Her Highness was now soaring as gracefully as the white gulls they passed on the water, and Bob shut off the engine. The plane began a beautiful descent, and in a minute more she was floating toward the pier.
“Well, how’s the tooth, Aunt Belle?” Bob teased.
“My land sakes alive, if it isn’t the beatinest. There, I never slept a wink all night thinking about it, wishin’ I’d been a better Christian in case I never got down to earth again, and all that worry—”
“Was a dead loss,” Jim laughed.
“Yes it was,” she admitted honestly. “It was just marvelous. Now, I’ve got to hurry. My fruit man comes through in a few minutes and I want some lemons. Tourists say this fruit wagon is kind of interesting and curious, maybe you boys would like to look at it,” she invited. “It comes from Montreal, through the customs, and we can buy things cheaper than we can get them from our own stores. It seems queer, but it’s so.” They had unstrapped her and she smiled.
“I’d like to see him. We have some queer covered wagons that are driven through Texas. How did you like the ride?”
“A lot, and I’m ever so much obliged to you both. My land o’goodness—I mustn’t forget to write to your mother and tell her I’ve been up with you. Her Highness is real pretty, isn’t she!”
“We think she is,” Bob answered with pride.
“You got a right to think that.” Aunt Belle stood a moment to admire the plane, which did look particularly lovely as the sun shone on her broad wings, and the water beneath her, splashed gently about the floats. “She’s a beauty.”
“I saw some men, hikers I guess, back of your turkey farm,” Jim volunteered as they went toward the house.