As the sturdy little plane tore along through the thick blackness a deluge of water hit her suddenly with such force it might have been a cloud burst and she staggered under the fury of the impact. She wobbled, side-slipped, twisted and dipped with the strength of the storm beating her mercilessly every inch of the way, and the gale at her tail spun her forward like a leaf torn from a branch. Above the roar of the engine and the shriek of the wind through the wires, came the threatening boom of the Lake as its mighty waves smashed against the rock-bound shore.

Tensely Jim sat, his eyes watching the dials in front of him, his hands and feet ready for instant action. It was a struggle to keep her righted and the boy zoomed her to fifteen thousand feet in an effort to get above the ceiling of the tempest. But he only climbed into greater trouble, and after a resounding crash of thunder, the sky was split in a thousand ways by flashes of forked lightning. Quickly he nosed her down, eyes on the directional compass, but keeping their course was out of the question. They were being blown miles out of the way and he hoped they would not go far enough east to land them somewhere in the mountains. He had not an instant to glance at his passenger, but once or twice his hand came in contact with Mr. Fenton, and the man was sitting braced for all he was worth. Another flash of lightning showed their faces, grim and white.

The rain continued to pelt them, and finally Jim calculated that they had traveled in a northerly direction. Allowing for the wind that had driven them steadily, he turned Her Highness’ nose about in an effort to reach their destination, and the frail little air-craft was almost rolled over. In Jim’s mind was a vision of Champlain and he debated the advisability of shifting the landing gears from the floats to the wheels, but he decided to keep the former in place. He knew so little about the country, and where it was safe to land. In the blackness which enveloped them he could not hope to come down without a very serious smash-up. With Bob in the back and Mr. Fenton beside him, it was too great a risk to take. Then he saw the man pick up the speaking-tube, so he prepared to listen.

“Anything I can do to help?” was the question. Jim shook his head.

“We ought to be near your place but I don’t know where to go down. Is the water very rough?” he asked.

“Yes. The waves will be high and now they are driving from the southeast and will be hitting our side of the island. During a storm like this, boats have to be put under cover or they get beaten to splinters,” Mr. Fenton answered.

“Thanks,” said Jim. The prospect wasn’t any too cheerful.

Although it was still raining, he shoved back the protecting cover and tried to peer through the darkness. He could hardly see his hand before his face, but he waited, until suddenly, an almost blinding flash of lightning revealed the world. Just ahead of them were farms and patches of thickly wooded sections. The boy saw small houses, their windows lighted as if it were late at night. Low growing things, vines and shrubs were bent to the ground. The trees bowed and groaned in the throes of the storm. Some of the branches, unable to withstand the strain, were being ripped off and hurled through space. Beneath the racing plane the black waters of Champlain were whipped into giant rollers, and along their edges white-caps foamed ghastly yellow in the weird light. It was all shut out in a fraction of a minute, and Jim zoomed higher to get out of harm’s way.

“We’re about five miles north of our place,” Mr. Fenton told him, and the young fellow grinned with relief. It was some comfort to know where they were. Grimly he fought to bring Her Highness to face the storm. Feeding the engine all she could carry he battled to get south, but it was a hard struggle, like shoving against an immovable, impenetrable wall. It seemed as if the plane barely moved forward, but her propeller screwed valiantly, and slowly they gained against the wind, but it drove them east.

“Any rocks or islands near?” Jim asked.

“Gull Rock, two miles directly east, and Fisher’s Island. That’s a couple of miles long. If you can head into the southern point of our cove, that is protected somewhat from this wind and the water will not be so bad,” the man explained.

“We’ll try it. Do these storms last very long?”

“One never can tell. Sometimes they come and go in less than an hour, and very often they last much longer.”

“Then there is no sense in trying to stay up until it beats itself out,” Jim remarked. He couldn’t say anything more. Another flash of light gave them a brief glimpse of the world but they seemed to be far over the water. Mr. Fenton leaned out to make observations, but was promptly forced back to his seat.

