Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, MFR, C. H. Williamson, Duke University, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saying “I will go with thee To yon isles of mystery.”
Always fond of the marvelous, I conceived a strong desire to go to the North Pole.
To obviate the dangers of the trip I invented a coach, that was also ship and balloon. Its silken canopy is inflatable to strong wings or wide sails. Its wheels are wide rimmed, to glide over snow, and paneled for water paddles. When it is finished and stored I select some friends to accompany me. My most personal loved ones. A volatile fair-haired gent—my husband, and a fair-haired little maiden friend, sit on the front seat. On the back seat are sitting my aged father and myself, our black eyes snapping with expectation.
Waving my hands to the few gathered to see us off, I say: “This undertaking is of desire to gain knowledge. Success, surmounting all obstacles will take us to the summit of the round earth, where, ages past as ages future will accord us first record.”
Charley turns levers to start, as little Mae’s mamma says: “You will be the Mascot, Mae Searles. But I do not think you will go very far,” dubiously.
“You will change your mind, mamma, when I bring you home a little bear,” makes us laugh.
“I will be glad to get you for my little bear.”
“All the rest of us,” I answered, “will take care of her.”
“No doubt,” she replies, “as far as you go in your odd rig,” facetiously.
Our wheels turn slowly and silently. Then with a low tinkling of the strain, “Good Bye, Sweet Heart,” Mae had slipped her music box in one, wound to that harmony.
We are Californians and take the C. P. railroad for our eastward route, our wheels being grooved to fit the track. Speeding merrily, we give vent to our imaginations of coming events.
“That is for us to find out, dear. I sometimes think there is a stem there covered with ice, that holds the earth to an apple planet tree.”
“But the astronomers would have seen the tree,” argues my father.
“They could not look so far. Only as far as the other star apples. May not the Milky Way be a branch?” I suggest.