It was just at sunset, a time pre-arranged by Mr. Stone, who now thought of everything, when the two automobiles paused on the brow of a hill near Berkeley.

Spread before them was the glorious panorama of San Francisco Bay. San Francisco, at one end of the peninsula, was shimmering gold in the last rays of the sun as it sank in the ocean at the very entrance of the Golden Gate. The whole scene might have been painted with a brush dipped in gold so glorified were the surrounding hills and bay by the sun’s rays.

It was all very much like a dream, unreal and strange as they hastened up and down the hilly streets of San Francisco and finally came to a stop at the St. Francis Hotel.

It was the end of their trip across the continent; the end of the summer and the beginning of happiness for their new friends. To-morrow there would be a wedding at which four Motor Maids would act as bridesmaids and Mr. John James Stone would give his daughter to Daniel Moore with a real fatherly blessing.

The bridegroom gave a dinner that night to the bridal party. It was a grand affair, a real dinner party. The girls wore their very best dresses and carried bunches of violets sent by that abject and thoughtful lover, Mr. Stone.

During the dinner which was given in one of the pretty private dining rooms of the St. Francis, John James Stone rose in his might and made a speech, just as if they were the most distinguished company in the world.

“Miss Campbell,” he said, and that lady stirred uneasily under the fire of his ardent black eyes, “and young ladies, I feel that I cannot let this delightful evening slip by without taking the opportunity to thank you for a gift which I count as the most precious I have ever received in my whole life.”

He spoke with the tone of an orator, his voice, vibrating and deep, rising and falling like the sound of the waves on the seashore, and his words were somewhat Biblical, after the manner of the Mormon speechmaker.

“All my life I have been as one walking in the dark,” he continued. “Even my daughter was a shadow to me. Only one thing was real. Money! And now I have lost a great deal of my money. It has slipped from my fingers into the hands of another man, who, thank God, has not forced himself into my family and never will. But I have received something in place of my fortune which is now and always will be of infinitely more value to me than money. The darkness is lifted and I stand in the light. I feel as one who has been groping in the night and have now turned my face toward the rising sun. You have made me the gift of sight. This gracious little lady,” he continued, turning to Miss Campbell, “whose spirit and courage first aroused my admiration and then a deeper feeling,” he placed his hand on his heart with the most unblushing candor. It was difficult for the other members of the party to hide their smiles. “This elegant little lady although she will not consent to make me the happiest of mortals has at least succeeded in inspiring me with a new content.

“Will she therefore and the young Motor Maids—” he paused and smiled at this expression which he had caught from the girls—“do me the honor to accept a slight token of my gratitude?”

The Mormon produced a package which he had been concealing under his chair. That the souvenirs had been planned long beforehand was evident, for the boxes bore the stamp of Salt Lake City.

The souvenirs were jewels and very beautiful. For each of the Motor Maids was a ring set with a deep yellow topaz, the setting and stone representing the “All-Seeing Eye,” the Mormon symbol carved on the Temple and in many other places in Salt Lake City. This was an especially appropriate choice since it might also stand for the Comet’s all-seeing eye which had guided them safely across two thousand miles.

Miss Campbell’s present was a beautiful topaz brooch and represented nothing except the deep regard of the giver.

They were obliged to accept these gifts, strange as it seemed to them to be receiving presents from one so recently a bitter enemy. But then, like Jim Bowles, Mr. Stone was a reformed character. Love had transformed his whole being.

Only two more incidents remain to be told before this history comes to an end. One of them concerns Peter Van Vechten, who, the girls learned at the hotel, never reached Chicago, although he succeeded in flying past the Rocky Mountains. But no else in the race reached the goal and he proceeded farther than any of the other aeroplanists. The young man was the grandson and only heir of one of the richest men in America.

“And we took him for a thief,” said Billie, sadly.

“I never did,” said Mary.

The other occurrence will show that life is full of coincidences and that if our memories are good and our impulses kind, we can always help someone.

The morning of the wedding Elinor was waiting for her friends at a window at one end of the hotel corridor. Someone else was waiting there also, but the two had not even glanced at each other so engrossed were they in their own thoughts. A door opened and a voice called:

“Elinor.”

“Yes?” called two voices at once and two girls turned and faced each other.

“I beg your pardon,” they both began at the same moment and paused laughing.

“My name is Elinor,” began one.

“So is mine,” finished the other.

Then they laughed again, politely and pleasantly.

“Do you know. I think we look very much alike,” began the strange girl. Her voice was English. “I am older than you, many years, I should imagine, but still we have the same profile.”

The two girls sat down on the window sill and began to talk.

“Are you visiting in San Francisco?” began Elinor Butler.

“No, not visiting, only—well, we have been traveling—we have been to a great many ranches through the West——”

Our Elinor gave the new Elinor a long, careful scrutiny.

“Her name is Elinor. She looks like you——” a voice said in her mind.

“Are you not looking for a friend?” she asked presently.

“But, how did you guess?” exclaimed the other girl, clasping her hands with great agitation.

“And his name is Algernon de Willoughby Blackstone Winston?”

“Yes, yes,” cried the English Elinor. “How did you know?”

“I know because I reminded him of you,” answered Elinor Butler, “and because my name is Elinor.”

Then she gave the English girl the address of Steptoe Lodge.

“It is in answer to my prayers—my meeting you,” cried the older girl. “Only it has taken such a long time. If only one has the patience to wait; but it has been very hard. Once we heard of his being in Canada, but when we went to fetch him, his father and I, he had gone and left no trace whatever. We were told that there are a great many young Englishmen on ranches in the Western States and we have been to—Oh, hundreds of places. Lord Blackstone has had detectives looking for him. But you see he changed his name and we have had no success.”