“Wow,” he whistled.

“Better keep low,” Jim advised. Then came a series of flashes, and Mr. Fenton managed to get their location straightened out.

“We’re still a mile north and about half way across the lake,” he volunteered. “I see Fisher’s Point, the north end.”

“Thanks.”

Jim brought the plane about hard, raced her across, then shut off the engine just as a flash revealed the cove at the south end. The boy could see branches being tossed on the waves and hoped hard that none of them would cripple Her Highness when she dropped down. Another prayer he sent up fervently was that the space was wide enough for them to stop short of the rocks. They hit the water, rocked forward and up and down choppily, then stopped, just as someone came racing along the shore waving a lantern.

“Is that you, Norman?” It was Mrs. Fenton and she was so frightened that she could hardly speak. Her face showed white in the darkness and she gripped the light as if she would crush it.

“We’re all present and accounted for, Belle,” her husband answered quickly as he hastened to get loose from the straps.

“Hello everybody!” That was Bob who bobbed up in the back seat like a jack in the box. “So, this is London, and here we are!”

“Oh, I’ve been so terrified. I telephoned to Burlington when I saw the storm coming and they said that you had started. It—it’s been just awful, awful.” Mr. Fenton splashed through the water to reach her side.

“We’re a bit damp, Belle, but otherwise perfectly fine.”

“I knew you would all be killed—” she insisted.

“But we aren’t,” he assured her again. “Need any assistance, boys?”

“No. We can manage all right,” Jim answered. The rain was coming down with less force and here and there through the darkness showed streaks of yellow light. The boys got Her Highness secured to the pier, and hurried to the house, where they found that Mrs. Fenton was getting out dry garments for them, and a cheery blaze crackled in the wide fireplace, while from the kitchen came the welcome fragrance of the evening meal. They grinned appreciatively at each other and climbed to their own room under the rafters where they changed their wet clothes. When they came down Mrs. Fenton was just putting out the lights because the darkness had lifted, as if by magic, and through the western windows they could see the glow of the evening sunshine.

“Well, what do you know about that!” Bob exclaimed, hardly able to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

“Have we been dreaming, or did we come back from Burlington in the teeth of a rip-snorting gale?” Jim demanded.

“It was no dream,” Mrs. Fenton said fervently. “It was more like a nightmare. I was afraid to switch off the telephone because I expected every minute to get a call telling me that you had been wrecked on the Lake and were all drowned. And, I was afraid to leave the switch connected because I was sure the house would be struck by lightning. My, it wasn’t a dream—not here anyway. Goodness, such a storm. I thought the house would be ripped from its foundations and come tumbling over my head. A tree was struck nearby for—oh, it did crash two different times—something awful. Land sakes alive, you boys must not go up again in such weather—goodness—”

The good lady stopped for breath and to pour glasses of milk out of a huge pitcher, while her husband served the rest of the meal. Mr. Fenton did not seem to have suffered any from his experience, and both boys considered the whole affair a most worth-while adventure.

“We’ve got some bus, Aunt Belle. Her Highness is the best in two countries. Have to say that because the shift landing gear was invented by an Englishman, but the rest is pure American,” Bob smiled, then took such a long drink that when he looked up from his glass, there was a perfect white half-moon on his upper lip.

“You better shave,” Jim suggested.

“Go on, shave yourself! How do you like air-traveling, Uncle Norman?”

“I think it’s perfectly marvelous. Had no idea, really, how wonderful it is. When especially I think that I never, in all my Life, went so far and back in so short a time. We always take a full day to make the trip to Burlington, and today we made it in an afternoon.”

“Were you frightened during the storm?” Jim asked.

“Have to admit that I was quite a bit nervous but when I saw you so cool and managing so easily, and how the plane responded to every move you made with those controls, why, I just naturally couldn’t go on being a coward. It does not seem to me that Bob is over-stating the facts when he says the little plane is the best in two countries. I should say that she is the best in the world to come through such a grilling.”

