CHAPTER IV.

IN A STORM


Dwarfed to the merest midgets, the figures about the Prescott house waved
enthusiastically, as the golden-winged monoplane made a graceful swoop
high above the elms and maples surrounding it. Other figures could be
glimpsed too, now, running about excitedly outside the barn-like structure
housing the Mortlake aeroplanes.

"Guess they think you are stealing a march on them," drawled Lieut.
Bradbury.

A wild, reckless feeling, born of the thrilling sensation of aerial
riding, came over Peggy. She would do it--she would. With a scarcely
perceptible thrust of her wrist, she altered the angle of the rudder-like
tail, and instantly the obedient _Golden Butterfly_ began racing through
space toward the Mortlake plant.

The naval officer, quick to guess her plan, laughed as happily as a
mischievous boy.

"What a lark!" he exclaimed. "It's contrary to all discipline, but it's
jolly good fun."

Peggy turned a small brass-capped valve--the timer. At once the aeroplane