Front matter (continued 3)

With snake-like caution he glided behind the hangar once more.

It was not long after this that the Golden Butterfly was wheeled out by some of the mechanicians attached to the track, whose services were furnished free by the aviation officials.

Jess and Jimsy emerged from the hangar at the same time, in company with a boyish figure in aviator’s clothing, leather trousers cut very baggily, fur-lined leather coat and big helmet of leather, well padded, completely obscuring the features. After a few words in a low tone with its companions, this figure clambered lightly into the aeroplane, leaned forward, adjusted some levers, and the next instant, amidst a shout from several hastily gathered onlookers, the Golden Butterfly skyrocketed upward, her engine roaring like an angry giant hornet.

All this was watched by Fanning Harding, Jukes Dade, and Gid Gibbons.

“A nice mess you’ve made of it,” growled Harding angrily to his companions. “You’ve succeeded in getting me suspected, and in trouble, while the boy is safe and sound and on the scene.”

“Wonder how he got back,” grunted Gid speculatively; “he must have looked a sight when he crawled out of that swamp.”

“Say, Dade, you’d better be off,” said Fanning suddenly; “you were the only one of us whose face wasn’t covered. He would swear to you.”

“Oh, I ain’t worrying yet,” grinned Dade easily.

“You’re not, eh? Well, you are a cool hand,” rejoined Gid admiringly. “If I were in your shoes I’d clear out before that aeroplane lands again.”

“You would, eh?” scoffed Dade. “Well, what would you say if I told you that that ain’t Roy Prescott in the Golden Butterfly at all?”

“That you were crazy with the heat,” was the prompt and impolite answer.

“Then you’d be crazy yourself. That’s his sister in that aeroplane, and if he don’t show up in time for the race she’s going to fly it herself and win it.”

If a bombshell had fallen at Fanning’s feet he could not have been more thunderstruck. But he recovered in an instant.

“If she does I’ll protest to the judges,” he said angrily; “they can’t prove that I know anything about her brother’s disappearance, and that Golden Butterfly won’t win this race if I can help it.”

CHAPTER XIX.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

The first gleam of the summer dawn shining into Roy’s place of imprisonment at the bottom of the old well revealed to him only too clearly into what a trap he had fallen. The well seemed to be about fifty feet or more in depth, and the sides were smooth and slippery.

The chill he had felt spreading through his limbs earlier was gone now, but a numb sensation was setting in which did not leave them even when the boy wriggled his legs about.

“Phew!” thought Roy. “I stand a fair chance of being turned into a pollywog or something if I stay here long enough.”

Somehow, with the coming of daylight, the buoyant spirits of youth had returned to the boy and his predicament did not seem nearly so serious as it had during the dark hours.

But it was bad enough, as Roy realized. From time to time he tried shouting, but no one came to the edge of the well and peered over, although he anxiously kept his eyes riveted on the disc of sky above him. How long this went on Roy had no idea, but he had sunk into a sort of semi-doze when a sudden sound aroused him.

A tinkling, metallic sound, not unlike the rattling of the chain the night before that had, in reality, caused his trouble.

“Help! Help!” shouted Roy.

It was perhaps the five hundredth time he had uttered the cry since he had tumbled into the well. But this time there came a response.

“What is it? What’s the trouble?”

The voice sounded rather shaky, and as if the utterer of the words was somewhat scared.

“It’s a boy who has fallen into the well,” shouted Roy. “I’m almost exhausted. Get me out.”

A face suddenly projected over the well curb—a face which Roy recognized with astonishment as that of old Peter Bell, the hermit.

“Mr. Bell, it’s Roy Prescott,” he shouted; “can you get a rope and get me out?”

“Good heavens!” cried the hermit; “it’s the boy whose sister was so kind to me. However did you—but never mind that now. Can you hold on for a time?”

“Yes, but my strength is almost gone.”

“Well, summon up all your courage. There is a farm house not far off. I’ll go there and get a rope and be back as quick as I can.”

Without wasting more words the old man hastened to his little cart. He had been out since dawn gathering herbs and roots and had taken a short cut home through the field in which the old well was located. Muttering excitedly to himself, he climbed somewhat stiffly into his rickety conveyance and urged his old horse forward with gently spoken commands. As the animal broke into a trot the little bell about its neck began to jangle not unmusically. This was the sound which, fortunately for him, had notified Roy that some human being was at hand.

In the near distance, half hidden in trees, could be seen the red-roofed gable of a farm house. Toward this old Peter Bell directed his way. Farmer Ingalls was only too glad, when he heard of the accident, to secure a long rope, used in hoisting hay to the top of his big barns.

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “a lad tumbled into my well! Mommer,” turning to a motherly-looking, calico-clad woman, “you always told me to cover that well up, and I never did, and now thar’s a poor young chap tumbled into it.”

“Hurry,” urged old Peter Bell; “he was almost exhausted, poor lad. We must get back as quick as possible.”

Summoning his two hired men the farmer set off at a run across the fields, easily keeping pace with old Peter’s decrepit horse. As they neared the well they began shouting, and a feeble cry from the depths answered them.

“Cheer up, my lad, we’ll have you out of that in a brace-of-shakes,” cried Farmer Ingalls encouragingly, as they reached the curb and peered over into the dark hole.

“I hope you will,” cried Roy. “It’s getting pretty monotonous, I can tell you.”

“Don’t know what mon-ount-on-tonous means, but I’d hate to change places with you,” agreed the farmer.

Presently the rope came snaking down, with a loop in its lower end. Roy was directed to place his foot in the loop and hold on tight. When this had been done he shouted up:

“All right! Haul away!”

The stalwart farmer and his two assistants began to heave with all their might, while old Mr. Bell encouraged them. Before long, by dint of hard exertions, they succeeded in dragging Roy to the surface, and dripping and shivering he could stand once more in the blessed air and sunlight.

“But how in the world did you come to get in there?” asked the farmer, as he paced along by the side of the hermit’s little cart, in which the half-exhausted Roy had been placed.

“Well,” said the lad with a rather shamefaced laugh, “I’m really half ashamed to say. But it was this way. Some bad men who have an interest in putting me out of an aeroplane contest, of which Mr. Bell knows, had run off with me in an automobile. It was wrecked, and I escaped. I struck out toward town, as I thought, but as I came through that patch of woods by the wall I saw something that startled me so much that I stepped back and fell down the well.”

