from him. He could not remember what they were for.

He felt rather than saw Ernest motion him upward. As he climbed through
the cutting air, he plunged into a dense bank of cloud. The thought
flashed over him that if the plane turned over there in unlighted space,
he would not be able to right it again. As they passed once more into
the clear air, it was as though they were plunged into a bath of liquid
silver. The moon, immense and coldly luminous, had risen and hung in the
sky huge and pale. If the morning sun had turned every wire and blade to
gold, the moon silvered the whole plane. Space about them stretched off
dim and threatening. Bill shivered. His clutch on the wheel loosened and
the engine coughed twice.

Bill felt his nerve die within him. Then a voice clear and sweet seemed
to speak. It was so clear that he glanced toward Ernest to see if he too
heard. Twice he heard his name called, then the dearest voice in the
world said clearly:

"All's well, sonny. We are waiting. You will be in time."

With a start Bill knew that his mother was speaking. Where she was he
did not know, but he heard her. All his fear, his indecision and his
nervousness faded away. He glanced at the dial of the clock. It was
just nine. The long, hard night was ahead of him, but he could make it.
He set the wheel and risked a look at Ernest. He had not spoken, and he
had not heard. With his well arm he was nursing the broken one, and as
Bill looked at him he once more motioned upward. So they went soaring
up, up and still up, into silver-shod space, above ink-black masses of
cloud that held the silver rays of the moon on their upper surfaces as
though they were cups.

As they sped on a wind began to blow behind them. It raced with them,
caught them, hurled them forward with incredible speed. Bill held his
course steadily, remembering "tail up!" as he tore onward. They were now
so high that the earth was not even a shadow below them.

Suddenly as though flung through a doorway, they fell into one of those
strange freaks of the upper air called a "pocket." It is a vacuum, and
most dangerous.

The plane shook and wavered, but Bill set himself for a downward course
and glided across the perilous area. As they emerged and struck the wind
again, the plane slipped dangerously, but Bill warped the planes and set
the ailerons with all the speed he could, and presently the indicator
before him registered an even keel and the danger past.