“Directly, old fellow,” said his brother. “I only want to see what they are about to do next. They’re busy about something.”
“I can see,” cried Stan excitedly from where he crouched with one eye over the edge of the table. “They’re carrying the men who have fallen away out of the light.”
“What!” cried Uncle Jeff. “Why, so they are—thirty of them at least, hard at work. Well, they have some humanity in them after all.”
“It’s almost too good to be true, Jeff,” said Stan’s father, “but I believe they are giving us up for a bad job.”
“You’re right, Oliver,” was the excited reply. “That’s it; they find us too hard nuts to crack.”
“They feel that the fire will bring help, and that it is time to be off. Come and help to remove the barricade; we must escape before the fire takes a firmer hold.”
“Wait a moment, both of you,” cried Uncle Jeff. “Yes. Hurrah in a whisper. Don’t shout. It’s all right; they are making off, and we are saved.”
“You forget the fire, Jeff,” said Stanley’s father sadly.
“Not I. Let’s hurry down and see what mischief has been done.”
“No, no,” cried Stan excitedly as the glow from beneath increased; “they are coming back again.”