Mammy Moon!... Oh! Toandoah--oh!
Daddy-man--it's too much."

Pemrose Lorry clasped her hands. Her
blue-star eyes, blue at the moment as
the tiny blossoms of the meadow star-grass
for which some fairy has captured
a sky-beam, were suddenly wet.

A slim, girlish figure in forest green--last
sylvan word in Camp Fire uniforms
which she was trying on--she
hung there, poised upon an inner pinnacle,
while sunbeams racing down
the whitewash did obeisance before her,
while spectroscope, lathe and delicate
balances, brilliant reflectors, offered
her a brazen crown.

"Well--well, it's coming to you,
Pem--you sprite." Her father shot
a sidelong glance at the nixie green as
he fitted another little rocket into its
groove in the larger one's interior,
where the touch of a mechanical appliance,
like the trigger of a gun, in the
Thunder Bird's tail, would ignite it in
[[4]]

p003 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p004w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p005

v?