While the professor was bending over Jonesy, trying to bring him back to
consciousness, Miss Allison came running down the path. She had an
eiderdown quilt wrapped around her over her dressing-gown. The shouts
had awakened her, also, and she had slipped out as quietly as possible,
not wishing to alarm her mother.

"How did it happen?" she demanded, breathlessly. "Is the child badly
burned? Is any one else hurt? Is the tramp in the cabin?"

No one gave any answer to her rapid questions. The old professor shook
his head, but did not look up. He was bending over Jonesy, trying to
restore him to consciousness. He seemed to know the right things to do
for him, and in a little while the child opened his eyes and looked
around wonderingly. In a few minutes he was able to tell what he knew
about the fire.

It was not much, only a horrible recollection of being awakened by a
feeling that he was choking in the thick smoke that filled the room; of
hearing the boss swear at him to be quick and follow him or he would be
burned to death. Then there had been an awful moment of groping through
the blinding, choking smoke, trying to find a way out. The man sprang to
a window and made his escape, but as the outside air rushed in through
the opening he left, it seemed to fan the smoke instantly into flame.

Jonesy had struck out at the wall of fire with his helpless little
hands, and then, half-crazed by the scorching pain, dropped to the floor
and crawled in the opposite direction, just as the professor burst
open the door.