remaining silent, began to cough and splutter as in the former
days.

"Bless my rubber boots, Tom! what's the matter?" cried Mr.
Damon.

"Something's gone wrong," Tom answered, barely able to hear and
make himself heard above the sudden noise. "I'll have to shut off
the power and glide down. We can make a landing in this big
field," for just then the moon came out from behind a cloud, and
Tom saw, below them, a great meadow, not far from the home of
Mary Nestor. He had often landed in this same place.

"Something has broken in the muffler, I think, letting out some
of the exhaust," he said to Mr. Damon, for, now that the motor
was shut off, Tom could speak in his ordinary tones. "I'll soon
have it fixed, or, if I can't, we can go back in the old style--
with the machine making as much racket as it pleases."

So Tom guided the machine down. It went silently now, of
course, making, with the motor shut off, no more sound than a
falling leaf. Down to the soft, springy turf in the green meadow
Tom guided the machine. As it came to a stop, and he and Mr.
Damon got out, there was borne to their ears a wild cry:

"Help! Help!"



CHAPTER XIII