“What did you see, my lad?” asked the farmer with half a twinkle in his eye.

“Something like a story-book ghost,” smiled Roy; “it was tall and all in white and clanked a chain.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared the farmer; “I half suspected as much. Why, that ghost was my old white mule Boxer. He managed somehow to snap his chain last night and we found him careening around the fields this morning. Don’t color up, my boy,” for poor Roy’s face had turned very red, as the hired men guffawed loudly; “older men than you have been startled at far less. And now, here’s the farm, and I’ll bet mommer has a fine breakfast all ready for you.”

The half-famished boy ate hungrily of the substantial farmhouse fare Mrs. Ingalls provided for him, and as he ate he made inquiries about the distance to the aviation grounds, which, he found to his dismay, were further distant than he had imagined.

“I’ll never be able to make it in time without an automobile,” moaned Roy to himself; “what shall I do?”

He cast about in his mind for some way out of his difficulty, but he could find none. Nor could the farmer help him. There were no automobiles in that part of the country, and in a horse-drawn vehicle he would never be able to make it in time.

All at once a queer sound filled the air. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with it as it does on a still summer day when a threshing machine is buzzing away in a distant field.

“Land o’ Goshen, what’s that?” cried Mrs. Ingalls running to the door.

“Lish! Lish! come here quick!” she shouted the next instant.

Followed by the old hermit and Roy, Mr. Ingalls ran to the door. But his exclamations at the sight he saw were drowned by Roy’s amazed cry:

“It’s the Golden Butterfly!”

“An aeroplane!” shouted the farmer. “By gosh, she’s like a pretty bird.”

“It’s my—our aeroplane,” went on Roy; “who can be in it? Oh, if it’s only Peggy I may not be too late after all.”

He ran out into the door yard of the farm house and, snatching off his coat, began waving it desperately. Would the occupant of the aeroplane see his frantic signals? With a beating heart Roy watched the winged machine as it droned far above him.

All at once he gave a delighted shout. The aeroplane was beginning to descend. Down it came in big circles, while the farmer, his wife and the old hermit gazed open mouthed at it, as if half inclined to run.

But as it drew closer to the ground Roy noted a puzzling thing. A helmeted and goggled person was driving it, evidently a boy or man and not Peggy at all. Who could it be? For an instant a queer thought flashed through his head. Possibly somebody had stolen it and was making off across country with it so as to put it out of the race.

More and more rapidly the aeroplane began to drop as it neared the ground, and before many minutes it alighted in the patch of meadow in front of the farm house, gliding gracefully for several feet before it stopped.

But the rubber-tired landing wheels had not ceased revolving before Roy was at its side.

“Say, who are you, and what are you doing with my aeroplane?” he demanded in heated tones, for the helmeted aviator had not yet even deigned to notice him, but seemed to be busy with various levers and valves.

“Well, are you going to answer me?” sputtered Roy, while the farmer, his wife, the old hermit and the hired men gazed on curiously.

For answer the mysterious aviator raised his helmet and a cloud of golden curls fell about a milk-and-roses face.

“By gum, a gal and a purty one!” cried the farmer capering about.

“Peggy!” shouted Roy.

“Yes, Peggy,” cried the girl. “Oh, Roy, what has happened to you? When you didn’t come back Jess and Jimsy persuaded me to put on your clothes and at least try the Butterfly out. But I was so miserable that I could not try her out on the track, so I flew off across country. I saw you waving far below me and—oh, Roy!”

Peggy could go no further and half collapsed in Roy’s arms as he tenderly lifted her out.

“Great hopping water millions!” cried the farmer, “if this ain’t a day of wonders. This must be ther lad’s sister he told us about, and ter think she come flopping down out of ther sky like a seventeen-y’ar locust.”

Peggy was quickly her usual strong, self-reliant self again. With indignation blazing in her kind eyes she heard Roy’s account of the happenings of the night. At its conclusion she announced with decision:

“We must defeat them, Roy.”

“Yes, but how? There’s only a scant half hour before starting time if you said they’d changed it.”

“Even so you can make it. You must take these clothes, get into the aeroplane and fly back to the track. If you go alone the ’plane will be light and you can make it in time.”

“But you, Peggy?”

“I guess I can borrow a dress from Mrs. Ingalls here,” said the girl briskly.

“Of course, you kin,” put in Mrs. Ingalls, but surveying her own ample form rather doubtfully the while.

“You kin give her one of daughter Jenny’s dresses,” said the farmer.

“Then that is settled, thanks to you,” said Peggy with characteristic decision.

They all entered the farm house, from which, a few seconds later, Roy emerged, clad in the garments his sister had donned a short time before. He climbed into the aeroplane amid the admiring comments of the farm hands, who, by this time, had come in from the fields, drawn by the wonderful airship, and stood all about it gaping and wondering.

Peggy, in a dress belonging to the farmer’s daughter, who was away on a visit, stepped quickly to Roy’s side as, after glancing at the clock attached to the front of the aeroplane, he started the engine.

As it started its uproarious song, the farm hands jumped back in affright. But Peggy clasped her brother’s hand.

“Win that prize, Roy,” she said.

“I’ll do my best, little sister.”

And that was all, but as Peggy Prescott gazed a few minutes later at the fast diminishing form of the speeding aeroplane she felt that all she had braved and dared that day had not been in vain.

CHAPTER XX.

IN THE NICK OF TIME.

Excitement had reached its topmost pitch on the aviation field. It was but a few minutes to starting time for the great contest, and already four young aviators had their winged craft in line before the judge’s stand.

Engines were belching clouds of acrid blue smoke heavily impregnated with oily, smelling fumes. The roar of motors shook the air. Folks in the grandstand and on the crowded lawns excitedly pointed out to one another the different machines, all of which bore large numbers.

Excited officials, red-faced and perspiring, bustled about importantly, while from the top of the judge’s stand a portly man bellowed occasional announcements through a megaphone.

Suddenly he made an announcement that caused a hum of interest.

“Machine number seven—mach-ine num-ber sev-en! Fanning Harding, owner, has withdrawn from the race,” he announced.

A buzz of comment went through the crowd. Jess, Jimsy and Hal Homer, standing in a group by the empty Prescott hangar, exchanged astonished glances as they heard the news. What did that mean? Fanning had been swaggering about, boasting of his wonderful aeroplane, and now it appeared at the eleventh hour he had decided not to enter it.

“Must have had an accident,” opined Jimsy.

