“It’s a queer thing,” declared Nancy, when Takamini had shown them into two neat bare-looking bedrooms upstairs, “it’s really a very strange thing indeed.”

“What?” demanded her friends.

“That our wish has come true, just as if we had rubbed Aladdin’s lamp. We wished for a dinner and we got it.”

“We haven’t got it yet,” said Elinor sceptically.

But Nancy was a very superstitious young person, who put infinite faith in the Rule of Three.

“We shall have it in an hour. That’s what Takamini told us just now. And if two wishes come true, three will, so I’m going to make another.”

“But what is the second wish, Nancy-Bell?” they asked.

“Didn’t we all of us wish not to be homesick?”

“We didn’t say so.”

“Well, anyway, we thought so. And thinking is the same as speaking. That wish has come true because the homesickness has all gone, hasn’t it?”

They were obliged to admit that it had. The adventure had dispelled their doleful vapors.

“We should all unite on the third wish, then,” said Mary, “seeing that the other wishes were common to everybody.”

“What shall it be, then?” demanded Nancy. “Quick, before the luck gets by.”

“Foolish child,” said Miss Campbell, “I believe that little head of yours is cramful of nonsense.”

“You are a doubter, Miss Campbell,” objected Nancy. “We shall have to banish you from the magic circle if you feel that way. You cast a dark shadow over the spell.”

“Oh, no, dear, don’t make me an outsider, I beg of you. I promise not to scoff.”

The truth is, Miss Campbell was slightly superstitious herself.

“But what is to be the wish?” they asked.

“Something we all of us want.”

It is difficult to make one wish common to five separate and distinct individualities.

“I might wish to get my fifty dollars back,” observed Miss Campbell, “only I don’t look for miracles.”

“We might wish for a safe journey to San Francisco,” laughed Billie; “but that would cover too much ground for one wish.”

“Suppose we wish to see Peter Van Vechten again soon,” suggested Nancy.

Not one of the five ladies who would not have been pleased, secretly of course, to meet once more that strange adventurer of the skies, in spite of the grave suspicion which rested upon him.

“You might ask him for your purse, Cousin Helen,” suggested Billie.

“I shall always believe there was some mistake,” answered her cousin.

“Anyhow, let’s take the chances and wish for another meeting,” said Elinor, “then Miss Campbell can say, ‘Mr. Van Vechten, kindly restore my property.’ Only she won’t, because she hates to hurt other people’s feelings.”

“Very well, then, all at once,” cried Nancy, forcing them into a close circle. “Now join hands and close your eyes and make the silent wish. Concentrate two minutes.”

“Nancy, dear, I think you have been studying dream books,” exclaimed Miss Campbell, amused at this ridiculous mummery.

Nevertheless, at precisely two minutes to one o’clock by the timepiece on the mantel, five pairs of hands joined together and five identical and simultaneous wishes went forth into space. Five little thought messengers linked together by a single wish, went out together into the vast universe. Then they separated and each took a different direction in search of that mysterious birdman, whose eyes at least were clear and brown and honest. And the first little winged thought who found Peter Van Vechten was to summon his aerial brothers from the ether. Promptly they would join hands and dancing in a circle about his head, as each passed an ear would whisper the message.

When the clock struck one the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell unlocked hands, and smiling quite gravely, considering it was all a joke, proceeded with their toilet for the luncheon of glorious anticipation.

That Mr. Daniel Moore’s establishment was guiltless of any woman’s touch was plainly evident. There was not a sign of femininity about it. It was as bare as a barracks and as plain as an old shoe. But the beds were soft and comfortable, as Miss Campbell could testify, for she took a nap on one of them in the interval which must be spent before lunch was announced.

After the girls had fluffed up their front hair or smoothed it out according to custom, and had brushed every fleck of dust from their neat traveling skirts, and washed the stains of the journey from their fresh young faces, they began to look about the rooms, to peer from the windows and peep into the hall, while they talked in whispers.

On a shelf in one of the rooms were some books, the one human touch they noticed. Mary, always a bookworm, began dipping her inquisitive little nose into these immediately. She had opened a volume of Kipling’s poems and was reading aloud in a sing-song voice:

“OntheroadtoMandalay,
Wheretheflyingfishesplay——”

when something fell from between the pages into her lap. It was a souvenir postcard, which had, apparently, been serving as a book-mark. Without meaning to pry, Mary picked it up and turned it over to look at the picture on the other side, which proved to be a photograph of a lovely girl holding a Boston bull terrier on a leash. She was tall and slender, and seemed to sway toward them from the picture like a young tree in the wind. It had evidently been quite breezy when the picture was taken, for one hand grasped her broad-brimmed felt hat, while the other held the dog leash. She was smiling, too, and there was a gay light in her eyes which seemed to challenge the whole world to make her sad.

