they soon have the engine and the open part of the
body which contains the seats, controls, and instruments snugly housed
with their waterproof covers, and the Aeroplane is ready to weather the
possible storm.

Says the Observer, "I'm remarkably peckish, and methinks I spy the
towers of one of England's stately homes showing themselves just beyond
that wood, less than a quarter of a mile away. What ho! for a raid. What
do you say?"

"All right, you cut along and I'll stop here, for the Aeroplane must not
be left alone. Get back as quickly as possible."

And the Observer trots off, leaving the Pilot filling his pipe and
anxiously scrutinizing the weather conditions. Very thick it is now, but
the day is yet young, and he has hopes of the fog lifting sufficiently
to enable the flight to be resumed. A little impatiently he awaits the
return of his comrade, but with never a doubt of the result, for the
hospitality of the country house is proverbial among pilots! What old
hand among them is there who cannot instance many a forced landing made
pleasant by such hospitality? Never too late or too early to help with
food, petrol, oil, tools, and assistants. Many a grateful thought has
the writer for such kind help given in the days before the war (how long
ago they seem!), when aeroplanes were still more imperfect than they are
now, and involuntary descents often a part of 'cross-country flying.

Ah! those early days! How fresh and inspiring they were! As one started
off on one's first 'cross-country flight, on a machine the first of its
design, and with everything yet to learn, and the wonders of the air yet
to explore; then the joy of accomplishment, the dreams of Efficiency,
the hard work and long hours better than leisure; and what a field of
endeavour--the realms of space to conquer! And the battle still goes on
with ever-increasing success. Who is bold enough to say what its limits
shall be?

So ruminates this Pilot-Designer, as he puffs at his pipe, until his
reverie is abruptly disturbed by the return of the Observer.

"Wake up, you AIRMAN," the latter shouts. "Here's the very thing the
doctor ordered! A basket of first-class grub and something to keep the
fog out, too."

"Well, that's splendid, but don't call me newspaper names or you'll
spoil my appetite!"

Then, with hunger such as only flying can produce, they appreciatively
discuss their lunch, and with many a grateful thought for the
donors--and they talk