“Maybe he gave it one of those pleasant looks of his,” suggested Jess.

“Wherever can Peggy be,” exclaimed the girl the next minute; “she’s been gone for more than an hour. I do hope nothing has happened to her.”

“Not likely,” rejoined Jimsy, although he looked a little troubled over the non-appearance of the Golden Butterfly.

“The police said they had a dragnet out in every part of the vicinity,” volunteered Hal Homer, who had returned only a few minutes before from the station house.

Bang!

A bomb had been shot skyward and now exploded in a cloud of yellow smoke.

“Three minutes to starting time,” cried Hal Homer anxiously; “where can Miss Prescott be?”

“Look!” cried Jess suddenly, dancing about. “Oh, Glory! Here she comes!”

Far off against the sky a speck was visible. Rushing toward them at tremendous speed it swiftly grew larger. The crowd saw it now and great excitement prevailed. The word flew about that the machine was the missing Number Six. Would it arrive in time to participate in the start and thus qualify? This was the question on every lip.

Hal Homer jumped into the auto and sped over to the judge’s stand.

“Can’t you delay the start for five minutes?” he begged.

“Impossible,” was the reply.

“But that aeroplane, Number Six, has been delayed by some accident. If you start the race on time it may not arrive in time to take part.”

“Can’t be helped. Young Prescott—that’s the name of the owner, isn’t it?—shouldn’t have gone off on a cross country tryout.”

Back to the hangar sped Hal, where Jess and Jimsy, almost beside themselves with excitement, were watching the homing aeroplane.

“She’ll be on time,” cried Jimsy as the graceful ship swept over the distant confines of the course and came thundering down toward the starting point.

A great cheer swept skywards as the aeroplane came on.

“She’ll make it.”

“She won’t.”

“Where has the thing been?”

“Why is it so late?”

These and a hundred other questions and remarks went from mouth to mouth all through the big crowd.

“It’s all off,” groaned Jimsy suddenly.

He had seen the signal corps man, whose duty it was to fire the bombs, outstretching himself on the ground awaiting the signal to touch off the starting sign.

But even as Jimsy spoke, the Golden Butterfly made a swift turn and, amid a roar from the crowd, shot whirring past the grandstand and alighted in front of the stand on the starting line.

Hardly had the wheels touched the ground before the judge in charge of the track raised his hand. A flag fell and the signal corps man jerked his arm back, firing the bomb that announced the start.

B-o-o-o-o-m!

As the detonation died out the aeroplanes shot forward, rising into the still air almost in a body, like a flock of birds. It was a spectacle never to be forgotten, and the crowd appreciated it to the full.

But up in the grandstand, in inconspicuous places, sat three persons who did not look as well pleased as those about them.

“So the girl is going to take a chance,” muttered Fanning Harding; “well, so much the worse for her. If she wins I’ll put in a protest and compel her to unmask.”

“Won’t that Prescott and Bancroft bunch be astonished when they find out that we are on to their little game,” chuckled Jukes Dade; “it’ll be as good as a play.”

“That’s what it will,” grinned Gid.

“They’ll find out that they can’t humiliate me and not suffer for it,” grated out Fanning.

“Wonder where that girl went to on her tryout spin?” inquired Dade.

“It doesn’t make much difference where, but she certainly came back with a grandstand play,” rejoined Gid.

“Well, if she wins the race it will be our turn,” Fanning assured him.

They then turned their attention to the contest, two laps of which had been made while they were talking.

Number One, a small white Bleriot type of monoplane, seemed to be making the pace for the rest, and word flew about that it had gained half a lap on Number Four, its nearest competitor so far.

“But it will be a long contest,” said the wiseacres in the crowd, “and accidents may happen at any time.”

On the fourth lap Number One was seen to descend over by the hangars. Something had gone wrong with its lubricating valve. By the time the difficulty was adjusted it was hopelessly out of the race. Number Three was the next to drop out. This machine was driven by one of the high school lads, and his contingent of rooters in the grandstand set up a woeful noise as he dropped to earth in the middle of the course. A broken stay had made it dangerous for him to remain longer in the air.

This left number Six, the Prescott machine, Numbers Two, Four and Five still in the air.

“Number Six has gained a lap on Number Five!” went up the cry presently as Number Five, so far the leader, was seen to lose speed on the fifteenth lap.

The Golden Butterfly was in truth doing magnificently, but try as her operator would it did not seem possible to shake off Number Five, another high school boy’s machine, which clung persistently to its stern. Number Four alighted for more gasolene on the twentieth lap and lost a round of the course thereby. A few seconds later Number Two was also forced to descend with heated cylinders. This practically left the race between Number Five and the Golden Butterfly. Round and round they tore, neither of them gaining or losing a foot apparently. The thunder of their engines grew deafeningly monotonous and the crowds watched them as if hypnotized by the whirring aerial monsters.

All at once, though, a mighty roar proclaimed that something was happening, and gazing down toward the further end of the track it could be seen that Number Six, the Golden Butterfly, had made a daring attempt to gain on the other machine, and had succeeded.

So close did the two aeroplanes edge to the end pylon in the effort to secure the inside plane that for an instant it looked as if a crash must result.

A thunder of cheers greeted the Golden Butterfly as she swept by the grandstand on the next lap.

“That girl can drive all right,” grudgingly admitted Fanning Harding.

“Yes, and she’s pretty as a picture, too,” put in Gid Gibbons; “guess you were stuck on her once, weren’t you, Fan?”

“Oh, shut up,” growled Fanning angrily. “It makes no difference to you, does it?”

The aeroplanes had been racing for an hour now, and neither showed any signs of slacking speed. On the contrary, as they “warmed up,” they seemed to go the quicker. All at once an incident occurred which brought the crowd to its feet yelling and cheering as if wild.

The driver of Number Five, as the two machines passed the grandstand, had made a deliberate attempt to prevent the Golden Butterfly overhauling him by jamming his aeroplane over toward a pylon and directly in front of the Butterfly. For an instant it looked as if a crash must be inevitable, but just as the spectators were beginning to turn pale and the more timid to hide their eyes, the Butterfly was seen to make a graceful dip and dive clean under the other aeroplane. It was a magnificent bit of aerial driving, and the crowd appreciated it to the full. A roar and a shout went up, to which the driver of Number Six responded with a wave of a gloved hand.

