down, circling above the field marked for our landing.
A belt of firs stood on the west side I knew, and these I was compelled to avoid. My additional difficulty was one that always confronts a pilot when landing at night, namely, an ignorance of the direction of the wind. By day the pilot can tell this from the way in which smoke blows, the currents of air waving across growing crops, and by other signs which in the darkness are not available. A good landing should be against the wind, so as to break the impact of coming to earth. Yet by night, if there be no mark in the aerodrome telling the pilot the direction of the wind, he has to take chances and risk it.
This I did. I came down in a rapid spiral over Holly Farm and, circling the field twice, alighted carefully, facing the front of the house. Unable to judge the distance exactly we, of course, bumped along a little, but I succeeded in steadying her, and a moment later we were stationary on terra-firma after nearly two hours and a quarter in the air.
Instantly I shut off the engine and then, turning to Roseye, uttered the first word.
'Well?' I asked, taking her gloved hand in mine.
'Splendid, Claude!' she cried enthusiastically. 'Splendid! Absolutely splendid!'
I saw that she was pinched with cold, half-frozen indeed, and very cramped, therefore I unstrapped her, and lifted her out into the arms of old Theed, who came running up to us.
Then I hopped out myself and, taking my love's
