“Ah!” the officer glanced at this girl curiously, “but you know what I particularly desired was a practical demonstration.”

“A flight?”

“Yes, if it were possible.”

“I think it can be arranged.”

“You have an aviator attached to your place, then?”

Peggy laughed musically.  She had quite recovered from her embarrassment now.

“No.  I guess it’s an aviatress—­if there is such a word.  You see I——­”

“You!”

“Oh, yes.  I have flown quite a good deal recently.  I think it is the most delightful sport there is.”

A sudden light seemed to break over the young officer.

“Are you Miss Margaret Prescott, the girl aviator I have read so much about in the technical publications?”

“I believe I am,” smiled Peggy; “but here comes my aunt, Miss Sallie Prescott.”

As she spoke, Miss Prescott, in a soft gown of cool white material, emerged from the house.  Peggy went through the ceremony of introduction, after which they all directed their steps to the large shed in which the Prescott machines were kept.  In the meantime, old Sam Hickey, the gardener, and his stalwart son Jerusah, had been summoned to aid in dragging out one of the aeroplanes.

“We only have two on hand,” explained Peggy; “my brother has forwarded the others that we built to Mr. James Bell, the mining man.  They are being used in aerial gold transportation across the Nevada desert.”

“Indeed!  That is most interesting.”

Sam Hickey flung open the big doors and revealed the interior of the shed with the two scarab-like monoplanes standing within.  A strong smell of gasoline and machine-oil filled the air.  The officer glanced at Peggy’s dainty figure in astonishment.  It seemed hard to associate this refined, exquisite young girl with the rough actualities of machinery and aeroplanes.

[Illustration:  When she emerged a very business-like Peggy had taken the place of the lounger in the hammock.]

But Peggy, with a word of excuse, dived suddenly into a small room.  While she was gone, Miss Prescott entertained the young officer with many tales of her harrowing experiences on the Nevada desert.  To all of which he listened with keen attention.  At least he did so to all outward appearance, but his eyes were riveted on the door through which Peggy had vanished.

When she emerged a very business-like Peggy had taken the place of the lounger in the hammock.  A linen duster, fitting tightly, covered her from top to toe.  A motoring bonnet of maroon silk imprisoned her hair, and upon its rim, above her forehead, was perched a pair of goggles.  Gauntlets encased her hands.

“Looks rather too warm to be comfortable, doesn’t it?” she laughed.  “But we shall find it cool enough up above.”

“Perhaps the lieutenant——­” ventured Miss Prescott.

“Oh, yes.  How stupid of me not to have thought of it!” exclaimed Peggy.  “Mr. Bradbury, you will find aviation togs inside there.”