Ten minutes later Number Five, two laps behind, and with a leaking radiator, dropped out of the race, leaving the Golden Butterfly the winner. Fanning Harding was white as a sheet as he saw an official with a black and white checkered flag step out into the field. This was the signal to the Golden Butterfly, which was still in the air, that the race was over.

As the Prescott aeroplane dropped to earth in front of the grandstand amid rapturous plaudits, the son of the Sandy Bay banker deliberately arose and made his way toward the judges’ stand, to which Hal Homer and the Bancrofts, the core of a shouting, yelling mob of enthusiasts, were already conducting the daring driver of Number Six.

Special policemen made a path for the aviator and his friends, while cries of:

“Take off your helmet!”

“We want to see you!”

“What’s the matter with Number Six?” and a hundred other cries arose.

But the driver of Number Six did not respond, and with his helmet still on his head was conducted before the judges to receive their congratulations. The helmet was still in place when Fanning Harding came shoving through the crowd and finally reached the little group.

“As a competitor I demand that Number Six take off his helmet!” he cried.

The judges turned to him in astonishment.

“This is most unseemly, sir,” said one of them; “no doubt in good time Mr. Prescott will take off his helmet.”

“Oh, no, he won’t,” shouted Fanning, at whom all the group was now gazing. “He won’t, I tell you, and for a good reason, too. That’s not Roy Prescott at all, but his sister Peggy.”

But the words had not left his lips before Jimsy, with a quick motion, jerked off the aviator’s helmet and disclosed the handsome, perspiring features of Roy himself.

In the few minutes he had had, Roy had found time briefly to explain how he and his sister had changed garments.

“Well, I guess that settles that question,” cried Jimsy triumphantly, as a mighty shout went up.

“It certainly does,” said one of the officials. “Where is that young scamp? Officer, find the young man who made that accusation and bring him here to explain himself.”

But the disgruntled Fanning had dived off into the crowd the instant he saw into what a tremendous blunder he had fallen. And although a strict search was made for him he was not to be found.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP.

In the midst of the hum and excitement and the crossfire of questions which immediately followed, there occurred a startling interruption. From the further side of the grounds there arose a cry, which swelled in volume as it advanced.

“Fire! One of the hangars is on fire!”

The group immediately broke up and orders and commands flew thick and fast. In the midst of the excitement Roy and his chums found an opportunity to slip away.

“There’s the fire. Off by our hangar!” shouted Hal Homer, pointing across the field.

By the side of the Prescott’s green aero shed a big cloud of smoke was ascending, mingled with yellow flames. It seemed to be a hot blaze.

“It’s Fanning Harding’s hangar!” cried Roy suddenly; “come on, let’s go over and see what the matter is.”

“I’ve got the car right here,” said Jimsy. “I’ll get you over in a jiffy.”

Soon they were speeding across the field toward the blaze. In the meantime an emergency fire corps, composed of men employed on the grounds, had attached a line of hose to a hydrant and were drenching the flames. Such good work did they do that it was not long before they had the fire under control.

As soon as it was out our party, which had managed to get through the lines formed to keep back the curious, gazed into the ruins with some interest.

“Why, say!” cried Jimsy suddenly, “the place was empty.”

“So it was!” cried Roy in astonished tones, “except for that big box kite over in the corner there. Whatever kind of a game of bluff has Fanning Harding been playing?”

“I guess I can imagine it,” struck in Hal Homer. “From what you have told me his little game was to bluff you into thinking he had a fine airship that could beat yours, and in that way induce you to sell out to him.”

“By George, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Roy, “but—hullo, here comes Peggy in the farmer’s wagon!”

He ran through the crowd to the side of the wagon, which had been driven in by Farmer Ingalls.

“You dear, dear boy, I’ve heard all about it already,” cried Peggy, throwing her white arms about Roy’s neck, while Miss Prescott, whom they had picked up at the hotel, sat by, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry, as she expressed it later.

I am not going to describe that reunion by the side of Fanning Harding’s burned hangar, but each reader can imagine for herself what a joyous one it was.

“I know a place in town where they sell the bulliest sodas and sundaes,” cried Jimsy suddenly. “Everybody come up there in the car and we’ll celebrate!”

“In one moment, Jimsy,” said Roy. “There’s one thing still I don’t understand about this whole business, and that is this. It is clear enough that Fanning Harding was bluffing about having an aeroplane in that shed, but how was it that he made a night ascent with red and green lanterns?”

“Oh, you mean the time you saw him in the air at night, the time we went to Washington?” asked Jimsy.

“That’s it. How do you account for it?”

“Give it up,” rejoined the other lad.

“Perhaps this may help to explain it.”

Hal Homer came up carrying two much scorched lanterns he had found in the debris of the hangar. One was red, the other was green.

“I don’t quite see,” said Peggy, but Hal, with an apology interrupted her.

“It’s plain as day to me,” he said; “these two lanterns attached to that big box kite on a breezy night would certainly give any one the impression that an aeroplane was sailing about. Harding knew you would be flying home in that vicinity on that night and rigged up this contrivance to delude you.”

“A phantom airship!” cried Peggy.

“That’s about the size of it,” put in the slangy Jimsy, “and I think that friend Homer here has hit on the correct solution.”

“But if that were so, why did Fanning fit up a shop out at Gid Gibbons’s place?” asked Jess in a puzzled tone.

“I guess that shop had no more in it than this hangar,” was Roy’s reply. “Gid Gibbons is a bad character who would do anything for money, and I think it likely that he fell in with Harding’s schemes because he had no great liking for any of us.”

“Looks that way,” agreed Jimsy.

“But that doesn’t explain that ruby which Hester was wearing,” thought Peggy to herself as the laughing party of young folks drove off up the town, followed by Farmer Ingalls and his good wife, who had been invited to take part in the little celebration of their triumph. Here and there they were recognized and cheered, but among the crowds on the sidewalks all discussing the thrilling race, there were three that took no part in the good-natured jubilation. Who these were we can guess.

Jukes Dade at Fanning’s side had to listen to some savage abuse as they slunk along, avoiding as far as possible the crowds.

“I told you to burn up the hangar so that there would be no trace left of the bluff we had been putting up,” he growled.

“Well, didn’t I soak the place with gasolene,” protested Dade; “how was I to know a kid would come along and give the alarm before it got fairly alight?”

“It’s been a dismal failure all the way through,” lamented Harding, as if he had been engaged on some praiseworthy enterprise.

“Incidentally,” purred Jukes Dade, but with a menace under his silky tones, “I’d like to see some of that money you’ve been promising me all along.”

