stuffed it down beside him, and threw back his head, shaking
his hair to the wind in a gesture so soon to become familiar to Linda.
She glanced across at him and found him looking at her. A smile broke
over her lips. One of her most spontaneous laughs bubbled up in her
throat.

"Topping, isn't it!" she cried gaily.

"It's the best thing that ever happened to me," answered Donald Whiting
instantly. "Our car is a mighty good one and Dad isn't mean about
letting me drive it. I can take it frequently and can have plenty of
gas and take my crowd; but lordy, I don't believe there's a boy or girl
living that doesn't just positively groan when they see one of these
little gray Bear Cats go loping past. And I never even had a ride in one
before. I can't get over the fact that it's yours. It wouldn't seem so
funny if it belonged to one of the fellows."

With steady hand and gradually increasing speed, Linda put the Bear Cat
over the roads of early morning. Sometimes she stopped in the shade of
pepper, eucalyptus, or palm, where the larks were specializing in their
age-old offertory. And then again they went racing until they reached
the real desert. Linda ran the car under the shade of a tall clump of
bloom-whitened alders. She took off her hat, loosened the hair at her
temples, and looked out across the long morning stretch of desert.

"It's just beginning to be good," she said. She began pointing with
her slender hand. "That gleam you see over there is the gold of a
small clump of early poppies. The purple beyond it is lupin. All these
exquisite colors on the floor are birds'-eyes and baby blue eyes, and
the misty white here and there is forget-me-not. It won't be long til
thousands and thousands of yucca plants will light their torches all
over the desert and all the alders show their lacy mist. Of course you
know how exquisitely the Spaniards named the yucca 'Our Lord's Candles.'
Isn't that the prettiest name for a flower, and isn't it the prettiest
thought?"

"It certainly is," answered Donald.

"Had any experience with the desert?" Linda asked lightly.

"Hunted sage hens some," answered Donald.

"Oh, well, that'll be all right," said Linda. "I wondered if you'd go
murdering yourself like a tenderfoot."

"What's the use of all this artillery?" inquired Donald as he stepped
from the car.

"Better put on your hat. You're taller than most of the bushes; you'll
find slight shade," cautioned Linda. "The use is purely