We glide downwards, and in a moment of exultation the pilot, to my everlasting regard for him, sweeps a few feet over the aerodrome, yelling with me in utter excitement—
"Horray! Horray! Horray! Horray!"
I lean far over the side screaming out my joy in this mad whirling rush over the grass. On roar the engines: we sweep swiftly upwards again, and turn, and land.
As soon as the machine has stopped crowds press round us. A Ford car is waiting to take us over to the headquarters.
"Oh! Damn good," says the pilot. "We hit it—but I take no credit for it. It was this child's show—he did it!"
"Bilge! You were great, sir. I never saw such steering!"
In the jolting little car we whirl across a bridge, alongside the canal, and across a second bridge to my beloved camp, and our beloved C.O.
His words of congratulation at the news would be reward for a hundred such trips.
"Well!" he says at last, "I suppose you did it by compass!"
"No, sir! By landmarks!"