Donovan, with its splendid roads and miles of skeleton tent frames, and nearer Bill recognized with a quickly beating heart the squat, ugly quarters and class buildings of the School of Fire.
Now on the instant there came to Bill a daring idea. Back of the quarters where his mother and dad lived, a wide level space stretched out to a bluff under which ran a sluggish stream called Medicine Creek. It was a good-sized field, but of course not nearly the size of Aviation Field lying far the other side of the Post. Nevertheless Bill made up his mind to land there. He circled the Post, rising as he did so to a high altitude, and leaving the plain he wished to land on far behind.
He knew that he must be careful, as too great speed in striking would drive the plane forward into the Students' building lying broadside.
If he approached from the other direction, a false landing would send them over the cliff into the trees and underbrush along the creek bank.
But he knew that he could do it, and he did. The plane came down at a perfect angle, reached the earth just at the edge of the bluff, hopped gayly along toward the class building, turned in response to his hand on the wheel, and stopped almost opposite his mother's back door.
Bill turned and looked at Ernest. He was lying low in his seat in an almost fainting condition. Frank, with closed eyes, looked deathly in the early morning light. Bill struggled out of his seat, and stood shakily beside the plane, undoing his helmet. A group of orderlies and janitors ran up, and several officers in more or less undress appeared on the porches. Bill, reeling, walked over to his mother's door.
She herself opened it, clasped him in her arms, and gave a cry of delight.
"Bill, darling, you have grown!" she cried, and then as an after-thought, "How late you are! I have been watching for you for an hour."