“I lost Dave in a cloud,” Brand went on. “I—I don’t know about him.”
“We’ll drop down and have a look,” said the young Lord. They did have a look. They fairly scoured the sea. All that met the eye was wide stretches of leaden, grey sea—that and a lone flock of wild ducks streaking away to the south.
“Ducks. Little old wild things,” The Lark grumbled. “Got more sense than humans.”
And so, with heavy hearts, they turned their planes landward. After that not a word was spoken until their Spitfires bump-bumped on the landing field.
That same afternoon Cherry walked alone to the village. She wanted time to think. And, indeed there was need for thinking. That morning her mother had driven out and had taken her to the city. There they visited the office of a famous specialist.
“This,” said Mrs. Ramsey, “is Cherry.”
“Cherry, the Singing Angel!” exclaimed the doctor. “I am surely glad to meet you. It’s a wonderful work you are doing.”
“That I was doing,” Cherry whispered hoarsely.
“Why! What’s up? Voice troubling you? Let’s have a look! We’ll fix it up right away.”
After a long and painstaking examination the good doctor looked at her with trouble in his eyes. “Nothing the matter with your throat, absolutely nothing,” he said solemnly.