Mary had not meant to read the message written across the picture, but is it ever possible to examine a picture on a postcard without taking in the words at the bottom? Besides, it was a harmless message:

“AsnapshotsmilefromEvelyn.

SaltLakeCity,Utah.”

Now, Salt Lake City was a place of intense interest to the Motor Maids. They regarded it as a traveler in the Orient might look upon one of those mysterious Eastern cities where women went veiled and faces peeped at one from behind obscure gratings.

“Do you suppose this pretty girl is a Mormon?” exclaimed Mary, exhibiting the photograph.

“She is much too pretty to be a Mormon,” said Nancy decisively.

“Can’t Mormons be handsome?” asked Billie, looking at the postcard over Nancy’s shoulder.

“They are just like other people, goosie,” put in Elinor, nevertheless looking at the picture with extreme interest.

“I always imagined the men were tall and thin with lantern jaws and long white beards, and the women were small and plain with straight hair twisted into scraggy little knots behind.”

They were still laughing over Nancy’s vague idea of the citizens of Salt Lake City when the Japanese servant gave them a start by appearing at the door as noiselessly as one who walked on air.

“Luncheon is served,” he announced rapidly in a funny high voice.

It was almost impossible to conceal from him their eagerness to be at table. Nancy secretly hoped there would be fried chicken, but she didn’t care really if only there were no canned vegetables in bird-seed dishes. They all wondered if their host would be able to appear despite his maimed leg.

But he was there to meet them, waiting in the living room of the farmhouse, which was fitted up quite comfortably with big easy chairs, an immense writing table, and many books on shelves lining the walls. Mr. Moore’s wholesome, manly face showed not a trace of the pain he had endured an hour ago, and when he led the way to the dining room, it was with only a slight limp.

“But I thought you had a bad sprain, Mr. Moore,” said Miss Campbell, “and here I find you walking as well as any of us.”

“It’s all gone,” he answered. “I—” he hesitated a moment. “I——”

But the fragrance of the viands about to be set before them drove all other thoughts from their minds.

It was all a curious adventure, indeed. Here was an entire stranger dispensing hospitality to them most graciously, and here were they, even that fastidious and dainty little lady, eating with appetites of starving people.

There was no fried chicken, but there were beefsteak and mushrooms and new potatoes and asparagus, a very fine expensive salad made of grapefruit, and as a last perfect touch, strawberries and cream.

The motor party had planned to leave Mr. Moore’s place half an hour after lunch and start on their travels again, but while they feasted black clouds had been piling themselves into a formidable storm and now came flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder. The house grew so dark that Takamini lit some candles and placed them on the table.

Then came the rain, pouring in torrents.

Miss Campbell looked uncomfortable.

“I am afraid, Mr. Moore, you have undertaken more than you expected,” she said.

But Mr. Moore was quite equal to this call upon his hospitality. “I hope it will be one of our three-day storms,” he said smiling cordially. “The roads would be far too muddy for motoring then, and I should have the pleasure of entertaining you longer.”

“Oh, we couldn’t let you do that, Mr. Moore. You are too kind. We must go to the next town and stop at the hotel.”

“I assure you, Miss Campbell, you are like messengers from heaven. You came in the nick of time to keep me from being plunged into such a state of gloom I might never have come out of it.”

“But you don’t look gloomy,” protested Nancy.

“I know,” he replied. “People of my complexion never get the credit for being melancholy. But occasionally, you know, we are subject to spasms due chiefly to loneliness, I think.”

They had drifted back into the sitting room now and the rain was beating on the windows in torrents. It was chilly, and they were glad to see Takamini light a wood fire in the open brick fire-place. Miss Campbell, seated in a big leather chair in the chimney corner, dozed off in the warmth of the firelight, her head drooping to one side like a tired little bird’s.

The four girls gathered around the table, while Mr. Moore taking a large atlas from a shelf, opened at the map of the United States and spread it on the table.

“Now,” he said, “tell me about the trip. Are you the captain of the expedition, Miss Billie?”

“Yes,” replied the others in unison.

“Cousin Helen is the general,” said Billie, “and we are just her staff. I am chief guide because I know how to run the motor, but everybody has a place. We could never give these parties if one of us dropped out.”

“Well, it’s a jolly party,” said their host. “You are five very brave ladies, I think. I only know one other as brave.”

“Does she live in Salt Lake City?” asked Nancy innocently.

The other girls looked annoyed and Nancy herself was sorry after she had made this impulsive speech. But Daniel Moore was not at all annoyed. He was only a little surprised.

“Why, yes,” he answered, “you guessed right the very first time. How did it happen?”

“Well,” began Nancy and paused, greatly embarrassed, “I just guessed,” which was a perfectly true statement.

