They were up and away at dawn. As the sun rose over the gray hills, painting them with a golden light, it seemed to Mary that now nothing could hinder them from reaching their distant goal in far-away China.
Two days later, weary, bleary-eyed, but happy, she found herself looking down on the rooftops and strange towers of a great city. Like a broad ribbon a river divided the city into two parts while, far away, glimmering in the sun, lay the ocean.
“This,” Sparky’s voice was hoarse with emotion, “this is the heart of India.”
As usual, they passed over the city to drop down upon a secluded airport all but hidden by tropical trees.
They had made an overnight stop just within the border of India. From that airport they had radioed the probable hour of arrival. Mary was surprised to see a small crowd of people race on the field as their plane came to a stop.
When, at last, she stood in the doorway of the plane, blinking from the bright sun, there came a loud roar of applause which fairly set her back on her feet.
“What is it?” She turned to Sparky. “They must think we’re a big league baseball team or something.”
“There are a lot of Americans here,” he explained. “That’s including the soldiers. You’re the first lady member of the Ferry Command that’s ever showed up here.”
“Ray! Ray! Ray! for the lady pilot,” a soldier shouted.
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” came roaring back.