g
out of the fire house half a block down the street. Behind it came a
hook and ladder truck.

Fine horses were attached to each, and from the way they leaped off the
boys saw that the "Chief" meant to make good his promise.

"Race you to ther fire!" shouted the latter functionary, as, in a storm
of cheers, his apparatus swept out of sight down the elm-bordered
street.

"You're on," laughed Roy, whisking aloft while the Topman's Cornerites
were still wondering within themselves if they were waking or dreaming.

CHAPTER VI.

THE GIRL AVIATORS IN DEADLY PERIL.

The fire was out. A smoldering, blackened hillock was all that remained
of the stack ignited by the lightning bolt; but the others and the main
buildings of the farm had been saved.

Such work was a new task for aeroplanes--but there is no doubt that, had
it not been for Peggy's suggestion, the Hutchings farm would have been
burned to the ground. As it was, when the firemen, their horses in a
lather, arrived at the scene, the farm hands, who had been fighting the
flames, were almost exhausted.

Had they possessed the time, the young folks would have been glad to
tell the curious firemen something about their aeroplanes. But it was
well into the afternoon, and if they intended to keep up their itinerary
it was necessary for them to be hurrying on. A short time after the
blaze had been declared "out" the aeroplanes once more soared aloft,
and the auto chugged off in the direction of Meadville.

The afternoon sun shone sparklingly on the trees and fields below, all
freshened by the downpour of the early afternoon. The spirits of all
rose as did their machines as they raced along. Before leaving the
Hutchings farm the old man had been so moved to generosity by the novel
manner in which his farm had been saved from destruction that he had
offered to give back $2.50 of the $5 he had demanded for the rent of his
field. Of course they had not taken it, but the evident anguish with
which the offer was made afforded much amusement to the young aviators
as they soared along.

In Peggy's machine the talk between herself and Jess was of the strange
finding of The Wren, and of the child's curious ways. Both girls
recalled her odd conduct during the storm and what she had said about
the peculiar influence of lightning on her memory.

"Depend on it, Jess," declared Peggy, with conviction, "that child is
no more a gipsy than you or I."

"Do you think she was