dazzling glare that at times threatened to blind them.

The character of the country below had changed materially, Jack told the
pilot, who seldom had a chance to look through the glasses, since his
entire attention was taken up with manipulating the engine, watching its
rhythmical working, and keeping the plane pushing directly on its course.

"Heine didn't get a chance to ruin things here when he passed through,
going to Paris and to his smash on the Marne," Jack explained. "Towns and
villages look natural, as I see them, and they must have harvested crops
in those brown fields. This is a bit of the real France, and entirely
different from the horrible desert we've been at work in so long."

The afternoon was wearing away. Jack frequently stared eagerly off to the
west, when the sun's glowing face was veiled for a brief time by some
friendly cloud. Several times he believed he could see something that
looked like a stretch of water, but dared not voice his hopes.

Then came a time when a heavier cloud than usual masked the brightness
of the declining sun. Another long earnest look and Jack burst out with a
triumphant shout.

"Tom, I can see the Channel, as sure as you're born!" was the burden of
his announcement; and of course this caused the pilot to demand that he
too be given a chance to glimpse the doubly welcome sight.

There could not be any mistake about it. Tom corroborated what Jack had
declared. It was undoubtedly the English Channel they saw, showing that
their journey from the American front had been successfully accomplished.

"Now for Dunkirk!" jubilantly cried Jack, looking as though he had thrown
off the weight of dull care, and was once more light-hearted. "And by the
same token, Tom, unless I miss my guess, that may be the city we're
heading for over yonder a little further to the south."

"Then I kept my course fairly well, you'll admit," the pilot shouted at
him, naturally feeling conscious of a little pride over his achievement.

Rapidly they pushed on with a slight change of course. Jack kept using
the glasses and reported his observations to the busily engaged pilot.

"It'll be dusk, likely, when we land," he observed at one time. "But that
doesn't cut much figure, for we can easily find our way down to Beverly's
hangar on the coast. He said it was only a few miles from town, and
they'll know at the aviation field, of course."

"He gave us the name of a British officer who would post