Man is the only creature that dares to light a fire and to live with
it.  The reason?  Because he alone has learned how to put it out.

It is true that two of his humbler friends have been converted to
fire-worship.  The dog and the cat, being half-humanized, have begun
to love the fire.  I suppose that a cat seldom comes so near to
feeling a true sense of affection as when she has finished her
saucer of bread and milk, and stretched herself luxuriously
underneath the kitchen stove, while her faithful mistress washes up
the dishes.  As for a dog, I am sure that his admiring love for his
master is never greater than when they come in together from the
hunt, wet and tired, and the man gathers a pile of wood in front of
the tent, touches it with a tiny magic wand, and suddenly the clear,
consoling flame springs up, saying cheerfully, "Here we are, at home
in the forest; come into the warmth; rest, and eat, and sleep."
When the weary, shivering dog sees this miracle, he knows that his
master is a great man and a lord of things.

After all, that is the only real open fire.  Wood is the fuel for
it.  Out-of-doors is the place for it.  A furnace is an underground
prison for a toiling slave.  A stove is a cage for a tame bird.
Even a broad hearthstone and a pair of glittering andirons--the best
ornament of a room--must be accepted as an imitation of the real
thing.  The veritable open fire is built in the open, with the whole
earth for a fireplace and the sky for a chimney.