The two laved their hands and faces in the cooling water, drank copiously of it, and then soaked their blankets well. Then, as a fiercer crackling of flames than any yet warned them that the fire was advancing, Tom cried:
“Come on!”
Up from the edge of the brook they ran and into the cool, dark and friendly shelter of the cave. They reached it only just in time, for they were no sooner inside than a shower of sparks and burning brands, falling into some dry sticks, leaves and grass near the mouth of the cavern, sent a sheet of flame directly across it.
“Now let the fire burn itself out—and it won’t take long at this rate!” cried Tom, as he and Mary stood in comparative safety, free from the menace of fire and out of that blinding, choking smoke.
Then, to Tom’s surprise, Mary burst out crying.
CHAPTER XIV
A QUEER ATTACK
The young inventor, not much accustomed to tears, thought at first that Mary had been hurt in some way, perhaps burned by a flying brand.
“What is it? Tell me,” he urged, taking her in his arms as they stood in the cool darkness and safety of the cave.
“I’m—I’m all right!” gasped Mary, looking up at him as well as she could in the gloom.
“All right? Then, why are you crying?”