"See there--there's where it begins with the Flag I was born under, the Stars and Stripes," excitedly. "And look," softly, "that gold star stands for Mother who died when I was two. And there you are, Toandoah, with that queer Indian triangle having the teeth of a saw, the emblem of invention." "What! That funny, squat figure, with something like a three-cornered fool's-cap on my head and the moon above it, looking through a tube!" There was a laugh in the inventor's throat now; the grim "Get thee behind me, Satan!" look, with the cloud of that codicil to a will, were melting away from him. "Well, go on!" he encouraged smilingly. "Artistic, anyhow! I believe you Camp Fire Girls would weave magic around a clock pendulum." "And here--here am I--Wantaam, a Wise Woman. There's the Thunder Bird, see, the symbol of the great rocket. Here are you and I, Dad, upon a mountaintop, watching it tear--oh! tear away." He laughed again at the two stiff, woodeny figures, the comet-like streak of fire above them. "And this--the quill fluttering down attached to a kite! Humph! That stands for the Thunder Bird's diary, I suppose, otherwise the golden egg--the little recording apparatus coming down on the wing of its black parachute." The inventor laughed amusedly again, glancing sidelong at _his_ masterpiece, the little five-inch openwork steel box, having in it two tiny wheels with paper wound, tapelike, on one and a pencil between them. This carried in the head of the Thunder Bird, big or little, would keep a record of as high as it went by the pencil automatically making marks so long as there was any air-pressure, like a guiding hand, to move it. "Yes." The weaver nodded. "And here--here is the Will being read!" The girlish voice was lower now, the girlish feet treading doubtful ground, as she pointed again to those two quaint, stubby figures, with a third one reading from a parchment. But there was no doubt at all in the young voice which presently gathered itself for a climax. "And see--see there--those little yellow dots I'm weaving in now; those are gold pieces, father, the money that _is_ coming to us from somewhere for you to finish your invention. Yes! and I'm going on to weave in the moon, too, and the little blue powder-flash before her face, to show the Thunder Bird has got there. For it is going to get there, you know!" Pem's blue-star eyes were dim now, but in them was the wisdom of babes--the wisdom oft hid from the wise and prudent.