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When Pemrose, a Camp Fire Girl of America, greater at that moment than when her hand should loose the Thunder Bird, because she was determined that whatever might be said of her father's invention, nobody should ever say that his daughter's courage was a Quaker gun, paddled through the window-gap of that swamped Pullman, towing Una, she found herself in such a vortex of zero water and shattered ice that all the strength behind her gasping breath turned suddenly dummy.
Saw the blue powder-flash light up the full, round face of the Silver Queen they loved, while the Thunder Bird, expiring, dropped its bones upon her dead surface. "It's got there," breathed the youth. "What next? Some day some day, maybe, we'll be shooting off there together?" "Yes! if only the Man in the Moon could shoot us back!" breathed Pemrose.
That was the moment when Pemrose Lorry shook as if the old Man Killer were devouring her. Was there could there be something familiar, half-familiar, about the faint, volcanic shout: some accent she seemed to have heard before? And yet and yet, not quite that, either! "My word!
And that brought Pemrose Lorry, Camp Fire Girl, to herself again, within quarter of a minute of her first laying eyes on him. For there is one gallant anchor that will hold in any pinch, when thought is shattered and speculation the maddest blur: the Camp Fire law: Give Service! She unhooked her little camper's cup from where it hung at her green belt, and offered him a drink.
No one could tell, as they floundered about, three men, and two girls, in the mysterious night-woods without a clew Pemrose clinging desolately to her father now, Una to hers while Andrew, the Church Elder, muttered weird Highland curses.
But under cover of the broad scolding, the other, the Jack at a Pinch friend in need for the second time had again slipped off, without a word from either of the girls. "Bah! he is a nickum a mysterious imp," snapped Pemrose, the fire that smoldered behind her white face leaping up. "Can't be shyness with him; he doesn't look the least bit shy!
"Oh oh! there he goes see curling up his legs, drawing up his feet carefully, turning in the seat standing up!" cried Pemrose, all Rose at this crisis, prematurely blooming, as if it were June, not May, as she stood on tiptoe to meet a dramatic moment, reveling in the thought that the daredevil did not know what a surprise awaited him on top here, what a welcome heart-eager gratitude.
In the wild chase after the prize, Pemrose made a good third, as she thus shouted her fear. "See oh! see, it is landing," she cried again, "c-coming down touching earth." Yes! for one fleeting instant it did alight upon a mound, the shooting starlet, the little electric dry cell, winking brilliantly against the background of somber evergreens, now dark as Erebus, that girdle old Greylock's crown.
"What what do I care if they shouldn't leave me a pinch if only I could find something even a few more rags of the parachute!" gasped Pemrose, in stifled tones of passion, as she climbed, hurry-skurry, over a piled capsheaf of bowlders.
T. S.! 'With your permission, where do you write from?" Pemrose bent low over the primrose sheet. "Oh! from Lightwood. Now, now where is that, Daddy?" "There's a little, one-horse village of the name among the Berkshire Mountains, not far from fashionable Lenox." Her father smiled. "Lenox! How lovely!
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