“You are a very good guesser, then, Miss Nancy. Perhaps you would like to see a picture of the young lady who is as brave as you are.”

“Do show it to us,” they exclaimed with enthusiasm.

Mr. Moore opened a table drawer and produced a large photograph of the same beautiful girl whose face they had seen hardly an hour before smiling at them from the postcard.

“How pretty she is!” ejaculated Nancy.

“Isn’t she?” he answered quite frankly.

“And is she a Mormon?” demanded Mary.

“She isn’t; but her father is,” he answered, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Her father is the most confounded old Mormon that ever grew up in the faith. He thinks that all non-Mormons are just kittle-kattle.”

“And is that the reason—” began Nancy, while her friends trembled for fear of what the inquisitive child would ask next.

“The reason I was so blue?” he asked gently. “It certainly was. You guessed right again. If you had six guesses, I believe you would get six secrets from me, Miss Nancy,” he laughed.

“Then you are not a Mormon?” asked Billie.

“Most assuredly not. I was born in Kentucky, educated at Harvard and settled on this farm my uncle left me three years ago. But before that I spent some time in Salt Lake City.”

“What a shame!” exclaimed Mary.

“What’s a shame?” he asked.

Mary blushed and stammered.

“That you—that she—I mean, that the father——”

“It is a shame,” he interrupted, evidently enjoying his confession to the four earnest young girls immensely. “And the worst of it is that I can’t even write to her and as for seeing her, I might as well try and see the Empress of China. I can’t get a letter to her because all her mail is opened by that old dragon of a father.”

“And can’t Evelyn write to you?” asked Nancy, her eyes as big as saucers.

Daniel Moore began laughing joyfully.

“I’ve caught you,” he cried, his handsome face lit up with merriment. Nancy could have bit her tongue for having thoughtlessly mentioned the girl’s name. The other girls could not help joining in the laughter. Miss Campbell waked up a moment, smiled sleepily at the group and closed her eyes again. The thunder of the rain on the roof and the whistle of the wind as it blew around the corner of the house muffled their voices into far-away sounds.

“Confess, now, Miss Nancy. You know this young lady.”

“Only by sight.”

He looked at her puzzled.

“You’ve met her somewhere perhaps?”

“Only her snapshot smile.”

“Oh, ho!” he cried. “You’ve been reading Kipling.”

Nancy bowed her head.

“We couldn’t help reading the message at the same time we saw the postcard. We know it was impolite.”

“I only wish it had been more of a message,” said Daniel Moore. “It was the last one I have ever had from her.”

“Why don’t you go and find her?” suggested gallant Billie.

“I have been,” he answered. “I’ve almost camped out in front of her house. I’ve done about everything I could do without breaking down the door and abducting her. If I could only get one more message to her, somehow——”

“Why couldn’t we take it?” asked Billie. “We’re going to Salt Lake City.”

Daniel Moore rested his chin on his hand and sat thinking.

“Why, you could,” he said at last. “You could do that thing for me and I would be everlastingly in your debt. It could be done in this way without any risk for any one concerned. You could write her a note as if you were an old school friend and ask her to meet you.”

“But she wouldn’t know who I was,” protested Billie.

“No; I’m thinking of that, too. But she would recognise this line: ‘Have you forgotten that jolly day at Fontainebleau?’”

“Oh,” said Billie.

“Then you could give her the note from me and that would be all you had to do.”

At this moment the master of the house was called away by one of the servants, and the girls began discussing in low voices the romantic errand which was to cast a glamour of even greater interest around Salt Lake City. As they leaned over the maps chatting together there was a blinding flash of lightning and a terrific clap of thunder. Miss Campbell, frightened from her nap, hurried to them. They waited a moment in silence. Presently far down the avenue they heard the whirr of a motor car. There was something ominous and terrifying in the sound. Another moment, it had stopped in front of the house. The hall door was flung open; there was the noise of hurrying footsteps; then the living-room door was opened and in the dim light there stood before them, just for the fraction of a second, Peter Van Vechten. There was a wild look in his eyes which searched their faces without recognition. The door closed as suddenly as it had opened, and he was gone.

“The third wish came true,” whispered Nancy as they pressed together in frightened wonder.

Presently there was a noise of footsteps and low voices in the hall. All the household must have been gathered there speaking in muffled tones. Tramp, tramp, tramp down the hall went the footsteps. A door closed somewhere and all was as still as death. Then came the sound of the motor again, gradually dying out as it flew down the avenue.

Had anything happened, they wondered. They were frightened and uneasy. The house seemed to be filled with a mysterious silence.

Their host did not come back to them that afternoon, but retiring to their rooms they put on their prettiest frocks to do honor to his dinner, where he joined them at seven o’clock, looking a little pale and worried, they thought.