Bob grabbed it and, before it could go out, nursed the flicker in his cupped hands, not realizing that it was burning his fingers cruelly. Carefully, yet swiftly, he carried the flame to the little pile of threads. As these caught, his heart grew light with thankfulness.
Little by little the boy fed the smoldering ravelings of his shirt with the other piles, holding in the center of the glowing coal the smallest of the sticks.
Hardly daring to breathe, he watched and hoped for a flame to spring from the wood. If it came, he had won; if not, his losing was the end of the fight. There would be no other way out.
Just as Bob was about to give up hope, for his fingers told him that the last pile of threads was about all gone, a sliver of flame ran up the stick he held in his left hand. It went out but a second later another one came and stayed!
With the utmost caution, the boy laid the burning stick down on the faintly red ashes of the threads and arranged other sticks on it. Then, gently, he breathed over it and the little flame grew and multiplied. Soon it was going briskly, but it was not till then that the load of fear dropped from Bob’s shoulders.
When the fire was burning strongly, he moved it as close to the door as possible so that the flames could lick the planking. His whole scheme depended on the door burning sufficiently to let him either crawl through or to weaken it to the point where his strength could break it down. Therefore, once the fire was in place he must not be stingy with his wood; the hotter the blaze, the more chance he had.
He piled on all the sticks he had and watched the flames mount higher and higher until the whole doorway was a sheet of roaring fire.
He thought the door had caught but he could not be sure. But soon he lost interest, for a new danger threatened him. It was one which he had failed to foresee when he had planned this means of escape.
There was no outlet for the smoke! The little room was practically air-tight except for the cracks around the door and these now were bringing in only the oxygen that allowed the fire to burn.
Choked, stifling with the intense heat, Bob fell on his face, remembering that smoke always rises.