The _Golden Butterfly_ had never done better.
"You're a darling!" breathed Peggy confidentially to the motor that with
steady pulse drove them upward and onward.
CHAPTER IV.
IN A STORM
Dwarfed to the merest midgets, the figures about the Prescott house waved
enthusiastically, as the golden-winged monoplane made a graceful swoop
high above the elms and maples surrounding it. Other figures could be
glimpsed too, now, running about excitedly outside the barn-like structure
housing the Mortlake aeroplanes.
"Guess they think you are stealing a march on them," drawled Lieut.
Bradbury.
A wild, reckless feeling, born of the thrilling sensation of aerial
riding, came over Peggy. She would do it--she would. With a scarcely
perceptible thrust of her wrist, she altered the angle of the rudder-like
tail, and instantly the obedient _Golden Butterfly_ began racing through
space toward the Mortlake plant.
The naval officer, quick to guess her plan, laughed as happily as a
mischievous boy.
"What a lark!" he exclaimed. "It's contrary to all discipline, but it's
jolly good fun."
Peggy turned a small brass-capped valve--the timer. At once the aeroplane
showed accelerated speed. It fairly cut through the air. Both the
occupants were glad to lower their goggles to protect their eyes from the
sharp, cutting sensation of the atmosphere, as they rushed against
it--into its teeth, as it were.
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