garden with eager eyes--surely, surely it would never fly so low
unless it were about to land! Engine trouble, perhaps--though she
could detect no break in the huge, rhythmic pulsing that was shaking
the night. Still--

"Rosemary!" she called urgently. "Rosemary--listen--is there a
place where it can land?"

"Where what can land?" asked a drowsy voice.

"An airplane. It's flying so low that it must be in some kind of
trouble--do come and see!"

Rosemary came pattering obediently toward her, a small, docile figure,
dark eyes misted with dreams, wide with amazement.

"I must be nine-tenths asleep," she murmured gently. "Because I
don't hear a single thing, Janet. Perhaps--"

"Hush--listen!" begged Janet, raising an imperative hand--and then
her own eyes widened. "Why--it's _gone_!" There was a note of flat
incredulity in her voice. "Heavens, how those things must eat up
space! Not a minute, ago it was fairly shaking this room, and now--"

Rosemary stifled a small pink yawn and smiled ingratiatingly.

"Perhaps you were asleep too," she suggested humbly. "I don't
believe that airplanes ever fly this way any more. Or it might have
been that fat Hodges boy on his motorcycle--he does make the most
dreadful racket. Oh, Janet, what a perfectly _ripping_ night--do see!"