“More like a night hawk,” said Isabel, “circling around up there. Somebody is practicing. Perhaps it is the hydroplane.”
“Oh, no. That is a regular plane,—see?”
Out over the lake, back over the fields behind Greycliff, out of sight up river, behind the woods, appearing again and coming toward them, then turning away in the direction of “White Wings,” the plane finally disappeared entirely from view.
“I suppose it is from one of the aviation fields,” said Lilian. “I haven’t gotten used to them yet. I’m so glad that Phil isn’t in the aviation. It’s just as dangerous practicing as it is in battle.”
“Oh, no, not quite,” said Isabel. “There are a few more chances to fall under fire. There’s where I’d be if I were a soldier, sailing over the clouds,” and Isabel’s hand made all sorts of gyrations in illustration.
The girls became rather more sober in the thoughts of their brothers and friends that came to them with the suggestions of aviation and the camps. They hurried toward and into the Hall, Betty to change her shoes, and the other girls to hunt up the evening papers with the latest news from the front. Mail, also, was delivered, and Lilian received a long package from the camp where Philip was located.
“It’s the music manuscript, Hilary; let’s go into the society hall and try it over before dinner. I am crazy to see what sort of an accompaniment Phil has written. O, dear! If I could only hear him play it!—his beautiful hands and voice,—sometimes, Hilary, I think I can’t stand having him go to France and maybe——”
“Don’t say it, Lilian,” said Hilary, with a tender and understanding look. “We have to meet it. Someway I think our boys will come back.”
Lilian looked at Hilary’s sweet, strong face and felt comforted by her friend’s faith.