“You’ll have to wait till I see my father,” snapped out Fanning savagely.

“Well, see him quick then, or I may have to take other means of getting it,” snarled Dade.

“What do you mean?”

“Why, by telling a few things I know. About the loss of a certain lady’s jewels, for instance.”

Fanning went white as ashes.

“You sneak! You’ve been listening at keyholes!” he cried.

Dade returned him look for look defiantly.

“Well, what if I have?” he snarled. “I’ve got a hold on you now, Master Harding. I’ve got you where I want you and I’m going to keep you there.”

CHAPTER XXII.

JIM BELL OF THE WEST.

Some days after the events described in the last chapter, and following the receipt by Roy of a pink check for $5,000.00, a strange visitor arrived at the Prescott home—their very own home now, for the mortgage had been paid off, much to Mr. Harding’s disgust.

The stranger was a bronzed man and wore a broad-brimmed sombrero which would have marked him anywhere as a Westerner. Of Miss Prescott, who, in a new lavender silk dress, came to the door, he inquired if he could see Mr. Roy Prescott.

Miss Prescott smiled at this ceremonial way of mentioning her young nephew, but directed the stranger with the breezy Western manner to the workshop at the rear of the house, where Roy and Peggy were “fussing,” as Jess called it, with their beloved Golden Butterfly.

“Good morning,” he said, doffing his sombrero with a sweep and a flourish; “can I have a word with you?”

“Certainly. Two or three if you want them,” rejoined Roy, while Peggy gazed in some surprise at the queer-mannered newcomer.

“The fact is,” went on the stranger, “that I’m in the market for aeroplanes such as yours. I happened to be on the train some nights ago when you came flying through the air with two belated young passengers. Well, sir, thinks I, if such a machine can make a train on schedule time it ought to be good for other purposes. I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you from your two young friends after the train had started, but asked them not to mention the matter to you yet awhile.

“In New York I looked up my partner and we discussed the plan and he agreed with me that it was a good one. Now, I’m down here this morning to offer you $10,000 outright for the use of half a dozen of your aeroplanes, and a salary of $5,000 as instructor to the aviators I shall have to have to run them. How does the offer strike you?”

“I—er—well, I hardly know what to say,” responded Roy; “you see, it’s a bit sudden. It rather takes my breath away.”

“Well, that’s a way we have in the West,” was the response, “but maybe I’d better tell you a little more about myself. My name is Jim Bell. I’m worth a couple of million or thereabouts. You can verify that by referring to the First National Bank of ’Frisco, or the East Coast Bank of New York City. I’ve got interests in cattle, wool and mines, but the very best mining proposition I ever struck I ran across out on the Nevada alkali desert in a range of barren hills. We were prospecting there when I was told about it. After untold hardships I found the spot and staked it out. But there arose the difficulty of transportation. There was the gold all right, but how was I to get it out?”

“I came East to see if I couldn’t get some sort of automobile built that would travel the desert, but when I saw that aeroplane of yours droop down at that jerkwater junction, I realized I had found what I wanted. Now, are you on?”

“You’ll have to give us a little time to think, sir,” rejoined Roy; “it’s a very flattering offer and I’d like to accept it, but I’ll have to think it over.”

“Quite right, quite right,” rejoined the other, “nothing like thinking it over. If every one did that fewer accidents and mishaps would occur in life. Take my own life, for instance. I’ve often thought I’d go back to see the old folks, but in that case I thought it over too long, for when I went to the old home the other day it was all gone. Not a stick or stone remained. My parents were dead and my only brother was no-one-knew-where.”

Jim Bell’s voice shook strangely. He blinked his eyes once or twice and then resumed briskly: “You see, I left home in a mighty queer way. I was out in a boat with my brother when it got overturned. He was drowned, I guess, but anyway I found myself drifting about on the Sound. I managed to seize hold of a bit of floating driftwood and in that way kept my head above water till a ship came along and picked me up.

“She was a big vessel bound for China and her captain was a brute. On our arrival in the Far East he bound me out as a sort of apprentice to a rich Chinaman living in the interior. I was with him for ten years before I escaped. I worked my way to the coast, got another ship and headed for California.

“On the way across there was a mutiny and I saved the life of a wealthy passenger, who turned out to be a mining man and who, when he died two years later, left me most of his property. That gave me my start in life, and now I’m a millionaire. But I’d give it all if I could get some news of poor brother Peter and find out if he is dead or alive.”

“Maybe we can help you,” cried Peggy, her eyes shining and her white hands clasped excitedly.

While the rugged Westerner had been talking the story of the old hermit came back to her.

“What do you mean?” asked the other; “do you know where my brother is?”

“I’m not certain,” cried Peggy, “but the old hermit, Peter Bell, is he almost beyond a doubt.”

“My brother a hermit!” cried the wealthy mining man.

“If it is your brother,” put in Roy, “I hope for your sake it is. But his story tallies absolutely with yours. He told us that after he had missed you in the water he thought that you were drowned. Returning home he was shunned on every side, for the villagers accused him of having deserted you to save his own life.”

“My poor Peter,” breathed the miner.

“Miserable and made morose by the contempt he met with on every side he became a hermit and now lives in a hut near the town of Acatonick.”

“How long does it take to get there? I must lose no time in finding out,” exclaimed Jim Bell.

“You can get there in two or three hours from here if you can catch a train,” said Roy. “If you like I’ll phone for you and find out.”

“Say, boy, that would be mighty white of you. I tell you it hurts to think of poor Peter living all alone like that in poverty while I’ve been rich all these years. But it wasn’t for lack of trying to locate him, for I’ve advertised and had detectives searching every likely place.”

Roy found that there would be a train to Acatonick in about half an hour, and their new found friend hastened off, after warm farewells, to catch it. He promised to be back within a few days and let them know of his success, and also inform them of any further arrangements he might be prepared to make about his offer.

“Well,” said Roy, after he had gone, “the skies are beginning to clear, sis.”

Peggy sighed.

“Yes, but there is still one thing to be cleared up, Roy,” she said.

“I know—the disappearance of those jewels,” rejoined Roy. “Oh, if only we had something more to go upon than mere suspicions.”

“Perhaps we will have before long,” said Peggy, musingly.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LIKE THIEVES IN THE NIGHT.

“Heard anything of Fanning Harding?” asked Jimsy, one bright morning, as he stopped his car at the Prescotts’ gate and he and Jess got out.

