anything that the war had brought her young soul was burning in
her heart of what a man means when he tries to express his
feeling concerning the land of his birth. Presently, without
realizing what she was doing, she reached for her pad and pencils
and rapidly began sketching a stretch of peaceful countryside
over which a coming storm of gigantic proportions was gathering.
Fired by Peter's article, the touch of genius in Linda's soul
became creative and she fashioned huge storm clouds wind driven,
that floated in such a manner as to bring the merest suggestion
of menacing faces, black faces, yellow faces, brown faces, and
under the flash of lightning, just at the obscuring of the sun, a
huge, evil, leering red face. She swept a stroke across her
sheet and below this she began again, sketching the same stretch
of country she had pictured above, strolling in cultivated
fields, dotting it with white cities, connecting it with smooth
roadways, sweeping the sky with giant planes. At one side,
winging in from the glow of morning, she drew in the
strong-winged flight of a flock of sea swallows, peacefully
homing toward the far-distant ocean. She was utterly unaware
when Peter stopped reading. Absorbed, she bent over her work.
When she had finished she looked up.

"Now I'll take this home," she said. "I can't do well on color
with pencils. You hold that article till I have time to put this
on water-color paper and touch it up a bit here and there, and I
believe it will be worthy of starting and closing your article."

She pushed the sketches toward him.

"You little wonder!" said Peter softly.