ours--yours, I mean."

The girl aviator sprang toward the door. Through the rain she peered to
where, across the meadow, two dim figures, clad in oilskins, could be seen
shoving a big aeroplane under the same shelter that already protected the
_Golden Butterfly_.

"Well, if this isn't the ultimate!" she gasped.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the young man at her side.

"The ultimate! That's my way of expressing what the boys call 'the limit.'
Why, that's Jess and Jimsy Bancroft, in their new aeroplane--the one Roy
built for them. Well, did you ever! Oh, Jess! Oh, Jimsy!"

Peggy raised her voice and shouted. In response they saw the oil-skinned
figures turn, and through the driving downpour came an answering shout.
Presently, across the dripping meadows, the two figures began advancing.
All this time the lightning was ripping in a manner to make Peggy shield
her eyes occasionally. The thunder, too, was terrific, and the earth
seemed to vibrate to its rolling detonations.

"Well, Peggy!" gasped Jess, her dark eyes peering from under her
waterproof hood, as she and her brother arrived at the threshold of the
farm-house, "what on earth does this mean?"

"Yes, give an account of yourself at once," demanded Jimsy. "Roy had us on
the phone. Asked if you'd flown in our direction. We said no, but we'd
take a flight and look for you. In our enthusiasm, we didn't notice the
storm coming up. But luckily, being young persons of forethought, we had