“Not a thing since that day at Acatonick,” responded Roy, who with his sister had hastened to meet the other two. “Why, Jess, how charming you look this morning.”

“Meaning that you notice the contrast with other mornings,” laughed Jess merrily; “oh, Roy, you are not a courtier.”

“No, I guess not yet—whatever a courtier may be,” was the laughing rejoinder; “but I always like to pay deserved compliments.”

“Oh, that’s better,” cried Jess; “but have you heard anything more from Mr. Bell?”

For, of course, Jimsy and Jess by this time knew about the visit of the mining man. Mr. Bancroft had looked up his standing and character and had found both of the highest. On his advice Roy had about decided to accept the unique offer made him by the Western millionaire.

Peggy shook her head in response to Jess’s question.

“No, dear, not one word,” she said; “isn’t it queer? However, I guess we shall, before long. Oh, I do hope that that poor old hermit turns out to be Mr. Jim Bell’s brother.”

“So do I, too,” agreed Jimsy. “It would be jolly for you and Roy to think that you and your aeroplane had been the means of righting such a succession of mishaps.”

“Indeed it would,” agreed Peggy, warmly; “but now come into the house and have some ice cream. It’s one sign of our new prosperity that we are never without it now.”

“I’ve eaten so much of it I’m ashamed to look a freezer in the face,” laughed Roy, as they trooped in, to be warmly welcomed by Miss Prescott.

In the midst of their merry feast the sound of wheels was heard and a rig from the station drove up. Out of it stepped a venerable old gentleman in a well-fitting dark suit, with well blackened shoes and an altogether neat and prosperous appearance.

Peggy and Jess who had run to the window at the sound of wheels saw him assisted to the ground by a younger man whom they both recognized with a cry of astonishment.

“Mr. Jim Bell. But who is the old gentleman?”

“Why it’s—it’s the hermit!” cried Roy.

“Good gracious, is that fashionable looking old man a hermit?” gasped Jimsy.

“He was, I guess, but he won’t be any more,” laughed Peggy, happily, as she tripped to the door to welcome the visitors. The Prescotts had a maid now; but Peggy preferred to be the first to greet the newly united brothers for it was evident that Jim Bell’s quest had been successful.

What greetings there were to be sure, when the two brothers were inside the cool, shady house! The old hermit’s eyes gleamed delightedly as he gallantly handed Miss Prescott to a chair. As for Jim Bell, he was happy enough to “dance a jig,” he said.

“I’ll play for you, sir,” volunteered Jimsy, going toward the piano.

“No, no,” laughed Jim Bell; “I’m too old for that now. But not too old for Peter and I to have many happy days together yet, eh, Peter?”

He turned tenderly toward the old man whose eyes grew dim and moist.

“I wish dad and mother could see us now,” he said, sadly, as his thoughts wandered back over the long bitter years he had spent in solitude.

“Perhaps they can,” breathed Peggy, softly; “let us hope so.”

“Thank you,” said the old hermit, with a sigh.

But the conversation soon turned to a merrier vein. And then it drifted into business. Mr. Bancroft happened to stop in on his way into town and after a long talk with Jim Bell he seriously advised Roy to accept the mining man’s proposal.

“I’ll put you up a factory any place you say,” said the millionaire, “and you can turn out all that we require. I’ve a notion, too, that they might be used as general freight carriers over arid stretches of country where there are no railroads, and feed and water for stock is scarce.”

“Not a doubt of it,” said Mr. Bancroft.

Before he left the preliminary papers had been drawn up and signed, and Roy Prescott found himself fairly launched in business. But in all this success he did not forget how much he owed to Peggy. Recent events had softened the boy’s character and reduced his conceit wonderfully.

“I owe it all to you, little sis,” he said that evening.

“I don’t know about all,” cried Jimsy, who was present; “but you do owe a whole lot to her, old man, and I’m glad to see you acknowledge it at last.”

“I always have,” cried Roy, turning rather red, though.

“Hum,” commented Jimsy; “I’m not so sure about that.”

But Peggy put her hand over his mouth and it took Jimsy what seemed an unduly long time to remove it. As for Jess, she stalwartly declared that if it hadn’t been for Peggy there would have been no Golden Butterfly, no five thousand dollar prize, and, as she said, “no nothing.” But to this loyal little Peggy would not assent. In her eyes Roy would always remain the most wonderful brother in the world.

Soon after this Jimsy and Jess took their leave and it was not long before the last light was extinguished in the happy little household and deep silence reigned. About midnight, as nearly as she could judge, Peggy awoke to find the moonlight streaming into her room and upon her face.

“Good gracious, I’ll get moonstruck,” she thought, and throwing on a wrap she went to the window to pull down the shade which had been raised to admit the cool air.

The window commanded a view of the workshop, in which the Golden Butterfly was kept, and Peggy, as she looked out, was astonished to see that the door of the work shop which housed the precious craft was open.

“Goodness!” thought the girl, “how careless of whoever left it that way. The night air will rust the stay-wires and the steel parts of the motor terribly. I guess I had better slip downstairs and close it.”

Partially dressing herself the girl noiselessly tiptoed down the stairs and out into the moonlit night.

For one instant she was startled as she thought she saw a dark form dodge swiftly behind a corner of the workshop as she appeared.

“I must be getting as nervous as poor Roy when the mule frightened him down the well,” she thought to herself as she advanced toward the shed. Reaching it she raised her hand to shut the door when, to her astonishment, she discovered that it had apparently been locked,—at least a broken bit of the padlock dangling from the portal seemed to indicate this.

“Somebody’s filed that through,” was Peggy’s thought. But before she could make any further investigation a pair of hands grasped her from behind, pinioning her arms to her side. At the same instant an old coat was flung over her head and pulled close, stifling her outcries.

“We won’t hurt you if you keep quiet,” hissed a voice in her ear, “but if you don’t, look out for trouble.”

“What are you going to do?” cried Peggy, through the muffling medium of the coat.

“You’ll soon find out,” was the rejoinder. “Jukes, bring her inside the shed and keep her quiet.”

Jukes! The name struck a familiar chord in Peggy’s memory. She knew now why the face and form of the man hanging about Fanning’s “Phantom” hangar at the aviation field had seemed so familiar to her. It was Jukes Dade, the man her father had peremptorily discharged. Peggy could not repress a shudder as she thought of the desperate character of the man.

