There was no lingering over the supper, good as it tasted, and before twilight deepened into misty gray, Peter Van Vechten had said good-by to the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell.
He seated himself in his aeroplane. The motor began whirring busily, and presently the machine rolled on the ground for a brief instant and began rising slowly and easily. He waved his hand and smiled to them as he mounted the air. Then away he flew and in three minutes was a speck in the distance.
Miss Campbell’s eyes filled with tears.
“I do hope and pray he’ll get there safely,” she said.
“He is one of those people who always make one feel lonesome after he goes away,” observed Mary still watching the horizon.
The young aeroplanist was indeed one of those rare persons the charm of whose presence still lingers after he has departed, like the vibrations after a chord of music.
But the adventure was over. He was flying East and their path was due West, and they must be getting on their way before night set in.
CHAPTER XXII.—A BIT OF OLD ITALY.
It was August 22, Miss Campbell’s birthday, although she herself had quite forgotten it, this being a celebration she was careful not to remember.
The girls had been planning for a long time to give her a birthday party. It was to be a surprise picnic wherever they happened to be between Sacramento and San Francisco. It was Evelyn who chose the spot for the party and who guided them to a lovely vineyard planted on terraces up the side of a mountain with a little valley smiling at its feet.