Dragging her father and her aunt each by a hand, she gleefully skipped through the door.
"There!" she cried, as one who displays a marvel.
At the top of the hill, on the field behind the lovely Colonial house, they saw the new possession. Or rather, the top of the autogiro, for it was not wholly visible.
"It looks like a clothes-dryer to me," remarked Miss Carlton. "Or a wind-mill."
"But you agree that I couldn't call it my 'Clothes-dryer,' or my 'Wind-mill,' don't you, Aunt Emily? The words are too long. Besides, Lou thought of the cleverest name—the 'Ladybug.' But you needn't worry, Auntie, she won't ever creep into your spotless house!"
"I should hope not!"
"In a way, Emily," observed Linda's father, "it's a good name as far as you are concerned. You hate planes—and you hate bugs!"
"Only, Aunt Emily is going to love my autogiro," insisted Linda, putting her arm affectionately about the older woman, who had been the only mother she had ever known. "One of my biggest reasons for choosing an autogiro was because it is the safest flying machine known." Her tone grew soft, so low that her father could not hear, and she added, with her head turned aside, "I do want you to know that I care about your feelings, Aunt Emily."
Miss Carlton's eyes grew misty; Linda had always been so sweet, so thoughtful! Her niece couldn't help it, if she had a marvelous brain, and a mechanical mind. No wonder she wanted to use them!