Suddenly, as her captors half dragged, half carried her into the workshop, her body grew limp, and she fell in an insensible heap forward. She would have struck the ground had not a pair of hands caught her.

“She’s fainted,” cried Jukes, alarmedly.

“So much the better,” growled out his companion; “she won’t give us any trouble now. We can do what we’ve got to do and get away. Got the files?”

“Here they are,” responded Jukes; “just let me lay her down here while I hand ’em to you.”

He deposited Peggy’s limp form on a long box on which some sacks had been strewn. The next instant the sharp rasping of a file could be heard in the silent workshop.

“I guess this Golden Butterfly will have its wings clipped for some time to come,” chuckled Jukes’ companion, whom Peggy, of course, had not yet seen.

“I guess that’s right,” laughed the other; “just wait a jiffy while I lay down this gun of mine and I’ll give you a hand.”

He stepped over and put down a wicked-looking pistol on the rough bench on which Peggy lay. Then he turned and began to help his companion. The two worked by the light of a dark lantern which they had brought with them on their rascally expedition to ruin the Golden Butterfly.

But suddenly a slight noise behind him made Jukes turn his head. As he did so he gave a startled yell. Peggy, her eyes bright and wild-looking, was standing up behind them. In her hand was the pistol which Jukes had laid down beside her when she had seemed to faint a few moments before. But Peggy’s faint had been a simulated one. Realizing that harm was meant to the Golden Butterfly, she had imitated unconsciousness as a means to possible escape and giving the alarm.

“Don’t move, either of you,” said Peggy, in a firm voice. “I’m only a girl, but I can use a pistol.”

But Jukes and his companion, with a wild yell, made a dash for the door.

“Good gracious, I can’t shoot them,” thought Peggy.

“Help! help!” she began to cry at the top of her voice.

But the next instant the whirr and roar of a motor from the road apprised her that the two rascals had made their escape in an auto and that pursuit was useless. Thus it was that when the aroused household came pouring excitedly out of the house they found a brave, if a rather tremulous, girl awaiting them with a pistol in her hand on the stock of which were engraved the initials “F. H.”

“So that’s who Jukes’s companion was,” exclaimed Roy, angrily. “Oh, if you had only awakened me, sis.”

“My dear Roy,” rejoined Peggy, with dignity, “don’t you think that I am capable of taking care of myself?”

CHAPTER XXIV.

HESTER MAKES AMENDS—CONCLUSION.

A few days later Peggy borrowed Jess’s car and went out for a long, lonely spin along the country roads. She wanted to think. Roy and Jimsy were at home repairing the damage wrought to the Golden Butterfly, which, it turned out, was very slight.

She was driving along a pretty stretch of road when she came across a veritable fairyland of delicate pink wild roses intertwined with honeysuckle and woodbine.

“Oh,” cried Peggy, who simply worshipped flowers, “how beautiful; I must take some of these home. They’ll make all our garden things look mean and shabby.”

Stopping the car she alighted and was soon deep in her occupation of gathering the fragrant posies. Suddenly she was startled by the sound of a sobbing voice close at hand, and the next minute an angry male voice could be heard also.

“I tell you I’ll do nothing of the sort,” the man was saying; “why should I go and own up that I’m a thief or the next thing to it? At any rate they’d have me put in jail for all the attempts I’ve made to interfere with their aeroplane.”

“It’s Fanning Harding!” gasped Peggy, amazedly, “and Hester Gibbons,” she added the next instant as the girl’s voice sobbed out:

“Well, if you won’t, I will. I’ve been weak and foolish but I’m not wicked. I’m going to tell Peggy Prescott all about it to-day and ask her to forgive me.”

“You’d better not,” Fanning Harding’s tone was threatening now.

“Well, what if I do?”

“You won’t, I tell you. I’ll have you locked up and charged with the theft yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, yes, I would. You’ve got that ruby and that is pretty good proof that you stole it.”

“It isn’t so and you know it. I have been a weak, silly girl, that’s all, but I see it all now. And just to think if I hadn’t overheard you and my father talking that I might have gone on admiring you.”

“Tell me you won’t go to the Prescotts with the story or I’ll––”

“Help! Help!”

The shrill cry came in Hester’s tones.

Without quite realizing what she was doing, Peggy stooped and picked up a heavy bit of stick that lay in the road beside her. Then she stepped forward around a bend which had hitherto hidden the other two from her sight. As she appeared Fanning had his hand on Hester’s wrist and was wrenching it cruelly.

“Oh! oh! Fanning, please let go!” Hester was crying.

“I will if you’ll promise not to tell.”

“There’s no need for her to promise that, Fanning,” said Peggy, “for I have already heard enough for me to know that she has some connection with the disappearance of the Bancroft diamonds.”

“Oh, Peggy!” cried Hester, running to her side.

“See here,” began Fanning, swaggering forward threateningly toward the two girls.

“My brother is just ’round that corner,” said Peggy, boldly; “he’ll be here in a minute. If you don’t wish to be arrested for what you did the other night you had better get away from here, Fanning Harding.”

A scared look crossed Fanning’s face and he turned and fairly took to his heels.

“Now, Hester,” said Peggy, kindly, “come with me to my car. It’s just ’round the corner.”

“Oh, Peggy, I’ve been a bad, wicked girl, but I’m not a thief. Truly I’m not.”

“I believe that,” said Peggy, “but what do you know about the disappearance of the diamonds?”

“That I have them all here. Not one is gone,” was the amazing reply, and Hester, drawing a handkerchief from her bosom, unfolded it and displayed to Peggy’s amazed eyes a glittering collection of gems. In the midst of the flashing gems gleamed the big ruby which Peggy had once seen Hester so carefully conceal.

“Hester, you have a duty before you,” said Peggy slowly; “get in my car and come with me to my home and then tell me all about this mystery which has puzzled us so long.”

But the girl shrank back.

“I can’t. Oh, Peggy, with you it’s different, but before, the others. Your brother––”

“Poor fellow, he has been under unjust suspicion on account of these very jewels,” Peggy reminded the agitated girl.

“Oh, give me time. Not now. I––”

“No, it must be now,” said Peggy, with gentle insistence. “Come!”

Something in her manner seemed to strike the girl.

“You’ll promise no harm will come to me or my father through this?” she said.

“Is your father very deeply implicated in the matter?” asked Peggy seriously, looking straight into the other’s eyes.

“No. On my word of honor, no,” was the response.

