Pemrose had kept her word about not speaking. She just dropped one pointed little icicle in the shape of a nod upon her one-time friend as she sank into her own swivel chair and threw off the heavy coat with which she had covered her ski-runner's silken wind-jacket and belted skiing costume of pure, creamy wool, with its full freedom of knickerbockers. "There's Una--Una Grosvenor!" Her face frosted over at the thought. "Oh, mer-rcy! how I hate her--shall everlastingly hate her--for passing on that sneer about the Thunder Bird.... And I know-ow her eyelashes aren't as long as mine now!" Mingled spice was in the furtive glance which Toandoah's little pal, his maiden of the chowchow name, threw across the narrow train-aisle at the delicate young profile opposite, outlined against a crusted window. "And she still has that funny little near-sighted stand in one of her dark eyes, too--Una! Although they're pretty eyes--I'll admit that!" mused the critic further. "Goodness! won't she open them one of these days when the world is all ringing with talk of Dad and his rocket: when the Thunder Bird, the finished, full-fledged Thunder Bird, undertakes its hundred-hour flight to the moon.... For, oh! I know-ow that it will go, some day--some day." The girl stared passionately now into the future in the frostscript of the pane near her. "Man would not let it fail, God _could_ not let it fail--just for lack of funds--however that third nut may turn out--that third section of a queer will!" And now the mulled world outside changed again, shading from blood-red to fairy rose-color as seen through the spectroscope of hope. She became lost in the most magnificent dream that ever entranced a Camp Fire Girl yet--with any hope of fulfillment. Standing of a starless night upon a lofty mountain-top, she was looking up at Mammy Moon, dear, silver-footed Queen, so near to the heart of every Earth-daughter! In the darkness she felt the eyes of the whole world upon her--she but a satellite reflecting her father's light--its joint ear was bent to catch the wild, triumphal song-sob of her heart. And at the words: "Ready! Shoot!", Toandoah's battle-cry, she was pressing the electric button which, connected with a switch in the Thunder Bird's tail, would start it off, pointed directly for the moon, to light up that silver disc with a bright powder-flash visible here on earth. She was mesmerized by its wild, red eye. She was watching it switch its rosy tail feathers, two hundred feet long, that dashing explorer, as, roaring, it leaped from its mountain platform at incredible speed for an incredible flight. She was echoing the college boys' untamed slogan: "Watch it tear; oh! watch it tear--the fire-eater." She.... But what--what was this? Was she tearing with it? Was she, she herself, just a shocked girl, at the heart of its rapid-fire explosions?