“Good-bye,” said Edith to Mike. “I am very glad I have met you, and I thank you for the pleasure of flying with you.”
“Do not mention it,” said Mike as he held her hand, “You are such a brave aeronaut that I could fly with you anywhere.”
Edith blushed deeply as Mike’s eyes spoke as well as his tongue.
After we had ascended in the air, Mike circled around, like a carrier pigeon, and then sped off toward the south.
As we entered County Wicklow, we left the seacoast and crossed Wicklow about the middle of the County, passing over the Wicklow hills.
This was the most exciting part of our entire trip.
Wicklow has been called a miniature Switzerland, and it well deserves the name. There are over twenty mountains in this small space that exceed 2000 feet in height, and as they rise abruptly from the level, they seem even higher.
Scattered among these hills, there are beautiful valleys, magnificent mansions, villas, farms and Irish cottages. Much of the country is thickly wooded. The Woods of Shillelah are in Wicklow. Here the best blackthorn, out of which Ireland’s ancient weapon was made, used to grow, and the weapons were called “Shillelahs” from these woods.
In order to see the grandeur of Wicklow to the best advantage, Mike and I threw discretion to the winds. The motor had been acting so well since we left County Derry, that we had full confidence in it now.
“Let us go over the tops of the mountains,” I said to Mike.