“And it shall!” he shouted into the night.
“You’ll come down!” the voice from the air insisted.
In his desperation the boy lifted his eyes to the skies in silent prayer.
Did the answer come at once? Be that as it may, a thought flashed into his mind.
In the fusilage directly behind him was a twelve foot parachute. Fastened to the parachute was, of all things, a large doll and a new doll buggy.
On the route, a few miles beyond a small city, was a farm. Curlie had made a forced landing there the trip before this one. There he had made the acquaintance of a child, a happy, most cheerful little girl, and yet a terrible cripple.
Curlie read his Bible. He believed what he read. Some day, if he fed the poor, visited the sick and was kind to crippled children, he would hear the great Master say, “Come!”
He had written a letter to the crippled child, had received an answer and had learned that she wanted a doll and a doll carriage. This day he had meant to send the gifts down by a red parachute. The clouds had hid the little farm. The parachute was still behind him.
“If I remove the doll and attach the registered sack to the parachute I can toss it over and they won’t see it. Red shows black at night. They’d never find it. Then I can land and take what comes.”
“You have two minutes to land!” The voice was more threatening than ever.