One day, Honey Smith, who had gone off for a solitary walk, came running back to camp.  “What do you think?” he burst out when he got within earshot.  “I’ve seen one of them, the little brunette, the one with the orange wings, the ‘plain one.’  She was flying on the other side of the island all by her lonesome.  She saw me first, and as sure as I stand here, she called to me — a regular bird-call.  I whistled and she came flying over in my direction.  Blamed if she didn’t keep right over my head for the whole trip.”

“Low?” Ralph questioned eagerly.

“Yes,” Honey answered succinctly, “but not low enough.  I couldn’t touch her, of course.  If I stopped for a while and kept quiet as the dead, she’d come much closer.  But the instant I made a move towards — bing! — she hit the welkin.  But the way she rubbered.  And, Lord, how easy scared.  Once I waved my handkerchief — she nearly threw a fit.  Strangest sensation I’ve ever had in my life to be walking calmly along like that with a girl beside me — flying.  She isn’t so plain when you get close — she does look like a Kanaka, though.”  He stopped and burst out laughing.  “Funny thing!  I kept calling her Lulu.  After a while, she got it that that was her tag.  She didn’t exactly come closer when I said ‘Lulu,’ but she’d turn her head over her shoulder and look at me.”

“Well, damn you and your beaux yeux!” said Ralph.  There was a real chagrin behind the amusement in his voice.

“Did you notice the muscular development of her back and shoulders?” Frank Merrill asked eagerly.

“No,” said Honey regretfully, “I don’t seem to remember anything but her face.”

The next morning when they were working, Pete Murphy suddenly yelled in an excited voice, “Here comes one of them!”

Everybody turned.  There, heading straight towards them, an unbelievable orange patch sailing through the blue sky, flew the “plain one.”

“Lulu!  Lulu!  Here I am, Lulu,” Honey called in his most coaxing tone and with his most radiant smile.  Lulu did not descend, but, involuntarily it seemed, she turned her course a little nearer to Honey.  She fluttered an instant over his head, then flew straight as an arrow eastward.

“She’s a looker, all right, all right,” Ralph Addington said, gazing as long as she was in sight.  “I guess I’ll trade my blonde for your brunette, Honey.”

“I bet you won’t,” answered Honey.  “I’ve got Lulu half-tamed.  She’ll be eating out of my hand in another week.”

They found this incident exciting enough to justify them in laying off from work the rest of the afternoon.  But they had to get accustomed to it in the week that followed.  Thereafter, some time during the day, the cry would ring out, “Here’s your girl, Honey!” And Honey, not even dropping his tools, would smile over his shoulder at the approaching Lulu.