“You will be certain to find him this time,” said Elinor, “only when you go to fetch him, don’t tell him beforehand. Take him by surprise.”

The two girls looked into each other’s eyes, and smiled and pressed hands and—kissed.

“With all my heart I thank you a thousand times,” said the English Elinor.

“I hope you will be very, very happy,” said the American Elinor.

Once more they kissed, as dear friends about to be separated for a long time, and Elinor Butler hurried to join her friends at the elevator. On the way, she caught a glimpse through an open door of a splendid looking old man leaning on a cane. He was very tall with the slight stoop of an old soldier, and as he glanced in her face, she saw that his eyes were the same as those of the cowboy’s who had sat out a dance with her one night in the courtyard of Steptoe Lodge.

At last the story is done. The journey across the continent has not been an unprofitable one. Through the kindly efforts of Miss Helen Campbell and the Motor Maids, lovers long separated have been reunited; hearts of stone melted into flesh and blood, and bad men transformed into good.

Before they left San Francisco, our young girls on a lark one day consulted a crystal gazer. She was only a common fortune teller but sometimes these wandering Gipsy souls make correct guesses.

“In the crystal,” she said, “I see a great stretch of water. There is a ship on it. The waves are rough. I see foreign countries. You will take a long journey across the ocean. I see a flash of red like a shooting star——”

“The Comet,” laughed Billie.

Perhaps, like the Motor Maids, you will be skeptical of the crystal gazer’s predictions concerning their future. But she spoke the truth as you will find for yourself if you read the next volume of this series. In the new book the Motor Maids will wander in their Comet through the British Isles and there many interesting and delightful adventures await them.

As the story ends, we find them gathered together in Miss Campbell’s sitting room at the Hotel St. Francis. On the next day they are to take the train for home. Mr. Stone is with them, and they are listening silently to a song Elinor is singing at the piano. It is a Gipsy song, and very appropriate. Our four girls after their summer wanderings have turned into Gipsy lasses, brown skinned clear-eyed daughters of the Zingari.

As they listen to the thrum of the accompaniment, the walls of the little parlor fade away and once more they find themselves around the camp fire under the stars on the plains.

Here is the song Elinor sang to her friends.

“‘Thewhitemothtotheclosingvine,
Thebeetotheopenclover,
AndtheGipsybloodtotheGipsyblood
Everthewideworldover.

“‘Everthewideworldover,lass,
Everthetrailheldtrue,
Overtheworldandundertheworld
Andbackatthelasttoyou.

“‘Outofthedarkofthegorgiocamp,
Outofthegrimeandthegray,
(Morningwaitsattheendoftheworld),
Gipsy,comeaway.

“‘Thewildhawktothewind-sweptsky,
Thedeertothewholesomewold,
Andtheheartofamantotheheartofamaid,
Asitwasinthedaysofold.

“‘Theheartofamantotheheartofamaid—Light
ofmytents,befleet!
Morningwaitsattheendoftheworld,
Andtheworldisallatourfeet!’”

Motor Maids Series

Wholesome Stories of Adventure

By KATHERINE STOKES.

Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE MOTOR MAIDS’ SCHOOL DAYS.

Billie Campbell was just the type of a straightforward, athletic girl to be successful as a practical Motor Maid. She took her car, as she did her class-mates, to her heart, and many a grand good time did they have all together. The road over which she ran her red machine had many an unexpected turning,—now it led her into peculiar danger; now into contact with strange travelers; and again into experiences by fire and water. But, best of all, “The Comet” never failed its brave girl owner.

THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE.

Wherever the Motor Maids went there were lively times, for these were companionable girls who looked upon the world as a vastly interesting place full of unique adventures—and so, of course, they found them.

THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT.

It is always interesting to travel, and it is wonderfully entertaining to see old scenes through fresh eyes. It is that privilege, therefore, that makes it worth while to join the Motor Maids in their first ’cross-country run.

THE MOTOR MAIDS BY ROSE, SHAMROCK AND HEATHER.

South and West had the Motor Maids motored, nor could their education by travel have been more wisely begun. But now a speaking acquaintance with their own country enriched their anticipation of an introduction to the British Isles. How they made their polite American bow and how they were received on the other side is a tale of interest and inspiration.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

GIRL AVIATORS SERIES

Clean Aviation Stories

By MARGARET BURNHAM.

Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE GIRL AVIATORS AND THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP.

Roy Prescott was fortunate in having a sister so clever and devoted to him and his interests that they could share work and play with mutual pleasure and to mutual advantage. This proved especially true in relation to the manufacture and manipulation of their aeroplane, and Peggy won well deserved fame for her skill and good sense as an aviator. There were many stumbling-blocks in their terrestial path, but they soared above them all to ultimate success.

THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS.

That there is a peculiar fascination about aviation that wins and holds girl enthusiasts as well as boys is proved by this tale. On golden wings the girl aviators rose for many an exciting flight, and met strange and unexpected experiences.

THE GIRL AVIATORS’ SKY CRUISE.

To most girls a coaching or yachting trip is an adventure. How much more perilous an adventure a “sky cruise” might be is suggested by the title and proved by the story itself.

THE GIRL AVIATORS’ MOTOR BUTTERFLY.

The delicacy of flight suggested by the word “butterfly,” the mechanical power implied by “motor,” the ability to control assured in the title “aviator,” all combined with the personality and enthusiasm of girls themselves, make this story one for any girl or other reader “to go crazy over.”

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK