"I go due East by this," he said. "Slightly to the North until after the Rockies, and then straight as an arrow to Chicago. It will be a rough sail over the Rocky Mountains. All those canyons and crevices and valleys are so many suction holes to the aeroplanist. But the air over the prairie country is as smooth as a lake in the summer time."

There was no lingering over the supper, good as it tasted, and before twilight deepened into misty gray, Peter Van Vechten had said good-by to the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell.

He seated himself in his aeroplane. The motor began whirring busily, and presently the machine rolled on the ground for a brief instant and began rising slowly and easily. He waved his hand and smiled to them as he mounted the air. Then away he flew and in three minutes was a speck in the distance.

Miss Campbell's eyes filled with tears.

"I do hope and pray he'll get there safely," she said.

"He is one of those people who always make one feel lonesome after he goes away," observed Mary still watching the horizon.

The young aeroplanist was indeed one of those rare persons the charm of whose presence still lingers after he has departed, like the vibrations after a chord of music.

But the adventure was over. He was flying East and their path was due West, and they must be getting on their way before night set in.

CHAPTER XXII.-A BIT OF OLD ITALY.

It was August 22, Miss Campbell's birthday, although she herself had quite forgotten it, this being a celebration she was careful not to remember.

The girls had been planning for a long time to give her a birthday party. It was to be a surprise picnic wherever they happened to be between Sacramento and San Francisco. It was Evelyn who chose the spot for the party and who guided them to a lovely vineyard planted on terraces up the side of a mountain with a little valley smiling at its feet.

"The owners of the vineyard are Italians, all of them," said Evelyn, "and you will certainly feel that you are in Italy when you get there.

They are so simple and adorable. And there is a kind of an inn where we can stay. They call it the 'Hosteria.' Oh, you will love it, I know."

The picnic was to begin in the morning. Miss Helen, prepared for an all day trip, was properly surprised when Billie turned the Comet into a little mountain road running between grapevines now heavy with fruit.

Men and women were gathering the grapes in baskets, singing while they worked.

At the top of the mountain was the tiniest little village imaginable, all stucco houses on a dusty street with a church at one end. Next to the church was the inn and standing at the door of the inn was the landlord and owner of the vineyard, Pasquale.

"Buon giorno, Signorina," he cried. "I giva you the gooda welcome. I have receive the letter of the Signorina. All isa prepared."

Across the entrance of the hosteria ran a legend printed in red letters on a white background:

"MAN RETUNS TO HAPNES THIS DAY-AUGUS.

TWENTY-SEC. SIGNORA ELEANORA CAMEL."

Miss Campbell read the inscription over twice before she could make out its meaning.

"Absurd children," she cried delightedly, "you are giving me a birthday party. I knew you were suppressing something with all your giggling this morning. And here I had quite forgotten I was a year older to-day."

"Not a year older, dearest cousin, a year younger," cried Billie. "It was Evelyn who knew about this fascinating little place, and we thought we would entertain you here instead of at one of those tiresome hotels."

Pasquale rubbed his hands together and smiled broadly with his head on one side.

"La Signora, she isa surprisa," he exclaimed, as pleased as a child.

He led the way to the back of the house, through a low-ceilinged room paved with red tiles. At a small door at the end of the pa.s.sage he paused and placed his fingers on his lips with an expression so arch and crafty that the girls laughed out loud in spite of his motions for silence. Then he flung open the door grandly and placed his hand on his heart, heaving a deep and dramatic sigh.

It was not to be expected that our tourists who had come through every variety of scenery, grand, sublime and beautiful, should be very enthusiastic now. But the Italian knew that he had something very fine to show. Just as an old picture dealer knows when he has a good picture and a good audience. The girls fairly danced on the gra.s.sy terrace overlooking the exquisite little valley at the foot of the mountain. And there, on the lawn, stood a table covered with a white cloth.

"The ladies willa eat breakfast at what time?" asked Pasquale. "The festa, she commenca at two. You willa come-not so?"

"Oh, yes, we will see all of it, Pasquale," replied Evelyn.

Pasquale lingered.

"The ladies willa pardon. They have no objec to two others who also eta here?"

But the ladies were not in the humor to object to anything. They were too much engaged in admiring the little valley and the olive grove opposite which clung to the hillside like a soft gray mist.

"It's just like a little Italy," cried Billie, enthusiastically. "It looks like Italy. The people are all Italians and so are the houses and the terraced vineyards. Isn't it sweet?"

"Wait until you see the festa," said Evelyn, "and Pasquale's daughter, Lucia. She is out now gathering grapes with the others, I suppose."

Pasquale now appeared bearing a big soup tureen, followed by a graceful young Italian boy who carried a dish of grated cheese. There were plates of ripe olives on the table and in the centre a pyramid of fresh figs and grapes. How charming it all was! Down in the vineyard below came the sound of singing, which grew louder as the young men and girls climbed the mountain to the village.

They were very happy and jolly, and Miss Campbell made a little speech.

"Sweet, lovely girls," she said, "do you know how very dear you are to me? We have been through so much together, through so many, dangers which we will forget, and pleasures which we shall always remember; up hill and down dale-across mountains-"

"And prairies," suggested Nancy.

"Yes, across these interminable prairies, that I feel, now that we are coming to the end of it all, how lonesome I am going to be without you.

I hope you will all marry, my dears. There is no one in the world so lonely as a spinster-"

Evelyn's face flushed. The subject of marriage was a painful one to her, because, although she had written twice to Daniel, not one word had she received from him since she left Salt Lake City. And deep in her heart, she was wholly and utterly miserable. No one but Billie noticed the tears that glistened in her eyes, and under the table, the two girls clasped hands for a moment.

"-a spinster past middle age," went on Miss Campbell, looking so charming and appealing that the girls were obliged to rush from their seats and embrace her.

And in the midst of this scene of affection, comes Pasquale, smiling affably, and bearing an immense bouquet of roses.

"For La Signora Cam-el," he said. "A gen-man presents with compliments."

"But who-what gentleman?" demanded Miss Campbell.

"I cannot say, Signora. They are of Sacremen'-these roses here. They came thisa morning by express, in the diligenza from the valley."

"Where is the gentleman?" asked Billie.

Pasquale shrugged his shoulders almost to his ears and spread his hands out apologetically. Then he disappeared into the inn and presently returned with bouquets for each of the girls. Evelyn's was as large as Miss Campbell's, of roses, and the younger girls were smaller bunches of heliotrope, which gave out a delicious fragrance.

"Is he here at this inn?" demanded Nancy, burning with curiosity.

"No, signorina, the gentleman, he coma after the flowers."