wind should rise in the night, perhaps we'd better be hunting up this
Felix Boggs, and then start for home.

"Well, I'm glad we'll get there in the night-time, Frank, even if the
moon does happen to be nearly full."

"What makes you say that, Andy?"

"Because, when an aviator leaves his wounded machine in a field, and
walks home, it makes him feel like a dog with his tail between his legs,
sneaking along back of the fences."

Frank Bird laughed merrily at the picture drawn by his cousin and then
stooping again, with a few deft turns of a heavy cord, helped Andy
secure the broken plane so it would not get into trouble during the
coming night.

After which the two boys headed toward the barns belonging to the farm,
which just showed their tops above the adjacent rise.

While they are walking there it may be a good time for us to introduce
the pair of young aviators to such readers as have not had the good
fortune to meet them in previous volumes of this series of stories.

The cousins lived in the town of Bloomsbury, a thriving place situated
on the southern shore of Sunrise Lake, which was a magnificent body of
water, said to be nearly seventeen miles long by three wide, in places.

This lake having hilly shores that were heavily wooded in spots, and
with numerous fine coves, afforded grand sport to the young people of