"What is the matter—is it a—er—a cyclone?" gasped Randolph Rover.
"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Mrs. Rover. "But it's a terrible noise."
"Look! look!" shrieked the cook, pointing upward. "Saints preserve us!" she moaned. "'Tis the end of the world!"
"A flying machine!" murmured Randolph Rover. He gazed around hurriedly. "Can it be the boys?"
"Oh, those boys! They will surely kill themselves!" groaned Mrs. Rover. "They know nothing about airships!"
"Say, dar ain't nobuddy in dat contraption!" came suddenly from Aleck Pop. "It am flyin' all by itself!"
"By itself?" repeated Randolph Rover. "Impossible, Alexander! A flying machine cannot run itself. There must be somebody to steer, and manipulate the engine, and——"
"Oh, maybe whoever was in it fell out!" screamed Mrs. Rover, and now she looked ready to faint.
"We must find out about this!" returned her husband quickly. "They had the machine in the shed back of the barn." And he ran in that direction, followed by the colored man, and then by his wife and the cook. In the meantime the biplane soared on and on, ever rising in the air and moving off in the direction of the river.
When the others arrived they found that Tom had carried poor Dick to the wagon shed and placed him on a pile of horse blankets, and was washing his wounded head with water. At the sight of her nephew lying there so still Mrs. Rover gave a scream.