“Descend.”
With the command the pilots lowered the “Sikorsky” to the water level.
“Vive, La France!”
Henri’s exulting shout was heard again as a boat shot out from the shore to meet the gigantic aeroplane drifting in on its polished floats.
CHAPTER XXIV.
LOFTY GUN PRACTICE.
When the identity of the Russian aircraft had been established, the big ship was landed, and the aviators mingled with the soldiers on shore. Henri was particularly active in making the rounds among the French contingent.
He had been separated from his companions for less than a half hour, when they saw him coming, with a joy-illumined face and a skip between every other step. At Henri’s side, but at a more dignified pace and looking every inch a soldier in the uniform of a French artilleryman, walked a youth who commanded immediate recognition from Billy.
“Hello, François,” cried the Bangor boy, rushing forward with outstretched hand, and the newcomer so hurried his stride that he came more than half way with his warm return of happy greeting.
“The world isn’t so wide, after all,” laughingly declared Henri. “What do you think of us running up against one another in this out of the way neck of the woods? It is the remotest thing on earth that would have entered my mind. But isn’t it great?”
The boys had last seen François, Henri’s brother, in a hospital at war-torn Arras, these many days agone, and how much of history had been written in red since that meeting!