showed a mass of freckles winter and summer. Jimmy was a bright,
quick boy, always well up in his studies and popular with his teachers.
At home Jimmy's parents thought him quite a normal boy, with an
unusually large fund of questions ever at the back of his nimble
tongue.

Breakfast went slowly for Jimmy that morning when once he had finished
and sat waiting for his parents. Mr. Hill was scanning the back page
of the paper in deep concentration. Again the big black letters stared
out at Jimmy. "The war will be won in the air." Jimmy knew well
enough what that meant, or at least he had a very fair idea of its
meaning. But he had sat still and quiet for a long time, it seemed to
him. Finally his patience snapped.

"Father," he queried, "how will the war be won in the air?"

"It won't," was his father's abrupt reply. Silence again reigned, and
Mrs. Hill glanced at her boy and smiled. Encouraged, Jimmy returned
to the charge.

"Then why does the paper say it will?"

"For want of something else to say," replied Mr. Hill. "The airships
and flying machines will play their part, of course, and it will be a
big part, too. The real winning of the war must be done on the ground,
however, after all. One thing this war has shown very clearly. No
one arm is all-powerful or all necessary in itself alone. Every
branch of the service of war must co-operate with another, if not with
all the others. It is a regular business, this war game. I have read
enough to see that. It is team-work that counts most in the big