“Like to go up again?”

“I should indeed. Just think how automobiles and other modern inventions have placed us far ahead of my father’s time. He had to use horses and oxen, and my grandfather did all his traveling, that is, any distance, on the lake-steamers. Sometimes it took weeks, and a storm such as we had this afternoon would have driven the boat into the nearest harbor to wait for fair weather.”

“Gee,” Bob said soberly. “How did those old boys ever get anywhere or have time to do anything?”

“When I was a boy I saw some of their primitive methods, Bob, but they did manage to accomplish a great deal.”

“Some real nice day we’ll give you a joy ride, Aunt Belle,” Bob promised with a twinkle in his eyes. He fully expected that Mrs. Fenton would promptly decline such an invitation, but she looked at the men folk very thoughtfully, then a little pucker came between her eyes.

“Land sakes alive, Bob, you’ll probably have to tie me fast and sit on me to keep me from jumping over-board, but I guess if you all think it’s so fine, I can live through it. After I have the—er—joyous—I mean joyride, I’ll write and tell your mother about it. She said that you took her up several times and now she wants her husband to get a plane.”

“Right you are,” Jim laughed heartily. “Mom’s a good sport and so are you. We’ll bind you hand and foot, and put weights on you, but I’ll bet you will like it as much as Mom did.”

“No doubt I shall,” and Mrs. Fenton didn’t smile over the prospect.

“Well, don’t come down and ask me to buy you an air-plane, that is, unless the turkeys take a jump and we have a grand flock of them this fall, but it doesn’t look now as if there is much chance,” Mr. Fenton said. The last part of his statement was made soberly.

“Wonder how the boy’s draining plan is working after that rain,” Jim remarked as he recalled the work of the strange boy on the bog.

“When we finish supper, we’ll go and have a look, but I expect the place is flooded way above the foot of the alfalfa bed,” Mr. Fenton said.

“Now, how do you expect to eat your meal if you talk so much? Norman, you are not paying a bit of attention to those boys’ plates and they are both empty.”

“My plate may be empty, Aunt Belle, but my tummy is beginning to feel mighty content. I could purr,” Bob told them.

“Well don’t. It isn’t polite at the table. You may roll over on the floor and kick your feet up if you like,” Jim suggested.

“Don’t you do anything of the kind,” Aunt Belle said hastily. “The very idea. Is that what you do when you have a good meal at home?”

“No, Mom wouldn’t stand that,” Bob answered.

“We tried it once at school and it didn’t go so well there either,” Jim added gravely, and Mr. Fenton laughed heartily.

“How many demerits did they give you?” he asked.

“Ten apiece,” Jim answered.

“And we had to average ninety-five on four subjects to shake them off,” Bob added. “It’s a cruel world.”

“The world is a great little old place. It’s only the people in it, I mean some of them, who make it unpleasant,” Jim declared. “I can’t eat another mouthful.”

“This is my last,” Bob announced regretfully as he swallowed the bite of cherry pie. “That is, I mean the last for the time being.”

“All right, it’s a good thing you added that because you are not at home now and you don’t know where the pantry is located—”

“Don’t kid yourself. I ascertained the location yesterday afternoon, before I’d been here twenty minutes.”

“You would! Where was I?”

“Luxuriating in Champlain. I watched your fair form in the red bathing suit while I ate gingerbread and milk—”

“Humph, that’s nothing, I had some when I came in—four pieces and two glasses—cream on top. Come along—that is—is there anything we can do to help you, sir?”

“No, thank you, Jim. I have a couple of chore boys and if you helped they might think I do not want them any more. We want you to enjoy your stay in Vermont—”

“Great guns, we are. It’s a grand State even if we could put it into a comer of Texas,” Bob replied sincerely.

