From the southwest billowy masses of slate-colored clouds came rolling on, obscuring the sunlit landscape beneath with an effect of lights turned down on a stage.  Turning to Jess, who occupied the seat behind her, she remarked: 

“We’re going to have some bad kind of a storm, girlie.”

Jess nodded.

“Wonder how far we are from Meadville?” she asked.

“Quite a way yet.  I’m afraid that we can’t make it before the storm breaks.”

“Look, there’s Roy coming back, and Jimsy, too.  I guess they want to talk about it.”

This turned out to be the case.  As Roy came swinging by he held a small megaphone to his mouth with one hand, while the other gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“We’re in for a storm, girls, and a hummer, too, from the look of it.”

“Better drop down,” counseled Jimsy.

Jess nodded, and, as at this moment Bess, who had seen the boy’s maneuver, came by, the news was communicated to her.

The next thing to do was to look about for a suitable place to land.  The country over which they were passing was heavily wooded, and seemingly sparsely populated.  Beneath them wound a road, along which, but at some distance behind, the touring car could be seen coming in a cloud of yellow dust.

The wind began to grow puffy, and it required all the skill of the young aviators to keep their flock of motor-driven birds on even wings.  Before long, just as the distant, but fast approaching, cloud curtain began to be ripped and slashed by vivid scimitars of lightning, Roy espied, beneath them, a field, at one end of which stood a prosperous-looking farmhouse, surrounded by buildings and hay stacks.

It was an ideal spot in which to land, and as the road was near by they would have no difficulty in attracting the attention of Miss Prescott when she went by.  In graceful volplanes the aeroplanes lit in the field like an alighting flight of carrier pigeons.  But hardly had they touched the ground when from the farmhouse a man came running in his shirtsleeves, his lower limbs being garbed in overalls and knee-boots.  On his chin was a goatee, and as he drew closer they saw that his face was thin and hatchet shaped and anything but agreeable.

“You git out of thar!  You git out of thar!” he kept shouting as he came along, stumbling over the stubble, for the field had been newly reaped.

“Why, what’s the matter?  We’re not hurting anything,” objected Roy; “surely you don’t mind our occupying the field for an hour or so till the storm blows over?”

“I daon’t, hey?  Wa’al, I do, by heck.  I own all the way daown and all the way up frum this farm, and thet’s ther law.”

“If we didn’t have these ladies with us we’d be only too glad to leave your field,” rejoined Jimsy, “but you can see for yourself a nasty storm is coming up.”

“What bizness hes gals riding round in them sky-buggies,” stormed the farmer; “ef any darter uv mine did it I’d lock her up on bread an’ water, by Jim Hill.”