“Then I’ll promise,” said Peggy.

“Very well, then, I’ll tell you all I know about the matter,” said Hester, as the girls got into the car.

An hour later, in the library of the Prescott’s home, Peggy, Roy, Jimsy and Jess were gathered listening to Hester’s story. Her eyes were red from crying and she hesitated frequently, but her manner showed that she was telling the truth.

On a table lay the glistening jewels. Jess had counted them and found that they were all there.

“I didn’t find out about the jewels till one night Fanning, who has always said he admired me,” said Hester, with downcast eyes, “gave me that big ruby there. At least he didn’t give it to me but he said I could wear it. Of course I had heard about the disappearance of the jewels from the auto, but somehow I didn’t associate this token of Fanning’s with it.

“It was not till a week ago that I learned the true state of affairs. I overheard a conversation of Fanning’s with my father in which he threatened him with arrest if he, father, didn’t give him some money Fanning said he had hoarded up. I knew dad didn’t have any and I asked him after Fanning had gone to tell me all about it.

“He isn’t such a bad man at bottom and when I pleaded with him he told me the whole story. On the day of the jewel robbery, for it was a robbery, Morgan and Giles––”

“Our butler and groom!” cried Jess.

“Yes. Well, they were taking a stroll in the fields and happened along just as the car was wrecked. They knew from servants’ gossip that you had been to town to get the gems and when they saw you lying unconscious and the wallet near at hand, the temptation was too much for them and they stole it.

“They determined to hide it in some woods near my father’s place; but as they entered them Fanning Harding came along on his bicycle. He saw them enter the woods and became suspicious. Leaning his bicycle against a tree he followed them and saw them bury the gems under a tree which they marked.

“He noted the tree, too, and then, without their seeing him he remounted his motor-cycle and came on to see my father about that business of the hoax aeroplane. He said he wanted to bluff you into selling the Butterfly to him.

“Well, father agreed, for a fair sum of money, to help him, and we started right into town. At that time I thought it was a good joke, and we were both laughing as we came in sight of the scene of the accident.”

“So that’s what they were laughing at,” thought Roy, recollecting how mystified he had been when he saw them together.

“I don’t know whether it was Fanning’s manner or what,” said Hester resuming, “but my father began to suspect that he might know something about the jewels, and one day he followed him into the woods when he went to see if the jewels were still under the tree. Father made him own up when he caught him red-handed like that, but in the meantime Morgan and Giles also had arrived. Well, the four of them were all equally guilty, so they agreed to stick together and say nothing till the excitement about the loss had blown over. But Fanning in the meantime said that he must have the ruby to let me wear.

“I guess he wanted to show me that he was as rich as he was always pretending to be.

“A few days later they had a terrible fright. Morgan, who carried the leather wallet in his pocket for lack of a better place to put it, dropped it on the porch of the Bancrofts’ house where, as you know, it was found before he realized his loss and could recover it.

“When Fanning came back from the aviation meet and began boasting of the mean tricks he had played you and how he had kidnapped Roy, I began to see what a despicable fellow he was. Then, too, he was always threatening dad, and so I decided to make a clean breast of it all and save poor dad any more trouble, for Fanning has dictated to him ever since they shared the secret.

“I went to the wood and found the marked tree I had heard them talk about so often and with the jewels in my hand I started for your home, Peggy, for I didn’t dare to go to the Bancrofts’. But Fanning, it seems, had got suspicious, and followed me. He overtook me at the spot where you encountered us.”

“Does he know you have the jewels?” asked Roy.

“Not yet,” rejoined Hester; “I believe if he had he would have been violent.”

“Well, Hester,” said Peggy, as the girl concluded her strange narrative, “you have cleared up a puzzling mystery.”

“Did you ever hear such a yarn in all your born days?” asked Jimsy.

“And every one of the jewels is there,” cried Jess. “I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll just call up the house and tell mother about it. Won’t she be pleased?”

But Mrs. Bancroft was not at home, and––

“Oh, miss,” gasped the servant, who answered the ’phone, “we’re all upset. Morgan has run off, miss, and so has Giles. They took some of the silver with them. Mary and me tried to stop ’em but they pointed a pistol at us and scared us inter high strikes.”

“I’ll ’phone the police at once,” cried Jess, indignantly. “They might have got off if it hadn’t been for that.”

But although a good description was furnished, Morgan and Giles were not captured and Mr. Bancroft was not ill pleased.

“They will not venture into this part of the country again,” he said, “and we are well rid of such rascals.”

Hester, in whom Mrs. Bancroft took an interest after the girl had told her with her own lips her strange story, is now at a girls’ boarding school, having been sent there at Mrs. Bancroft’s expense.

As for Fanning Harding, his father sent him West soon after the lad’s innate rascality had been revealed, and from reports Fanning is working hard to redeem the past and make himself a good and useful man.

“And so the mystery of the phantom airship and the missing jewels is all cleared up,” said Peggy to Jess one day a short time after the events just described had transpired.

“Yes,” rejoined her chum, “and the air seems clearer and fresher somehow. It is terrible to have a dark cloud of suspicion hanging over one.”

“It is, indeed,” rejoined Peggy; “and now, as Roy leaves in a few days for the West, let’s all take a good long spin. You and I will go in the Golden Butterfly while the boys can run along below us in the auto.”

But Jess looked a bit doubtful.

“Wouldn’t Roy like to go in the aeroplane?” she said.

Peggy broke into merry laughter.

“Oh, you sly puss,” she exclaimed. “Very well, then you and Roy in the Golden Eagle and Jimsy and I in the auto.”

“Suits me,” cried Jimsy, throwing his arm around his sister’s waist, “but I thought you were the girl aviator of the family, Peggy.”

“So I am,” laughed Peggy, “but I am willing to yield my place for once.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse my horrid slang,” laughed Jimsy, “I think I may say we’ve all been ‘up in the air’ for the last few weeks. But it’s all over now and we’ll settle down to humdrum life once more.”

“It’s been jolly, though,” protested Peggy.

“With some parts left out,” put in Jess.

But although no adventures just like those we have related happened again to the Girl Aviators, they were due to encounter some more strange experiences. In fact, both Peggy and Roy and their friends were on the brink of some odd happenings, the narration of which must be postponed to another volume of this series.

What these complications and adventures, both merry and perilous, proved to be will be set down in full detail in “The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings,” a breezy tale of our aerial maids.

THE END.