If it had not been for the dreadful thought of burning up that hung over them, the old soldier and Tatters might have enjoyed their trip across the island. But as it was they got little pleasure from it. Even Prince Forge John’s fire works, where all the hearth fires and kitchen fires are manufactured and the Fourth of July roman candles and sparklers are made, aroused in them no enthusiasm. When they reached the other side of the island, the Prince offered each member of the party a box of fire crackers for refreshments and this made Grampa smile in spite of his worry. “No use setting ourselves off before our time!” chuckled the old soldier, handing them back with a bow. The Prince looked a little hurt, but he and the rest of his company ate up their fire crackers with relish and after Prince Forge John had finished his sixteenth box he had a sudden idea. “I’ve thought of a way to save you,” cried Prince Forge John, fairly crackling with pleasure. “You can just go to Blazes!” “What?” shouted Grampa, who, being in the army, thought he was insulted. “Yes,” repeated Forge John calmly. “You must go to Blazes. See that dark house across the waters there? Well, you’ll find him on the other side of that.” Grampa shaded his eyes and, looking across the green, sulphurous waters surrounding Fire Island, made out a great tower of Darkness. It was quite easy to see, for every other place was lighted with the ruddy glow from the island. “Fetch the boat,” ordered the Prince briskly, and while Grampa and Tatters were still gazing in stupefaction at the tower, several of the fire men began shoving an iron boat down the beach. Unceremoniously Forge John took them by the arms and helped them in. To tell the truth, he was growing sleepy and anxious to be rid of these singular visitors. “The flower fairy may stay,” he yawned graciously, but Urtha had no such intention. Gently disengaging herself from a group of the fire maidens, she ran after the boat and sprang lightly in beside Tatters. “What do you mean? Where are we going? Hold on here!” blustered the old soldier. But Prince Forge John merely waved his firm arms and the two fire men began to row away as fast as they could. “Good-bye,” called the Prince, with another yawn. “I’m sorry you wouldn’t stay and burn with us.” “We’re going to blazes, to blazes, to blazes!” crowed Bill, who had flown up into the bow of the boat. “That’s right,” crackled the flame man nearest to Tatters. “He’ll soon send you up.” “But who—who is Blazes?” asked the Prince of Ragbad, stretching out both his hands imploringly. “The keeper of the volcano,” answered the second rower, looking at Tatters intently. “Lightning, thunder, hot winds and earthquakes!” crowed the weather cock wildly. Grampa flopped hopelessly into the bottom of the boat. CHAPTER 11 Into the Volcano By the time Grampa had recovered enough to sit up the boat was scraping on the black rocks at the foot of the dark tower.