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We might be shooting a passenger off to the moon now, provided the Man in the Moon would shoot him back," gayly, "if only the master sky-rocket, twelve times as large as this little model you're working on for experiments, were ready. The re-al moon-going Thunder Bird! Oh, dear!" Her little fingers restlessly intertwined.
"We call it the Thunder Bird," put in Una, as pain again called for a break. "Ha! Good name for it! Piles up the moon-going romance, eh? Well-ll," wearily, "having found out the par-ti-cu-lar night on which the lit-tle model rocket was to fly, I came up the mountain to a small camp that my son and I have ne-ar the summit east side of Greylock.
"I I saw him: I know I saw him again crossing the street outside Una's home on the day when the last installment of the Will was read," she realized, her hands coming together convulsively at the thought of the blighting codicil which hung up the fortunes of the moon-going Thunder Bird for twelve long years. "He he was wearing the same gray cap!" was the next cleaving flash of memory.
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