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Updated: June 25, 2025
"'Varnish right and aëroplane wrong! That's what he said when they laid that trap to get us out of the cave, without any fuss. But I say it's: 'Varnish right and puzzle wrong! All wrong!" snapped Pemrose to herself again and again, repeating an old saying during the week following that first Get Together. "Nobody nobody has a right to drift around as a puzzle, these days!
Ye dinna want to mak' o' that auld flat slab a tombstone, eh?" murmured Andrew, laying a great hand upon her shoulder, with a little smack of laughter upon his long, smooth-shaven upper lip. But immediately he winced as if his own words hurt him, and Pemrose herself in an aching mood knew what he was thinking of, that grizzled chauffeur. Una, her balance recovered, jumped upon the stone.
And Life would do the rest oh! surely in the case of her father and herself, was the dewy thought of Pemrose Lorry as she planted her baby tree in honor of that novel Wayfarer, that would first traverse space and conquer it bridge the gulf which made Earth a hermit amid the heavenly bodies of the great invention, whereof poets in future ages would sing, that daringly took the first step towards linking planet with planet.
Daddy-man I'm so glad." Here there was a little laboratory explosion, a rocket of feeling fired off, as the owner of that hybrid name, Pemrose, came down from her pinnacle and, perching upon a low tool-chest at the inventor's side, took the humbler place she loved, fellow of her father's heart.
Pemrose asked. Then suddenly remembering that it was he who was making the Thunder Bird's fortune, as impulsively as the little cedar tree leaned to the swollen rill, she bent and kissed the cold sweat of pain from his forehead. "That that's worth coming East for," murmured the man, his own eyes growing wet. "Little niece! don't you want to follow suit?
For I don't suppose there's much chance of the money coming from another direction." Pemrose Lorry echoed the cry, repeated it desolately, hours later, standing in her own room a room that was a sort of sequel to herself, as every Camp Fire Girl's nest should be. Her father had echoed it, as she sat very close to him, driving home in the Grosvenor's limousine.
He even respectfully delivered himself of this opinion to the inventor to Toandoah, with the hungry look of loss in his eye, which occasionally wrought Pemrose to the point of choking sobs and to clenching her fists at the mysterious robber.
But it certainly dazzled those of Pemrose, that young visionary, as she pressed earth around her sapling's root: would there ever come a time when the Camp Fires of Earth would hail the Camp Fires of some other planet across that illimitable No Man's Land of Space, first oh! thought transcendent first bridged by her father's genius?
And they ran, too, its rightful owners, in full cry, calling frantically upon the robber, whether thief, or tempest, to stop. And the girls kept bravely up with the men. Or one of them did! For all the spice of her chowchow name was afire in Pemrose Lorry now; and she would have tackled the thief, single-handed, to get back her father's record.
"I meant to return the record next morning, but I was a-fraid your father might shoot me," to Pemrose. "Then, later, I heard he had gone down the mountain that was yesterday and a mistake I went-down, too, to beard him. A a little more water, please! I could not climb again until to-day; I took the Man Killer trail, as being the shortest. And here I am!" grimly.
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