se sudden
storms of summer had blown up from the sea, and Peggy knew enough of Long
Island weather to know that these disturbances were usually accompanied by
terrific winds--squalls and gusts that no aeroplane yet built or thought
of could hope to cope with.

"We're running into dirty weather, it seems," remarked the officer. "I
thought I noticed some thunderheads away off on the horizon when we first
went up."

"I wish you'd mentioned them then," said the straightforward Peggy; "as it
is, we'll have to descend till this blows over."

"What, won't even the wonderful equalizer render her safe?"

"No, it won't. It will do anything reasonable. But you've no idea of the
fury of the wind that comes with these black squalls."

"Indeed I have. Last summer I was off Montauk Point in the _Dixie_.
Something went wrong with the steering gear just as one of these self-same
young hurricanes came bustling up. I tell you, it was "all hands and the
cook" for a while. It hardly blows much harder in a typhoon."

Peggy gazed below her over the darkening landscape anxiously. There seemed
to be trees, trees everywhere, and not a bit of cleared ground. All at
once, as they cleared some woods, she spied a bit of meadowland. The hay
which had covered it earlier in the summer had been cropped. It afforded
an ideal landing-place. But the wind was puffy now, and Peggy did not dare
to attempt short descending spirals. Instead, trusting to the balancing
device doing its duty faithfully, she swung down in long circles.

Just as they touched the ground with a gentle shock, much minimized,
thanks to the shock-absorbers with which the _Golden Butterfly_ was
fitted, the storm burst in all its fury. Bolt after bolt of vivid
lightning ripped and tore across the darkened sky, which hung like a pall
behind the terrific electrical display. The rain came down in torrents.

"Just in time," laughed the young officer, as he aided Peggy in dragging
the aeroplane under the shelter of an open cart-shed. It was quite snug
and dry once they had it under the roof. A short distance off stood a
farm-house of fairly comfortable appearance. Smoke issuing from one of its
chimneys showed that it was occupied.

"Let's go over there and see if we can dry our things," suggested Peggy.
"I'm wet through."

"Same here," was the laughing reply; "but a sailor doesn't mind that. One
actually gets webbed feet in the navy--like ducks, you know."

Ignoring this remarkable