LINDA CARLTON’S PERILOUS SUMMER
Chapter I
The Accident
“Aunt Emily, may we have a picnic lunch?”
Pretty Linda Carlton, the first girl in America to fly from New York to Paris alone, stood in the living room of her aunt’s summer bungalow at Green Falls, and asked the question. Her blue eyes were pleading, although it was not for the mere favor of a lunch. The older woman glanced at her costume—a flying suit—and looked grave.
“Where do you want to go, dear?” she countered.
“Dot and I want to go off by ourselves—in the ‘Ladybug.’”
“The ‘Ladybug!’” repeated Miss Carlton, with despair in her tone. That was the name of Linda’s autogiro, which she had purchased in June and flown south to Georgia. There she had met with all sorts of disasters, had been kidnaped by a gang of thieves and stranded on a lonely island with this same girl—Dot, or Dorothy Crowley—as her only companion.
“I should think you and Dot would have had enough flying to last you the rest of your lives.”
“Now, Aunt Emily, you know I could never have enough flying. I—I—belong in the air.” Linda’s eyes lighted up with joy, as they always did when she spoke of her favorite pastime. She came across the room and seated herself upon the arm of her aunt’s chair. “I’ve stayed on the ground for two weeks, Auntie dear—just for your sake. But I’ve got to go up now—I just have to! You do understand, don’t you?”
Miss Carlton, who had taken care of Linda ever since she was a baby, was so afraid of airplanes that she had never even taken a ride with her niece. She sighed.