objects, sometimes but faintly visible in the darkening sky, began to volplane. Down, down, came the biplane, in wide and graceful spirals, toward the earth. A few more turns and the wings were silhouetted faintly for the last time against the sky; another instant and they cut across the turf in still swiftly moving lines of grayish white.

“Good work, that!” cried Don, breathlessly.

“Fine!” agreed George.

“Won’t I be jolly glad when I can manage a machine like that!” Don happened to glance at his chum’s face, and was surprised to see a swift, subtle change come across it, an almost sad expression taking the place of his usual buoyant look. “What’s the matter, old chap?”

“I was thinking what a dangerous life you are about to begin, Don. As some of the boys in the squadron say: ‘Death is often carried as a passenger by the airman.’”

“And you engaged in the very same work yourself!” laughed Don. “There’s consistency for you! I understand, though, just how you feel about it, George. Honestly, at times, I’ve worried a whole lot about you. But”—a determined light flashed into his eyes—“we must ‘carry on’ the big job before us.”

“That’s the way to look at it,” acquiesced George, heartily. “You have a cool head and steady nerves, Don; and you’ll be called upon to use all your wits, all your courage and resourcefulness, as never before in the whole course of your life. Great adventures are ahead!”

“Better wait until he gets out of the ground-class before talking that way,” grinned Ben Holt, dryly.

“Don’t discourage the infant class, Holt,” put in Dorsey. “Now, boys ”—he turned to face Don and George—“that good-sized building you spy just across the field is the headquarters of the captain and moniteurs—teachers we call ’em in the good old lingo of the United States. By the way, know much French?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Don.

“Good! Frankly speaking, some of these chaps here do not.” Dorsey chuckled mirthfully. “Their efforts sound weird and wild. And sometimes it has the effect of making the moniteurs act wildly and weirdly.”

“The idea of Dorsey talking about French!” scoffed Ben Holt. “Why, he can’t even speak English. An Englishman’s the authority for that.”

“One’s shortcomings should never be mentioned in polite society,” grinned Tom. “And now, Don, while you’re over there parleying the parlez-vous we’ll get a bunch of the Oriental Wrecking Crew, the Annamites, to lift your traps.”

“As a rule, I rather object to having my things lifted,” laughed Don. “But this time it’s all right.”

“You’ll find our crowd, with a few additions equally handsome, in the big barracks—the third from the end. Now scoot.”

While Don and George didn’t exactly “scoot,” they nevertheless immediately left the group and made good time toward the building indicated. Within a few minutes they entered and were conducted by an orderly to the captain’s sanctum.

If Don had expected any effusive greeting or words of commendation for his willingness to give his services to aid the cause of France he would have been greatly disappointed. The captain, very alert and authoritative in manner, greeted the two boys in a casual, disinterested sort of way, and examined Don’s papers.

Then came the usual number of formalities and an order to report to the sergeant on the aviation field on the following morning.

Don Hale was now duly enrolled as an élève, or student pilot, in one of the most important of the great Bleriot flying schools in France.