"It isn't a failure, Fan Harding," she cried, with blazing eyes. "How dare you come here to sneer at us. We didn't invite you. Oh, I could----"

But Jess had seized her arm and succeeded in checking Peggy just in time.

She whispered something to the indignant girl, who, with a scornful look at Fan Harding, turned and, with her friend, ran lightly off toward the stranded aeroplane.

"By Jove, I really thought for a minute she was going to slap my face,"

chuckled Fan Harding to himself. "How pretty she is when she is angry.

But I guess if she knew what I do about certain affairs she wouldn't be quite so fresh with me."

He cast a glance at the aeroplane around which the anxious young people were now cl.u.s.tering thickly.

"If that thing is a success," he mused, as he strode off to join them, "so much the better for me. I think I could use an aeroplane. I don't see why I should let Roy Prescott beat me out at anything. Ah! They've started the engine again and--by ginger, she's rising! She's going up!

She's flying!"

The small irregularity in the working of the engine, which had brought the plane to a stop, had been quickly remedied. Even Fan Harding, little as he liked Roy, could not help but join in the cheers as the Golden b.u.t.terfly, swinging in an easy circle, began to climb--higher and higher toward the fleecy clouds that flecked the blue dome above.

As for Peggy, she jumped up and down in her enthusiasm till her golden hair was tumbling in a tangle about her pink sh.e.l.ls of ears.

"Oh, goody! goody! goody!" she squealed in the intensity of her joy.

CHAPTER III.

THE CLOUDS GATHER.

"And so unless we can raise that money somehow within a short time we shall have to leave dear old Shadyside!"

It was Roy who spoke, in troubled tones, some days after the successful flight of the Golden b.u.t.terfly. They were seated in the cool-looking living room of Miss Prescott's home. The sun filtering in through the Venetian blinds, fell in patches on the polished floors--Peggy's work, for Miss Prescott's circ.u.mstances had been for some time too straitened to afford the servants she formerly had. But she had kept all knowledge of her struggle from her nephew and niece, until now the time had arrived when she felt that she could conceal no longer the object of old Sam Harding's visit to her.

The old man, among other things, was President of the Sandy Bay Bank.

This bank, although the children did not know it, had long held a mortgage on Miss Prescott's property. The kindly, sweet-souled lady had incurred the debt to forward her brother's dreams. For poor Mr. Prescott had always been "just on the verge of making a fortune." Mr. Harding's errand was to state that the interest being long overdue and there being no immediate prospect of settlement the bank would have to foreclose. The real reason for this anxiety, which of course Miss Prescott, simple-minded lady, could not know, was, that a real estate concern wanted to purchase the property to erect a summer colony.

"But what of my securities in----and----and----?" inquired poor Miss Prescott, who really knew no more of business than Peggy's French bull-dog.

"In the depressed state of the market that cla.s.s of securities are worth nothing, madam," was the response, "in addition, though I have refrained from telling you so till now, your account at the bank is much overdrawn.

However," he had continued, "to show you that we mean to be fair with you we will say nothing about that, but unless the bank gets its interest we must have the land."

It was Miss Prescott's relation of the true state of affairs to Roy and Peggy that sunny afternoon that had brought forth Roy's exclamation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.

"But, auntie," burst out Peggy, blankly, "does the man mean to say that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, on which we can realize anything?"

Miss Prescott shook her head slowly.

"There is nothing we can do," she rejoined, sadly. "We shall have to leave dear old Shadyside and the land will be cut up and sold to strangers. Land which the first Prescott settled on and which has been in the family ever since. Oh, dear!" and Miss Prescott, never the most strong-minded of women, drew out her handkerchief and began to sniff ominously. Peggy, looking bewitchingly pretty in a simple muslin frock, wrinkled her forehead seriously.

"It can't--it simply can't be as bad as all that," she persisted. "We can raise the money somehow."

"Five thousand dollars!" cried Miss Prescott.

"Phew! That is a lot of money," from Roy. But Peggy had jumped up from her chair.

