She chuckled, a peculiarly infectious performance as she accomplished it. She was a tiny little thing, Hemingwood thought, and her small, oval face with its saucily tilted nose and rather wide mouth possessed a charm which far transcended the mere beauty of more regular features. She did not look as if a resident of the mountains. “You know, pretty lady, I’ve read a few flying stories in some of our magazines, and in every one some beautiful girl always materializes as soon as an airplane lands,” he remarked. “They just pop out of bushes in the wilderness or from behind sand hummocks in the desert. But in five years of flying it’s the first time I’ve seen it happen!” “Well, this is the first time you’ve ever landed anywhere near me,” she returned, mirth in her gray eyes. “My mistake!” laughed Hemingwood. “I wonder if you could give me some information. I expect to be in your village, or above it, for a few days, taking pictures of this flock of mountains. If they rolled Kentucky out flat it would be bigger than Texas.” She laughed aloud this time. Her face had an out-of-doors look about it, just a hint of golden tan and red cheeks with the color underneath the skin instead of on top of it. “The main things I want to know are as follows: where can my trusty sergeant and myself procure beds and boards for ourselves? And is there any garage in town where we can buy gasoline and oil?” “That last remark is an insult!” she said severely. “I ought to ride off and leave you standing here after that insinuation against East Point. However, you’re a stranger. My uncle has practically the only store in East Point. He sells gasoline and oil.” “He must be a good business man, judging by his choice of salesmen,” commented Hemingwood. “That’s the secret of his success,” she confided smilingly. “About the boarding house, I don’t know. We have no regular hotel or even boarding house, but I guess my uncle could tell you where to go.” “And your uncle’s name is--” “Mumford. You can’t miss the store. There’s a big sign on it.” “Do you think you could stand it if I introduced myself?” enquired Hemingwood. “I might.” “Hemingwood--George Hemingwood, hailing at present from Camp Henry.” “How do you do, Lieutenant Hemingwood,” she smiled. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” “Be a nice day if the weather doesn’t change, Miss Blank,” agreed the flyer. “I’ll let you substitute ‘Morgan’ in the blank. Are we ordinary people on the ground to be allowed to look at your airplane?” “I’ll show you the sights myself.” She glanced down at the tiny gold watch on her wrist. “Ten minutes of nine! I’ve got to hurry. I’m a hard working school-marm, you see. But I do want to see your plane, lieutenant.” “What time do you get through for the day?” “Four o’clock.” “Are you riding to school? Come back this way?” “Yes.” “I’ll be waiting at the ship for you. I want to be present when you see it, because it all sounds so much more impressive as I explain things.”