As if a white blanket had been wrapped about their plane, everything before them vanished. At the same time, as if it were a child’s toy, the storm caught their plane and carried it aloft. The motors still turned, but meant nothing. Had the plane ever traveled so fast before? Mary doubted it. Where were they? Where was the mountain? It seemed to her that they must be approaching the stars. A stinging cold crept in everywhere.
And then, just as she had begun to despair, still as if they were toy people in a toy plane of a toy world, the storm gave their plane a final push, turned it completely over, then abandoned it to its fate.
They began to drop. The motors were no longer turning. Had that intense cold rendered them useless? If so their fate was sealed.
With benumbed fingers Sparky tried a switch here, another there. There came a faint humming sound. It grew and grew. Somewhere a wheel turned, then another. Then, suddenly, the motors roared.
With great skill, Sparky plied his wings, his tail controls until, slowly, like some great, graceful bird, the plane turned over.
The motors roared on. Five minutes more and they were hanging in calm, clouded skies.
“Question right now is, where are we?” Sparky said after a moment’s silence. “The bear went over the mountain,” he hummed.
“Yes, but did we?” Mary asked.
No one cared to risk his reputation on an answer to that question.