“I am sorry, Miss Dean, and I hope you will forgive me for my rude—my seeming rudeness,” corrected Hippy.
Emma’s face broke out into smiles, indicating that the clouds had passed.
“You are forgiven, Hippy,” she nodded.
“Whether I mean it or not?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I will think it over and let you know to-morrow whether or not I do mean it.” Hippy lifted his head and inhaled a long breath.
“Fog! We are rapidly being enveloped in it,” exclaimed Anne who had observed the lieutenant’s action.
“That is what you call it. I call it a cloud. I ought to know, for many is the time that I have smelled clouds,” declared Hippy.
“Yep, them’s clouds,” confirmed the old coach driver.
The Overland Riders uttered exclamations of amazement, for being above the clouds was a new experience to all except Grace Harlowe, who had once made a thrilling flight with Lieutenant Wingate on the French front. Emma Dean, however, declared that she could see nothing about fog to rave over, and it was difficult to convince her that they really were enveloped in clouds such as she had seen drifting above the mountain tops all that afternoon.