“You ought to like it, your mother was brought up here, but goodness sakes, she went off when she wasn’t much more than a girl. She was married right here in the parlor. I can remember it just as if it was yesterday, then the pair of them drove away in the two seater with old shoes tied to the end. They did look handsome. Your pa was all spruced up—and the next year they were in Texas—”

“You boys coming?”

“Yes sir.”

As they went out onto the front piazza, the sun was setting and the sky was streaked with brilliant red and gold which shone magnificently through the trees. There was no doubting that the storm had been an actuality, for a deep stream was racing down the run-off toward the lake, and everywhere the place was strewn with leaves and branches that had been broken. The Rural Free Delivery Box was leaning wearily against a maple, as if the struggle to keep upright had been altogether too much. The three picked their way across the road with water dripping from trees and shrubs, and the ground soggy underfoot. They were soon past the garden, and at the further side they could see the foreign boy busy working, but this time his uncle was with him.

“Whoo-oo,” Bob called cheerfully. The boy straightened up and smiled, then he came toward them and they went to the ditch he had showed them earlier in the day. It was full to the top with water which was running off as hard as it could go, and in spite of the storm there was little more water on the bog than had been there at noon time.

“Huh!” Mr. Fenton gave a little grunt of astonishment.

“Looks as if it’s working all right, doesn’t it?” Jim remarked.

“It certainly does. It’ll be a great thing for me if he gets the place drained for that land is a piece of the best. Don’t see how he’s doing it. I had an expert engineer here to dry up that section and he couldn’t accomplish a thing. Said the only way was to ditch it to the lake, then fill in the hole, use a lot of lime, like a concrete mixer and bring the hill forward. A mighty expensive job it would have been and then part of the land wouldn’t be very good,” Mr. Fenton explained.

“Reckon this boy is some sort of wizard. He’s bewitching it,” Jim suggested.

“Wish we knew something about him,” Bob added.

“Don’t blame you for being interested, Bob, but we like to mind our own business around here. They seem to be honest and capable and don’t interfere with what doesn’t concern them—”

“Oh, we’re not going to make blooming pests of ourselves, but we thought it would be fun to get acquainted with him. Wish he could speak English,” Jim explained.

“I don’t believe that he’s spoken to anyone since they came. His uncle speaks fairly well. He seems upstanding. There isn’t any harm in trying to make friends with the boy, but I wouldn’t—”

“Butt-in? We won’t unless he’s willing to have us. Know what he reminds me of, Bob?”

“What?”

“Some of those Indians, the chiefs, you know the fellows that are so straight, clear-eyed, and sort of fine. He seems like that, only maybe an even better sort. The Indians we see now aren’t so much like that.”

“He is a little like that, but I don’t believe he’s an Indian. Maybe he’s like they used to be a long time ago before the white men took all the pep out of them,” Bob agreed.

“I don’t know any Indians, but I never heard that they were very hard workers, not farmers I mean. It would be queer for one to be interested in that sort of thing. They like hunting—”

“Yes, that’s right. Dad said a few of them made good cow punchers, but they never got much chance to show what they might do.” Just then Corso came toward them. His face was grave but his eyes wore a pleased expression.

“It is good?” he said as he motioned toward the receding water.

“Very fine,” Mr. Fenton answered heartily, then he added, “You must not let the boy work too hard. He does not look very strong. Why not have one of the men help him in what he is doing? I can get a chap who will do as he’s directed, and this piece of work will be a great improvement to the property.” Corso smiled.

“That would be so excellent,” he agreed.

“All right. I’ll have him here in the morning.”

“He can the English speak?”

“Sure. You can talk to him, and I’ll tell him I want him to follow any instructions you give him.” Mr. Fenton was glad that Corso agreed to the plan for as the work promised to be a success he was anxious to get it finished as quickly as possible.

“We better look after Her Highness before it gets too late,” Jim proposed to his step-brother.

“All right,” Bob agreed, then turning to the boy, he grinned. “So long, Old Top!” The youngster frowned—

“Old Top,” he repeated, “so long, Old Top.”