Cotton is almost as inflammable as paper. Carefully, Madge, Phil and the deaf and dumb boy made another pile of little and big sticks just outside the door they desired to burn down. Miss Jenny Ann's petticoat lay, as a sacrifice, underneath the pyre. The skirt started a splendid blaze. Madge and Phil fanned the flames gently toward the front door. The chips caught, then the larger sticks, at last one of the logs of the door smouldered and flamed. It took only a short time to get a fair fire started. But it seemed a long time to the workers--and a century to the man who waited inside. He said nothing, gave no directions. He only walked up and down the small room that held him fast like a caged lion. Half of the lower log of the door burned away. Phyllis seized the ax. It was easy to cut through the half burnt log. She made a hole large enough to crawl through. The flame was only flickering about its outside edges when she crept inside the house with her lap full of sticks, and Madge's box of matches in her hand. Madge saw her chum disappear into the house with horror. There was no danger at the time. The front of the wooden house was burning slowly. But if the entire front should blaze up, Phil, as well as Lieutenant Lawton, might be imprisoned inside. Phil was not in the least alarmed. Once inside the dark house she found herself in a square room. A hall led out of it with a room on each side. There was no question about which room was Jimmy Lawton's prison. Heavy logs were braced against this door and a big, iron chain fastened it on the outside. It was indeed a prison cell. Phyllis dropped down in front of this door and made her second pyre. This time her own petticoat was used as a burnt offering. "The front of the house has begun to burn," she explained quietly to Lieutenant Lawton. She did not mention that a friend had come to his aid. This was no time for unnecessary explanations. "All right," the young man answered briefly. "Don't you think you had better get out pretty soon? The fire will be creeping toward you." Phil made no reply. She now saw that her second fire was beginning to catch. She must burn away this inside door, or else Jimmy Lawton would be caught in a trap. The door was chained and would not be easy to break down. Phyllis Alden had acquired one habit of a boy during her brief life in the woods. She always carried her pocket knife with her. To-day she was grateful for the habit. There was a small crack between two of the thick boards of the door. While she waited for her fire to burn Phil whittled at this slit, until the opening was large enough to slip the knife through. "Make the opening as large as you can," she suggested to the prisoner.