make its new migration to the moon, in
proof that space was no barrier--when
the Thunder Bird, giving all, as the log had
done, would drop its skeleton upon the
desert of that silent satellite.

But there were steps to be taken in the
meantime--exciting steps in the ladder
of success. Those patchwork eyes, looking
into the flame now, counted them, one by
one, and hung in breathless anticipation
upon the first: upon the moment, so soon
to come off, when old Greylock would
really send back a shout of gladness, for
on his darkling summit the hand of a Camp
Fire Girl of America would press the button
and loose the lesser Thunder Bird to
fly up the modest distance of a couple of hundred
miles, or so, with its diary in its head,
and send back the novel record of its flight.

"I--do--believe that my father sleeps
with one eye open, thinking of that golden
egg, as he calls it--the little recording apparatus,"
she said, when the White Birch
Group, as one, asked that the special pro-
[[178]]

p177 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p178w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p179

v?