Sandy thought deeply for a while. Then he spoke.
"That wood is dead and dry. If we could get a bit fire at the roots, doon she'd coom in a jiffy."
"But we've no matches."
"Can ye no think of any other way to make fire?"
Jack shook his head.
"In books people always rub dry sticks together, but I've tried that often, and I could never get even a spark from them."
Sandy drew a small brass object from his pocket. Jack saw at once that it was one of the Scotch lad's most treasured possessions—a pocket microscope. Many a bug, beetle and butterfly had yielded up their lives on its account.
"There's a good hot sun aboot us," quoth Sandy; "noo I wonder if we canna make a good burning glass oot of this wee microscope?"
"By ginger! That's a plan worth trying!" cried Jack enthusiastically.
He began climbing the hillside to where the dead pine grew. With their knives the two boys soon had shaved off enough dried bark to start their experiment. Dead limbs in plenty lay all about.