, "I think we'll always have them lighted in the old way, Amenda, if you please." Another time he showed us how to make coffee--according to the Arabian method.