"The contest, Roy! The contest!" she was exclaiming. "We must write this very day for particulars. If the Golden b.u.t.terfly can win that prize----"

"By Jove, sis, it's five thousand dollars, isn't it?" burst out Roy, almost equally excited. "I'd forgotten all about it up till now. What an idiot I am. If only----"

He stopped short suddenly, struck by a depressing thought. Probably there were plenty of machines, most of them far better than the Golden b.u.t.terfly, entered in the contest which they had read about. His enthusiasm died away--as was the way with Roy--almost as quickly as it had flamed up.

But Peggy would not hear of hesitation. She made Roy sit down that very night and write to the committee in charge of the Higgins' prize. Under her brave, independent urgings things began to look brighter. It was a fairly cheerful party that sat down to a simple supper that evening.

"Oh, dear," sighed Peggy, in the course of the meal, "if only I knew some one who needed a bright young woman to run an aeroplane, how I'd jump at the job."

"You ought to get a high salary at it anyhow," rather dolefully joked Roy.

"And make a high jump, too," laughed Peggy; "but seriously, auntie, I can run the b.u.t.terfly almost as well as Roy. Mr. Homer said so before he left. He said: 'Well, Miss Prescott, I've taught you all I know about an aeroplane. The rest lies with you, of course.'" Peggy went on modestly: "I could run an auto before. I learned on the one that Jess had at school, so it really wasn't hard to get to understand the engine. Don't you think I'm almost as good a--" Peggy paused for a word--"a--sky pilot!" she cried triumphantly, "as good a sky pilot as you are, Roy?"

"Almost," modestly admitted Roy, his mouth full of strawberry shortcake, "but never mind about that now, sis. There are more important things to be thought of than that. I'm going into town to-morrow for two things.

One is to see Mr. Harding myself. It takes a man to tackle these things----"

"Oh, dear!" sniffed Peggy.

"The other bit of business I have to attend to," went on Roy, "is to get a position. It's time I was a breadwinner." Roy thought that sounded rather well and went on--"a breadwinner."

"Oh, Roy!" cried his aunt, admiringly, "do you think you'll be able to get a position?"

"Without a doubt, aunt," rejoined Roy, confidently; "no doubt several business houses would be glad--to have me with them," Roy was going to say but he thought better of it and concluded, "to give me a chance."

Peggy said nothing, which rather irritated the boy. He concluded, however, that being a girl, she could hardly be expected to appreciate the responsibilities of the man of the household. For since that afternoon and its disclosures, Roy had, in his own mind, a.s.sumed that important position.

Somewhat to Roy's surprise he found no difficulty in obtaining access to Mr. Harding at the bank. On the contrary, had he been expected he could not have been ushered into the old man's presence with greater promptness. He stated his business briefly and straightforwardly.

"Now, Mr. Harding," he concluded, "is there no way in which this matter can be straightened out?"

The old man, in the rusty black suit, picked up a pen and began drawing scrawly diagrams on the blotter in front of him. Apparently he was in deep thought. But had Roy been able to penetrate that mask-like face he would have been startled at what was pa.s.sing in Simon Harding's mind. At last he spoke:

"I understand that you have built an aeroplane which is a success?" he questioned.

"That's right, sir," said Roy, flushing proudly; "but the ideas we put into it were my father's--every one of them. He practically made it his life work, you see, and----"

"And you beggared yourself carrying those ideas out, eh?" snarled the old man. "Oh, you need not look astonished. I know all about your affairs.

More than you think for. And now having expended a wicked sum for the engine of this flying thing where do you expect to reap your profit?"

Roy was rather taken aback. In the past days--since the first wonderful flight of the Golden b.u.t.terfly--he had not given much thought to that part of it. He realized this now with a rather embarra.s.sed feeling. Old Harding eyed him keenly.

"Why--father, before he died, spoke of the government, sir. He wanted the United States to have the benefit of the machine if it proved successful."

"Bah!" sneered old Harding, scornfully, "a mere visionary dream of an inventor. Now I have a business proposition to make to you. I myself am interested in aeroplanes--or rather in their manufacture."