blue of the ocean shading to a translucent olive where
long ridges of foam crumbled upon pale beaches. They turned inland,
flying leisurely to admire the beauty of the scene. The mounting sun
spread a golden shimmer over woods and corn-stubble. White roads ran
like ribbons across the landscape. Quimbleton glided gently downward,
intending to skim low over the treetops so that his bride might enjoy
the rich loveliness of the view.

Suddenly the great plane dipped sharply, tilted, and very nearly fell
into a side-slip. Quimbleton was just able to pull her up again and
climbed steeply to a safer altitude. He looked at his dashboard dials
and indicators with a puzzled face. "Very queer," he said to
Theodolinda through the speaking tube, "the air here has very little
carrying power. It seems extraordinarily thin. You might think we were
flying in a partial vacuum."

From the behavior of the plane it was evident that some curious
atmospheric condition was prevailing. There seemed to be a large hole
or pocket in the air, and in spite of his best efforts the pilot was
unable to get on even wing. Finally, fearing to lapse into a tail spin,
he planed down to make a landing. Beneath them was a beautiful green
lawn surrounded by groves of trees. In the middle of this lawn they
struck gently, taxied across the smooth turf, and came to a stop
beneath a splendid oak. Quimbleton assisted his wife to get out, and
they sat down for a few minutes' rest under the tree.

"What a heavenly spot!" cried Theodolinda, "I wonder where we are?"

"Somewhere in New Jersey," said her husband. "I don't understand what
was the matter with the air. It didn't act according to Hoyle."

They gazed about them in some surprise at the opulent beauty of the
scene. It seemed to be a kind of park, laid out in lawns, gardens and
shrubbery, with groves of old trees here and there. A little artificial
lake twinkled in a hollow.

They happened to be gazing upward when a small round ball of tawny
color fell from the tree. It was a robin. Folded solidly for sleep, he
fell unresisting by the flutter of a wing, turning over and over gently
until he struck the turf with the tiniest of soft thuds. He bounced
slightly, rolled a little distance, and settled motionless in the grass.

Quimbleton, amazed, stooped over the fallen bird, supposing it to be
dead. Without lifting it from the ground he withdrew its head from
under its wing. The bright eye unlidded and gazed a