About a gallon of molasses was procured. This was poured into an iron pot, and Phil stationed himself at his post in the galley. The fire was supplied with fresh fuel, and soon the liquid began to boil. Phil stirred away like a good fellow, and the liquid began to froth up. Phil tried to keep it down, so that it might not boil over. For some time there was a desperate struggle between Phil and the molasses. The boys stood crowding around, watching that struggle with intense interest and keen excitement. None of them offered to make a suggestion, for it was felt that any offer of advice would be derogatory to the dignity of Phil’s office. So the struggle went on. It grew fiercer and fiercer every moment. Now the molasses rose up in wrath and fury, and seemed about to rush forth from its iron prison. Now Phil, summoning all his energy, dealt a series of destructive blows at his furious enemy, and laid him low for a time. So went the struggle. Now the molasses gained, now Phil. But all the time the molasses was increasing in fury. The boys stood about. They formed themselves into two parties, one embracing the cause of the molasses, the other that of Phil. Cheer after cheer arose as one or the other saw its cause in the ascendant. Phil grew weaker and fainter. At length he tried to make a flank attack, and tore open the stove doors so as to lessen the draught. The movement failed. Scarce had he torn open the doors than the molasses, rising in its wrath, rushed forth, streamed over, and poured out in resistless strength, driving Phil himself back from the clouds of hot steam that arose. Phil fled vanquished from the galley. The molasses had conquered! Wild cheers arose from the Molassesites. At length, when the smoke and steam had subsided, Phil ventured back. There was a boiling, foaming mass still in the pot; but on lifting it off the stove, and allowing it to subside for a moment, it was found that not more than a quart was left. “Sure, an here’s some lovely flavorin I found,” said Pat, “in the pantry. It’ll make a good flavorin to the candy, so it will.” He held forth a small vial to Phil, which was labelled,-- _Extract of Lemon._ Phil thought it would be an improvement, and so poured the whole contents of the vial into the boiling molasses. His task was soon over, and the candy was taken off, and poured into dishes to cool. There was only a little, but it was hoped that this might suffice for the present. At length they ventured to taste it. But the first taste excited one universal cry of execration. The taste was of rancid oil, and not by any means the smooth, sweet, delicious lemon-flavored molasses candy for which they had waited so long. In bitter disappointment and vexation, Phil seized the vial which Pat had handed him. He smelt it; he poured some of the last drops out on his hand, and touched it.