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The Black Pearl by Nancy Mann Waddel Woodrow
page 29 of 306 (09%)
"I'll lend you one of mine, and we'll have some rides. I'll take you out
on the desert. It ain't safe to go alone. You see those sand hills
yonder? Do you think you could walk out to them and back?"

"Sure," said Hanson confidently and looking at her in some surprise.

Pearl laughed. "Oh, Lolita!" she cried; "a tenderfoot is sure funny. The
chances are, Mr. Hanson, that if you started to walk around those dunes
you'd never get back. Goodness! ain't that mirage pretty?"

The desert, which had lain vast, dun-colored and unbroken before their
eyes, had vanished; instead, a sapphire sea sparkled in the sunshine,
its white-capped waves breaking upon the beach. Upon one side of it
spread a city with white domes and fairy towers, and palm trees
uplifting their graceful fronds among them.

Hanson rubbed his eyes and looked again. It was the first time that he
had ever seen one of these miracles of illusion, and he became so
absorbed in it that he failed to notice that some one else had entered
the gate and was making a leisurely progress toward the house.

It was Bob Flick, and Rudolf Hanson could not repress a slight scowl at
this unexpected appearance of one whom he was constrained to regard as
more or less of an enemy, and certainly this morning as a blot upon the
landscape.

Without a smile, but politely enough, Flick greeted him, after speaking
to Pearl, who looked at the newcomer with a sort of resigned
resentfulness. Lolita, however, made up what was lacking in cordiality.
With a loud squawk of welcome she flew to Flick's shoulder, uttering
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