Perhaps, if the boldness of the Americans caused them to take too great chances, there might be one less plane return to its starting point that day; and the report would be brought in that the pilot had “met his fate in the discharge of his duty.”

Wearied at length of the useless task, the Air Service Boys finally gave it up for that afternoon.  Jack in particular showed signs of keen disappointment, for he always chafed under inaction.

“There was some talk of another raid for tonight, you remember, Tom,” he said, when they once more alighted and gave the plane over into the charge of the hostlers; “and if it turns out that way I only hope we’re detailed to go along to guard the bombers.  It’s growing worse and worse right along these days, when Fritz seems to have gotten cold feet and refuses to accept a dare.”

“I see fellows reading letters,” remarked Tom suddenly.  “Let’s hope there is something for us.”

“It’s been a long time since I heard from home,” sighed Jack.  “I certainly hope everything is going on well in old Virginia these days.  There’s Captain Peters waving something at us right now, Tom!”

“Letters, Jack, and a sheaf of them at that!”

“Come on, let’s run!” urged the impatient one, suiting his actions to the words by starting off on a gallop.

Tom took it a little more slowly so that when he arrived and received his letters from the aviation instructor, who happened to be in the camp at the time, Jack was already deeply immersed in one which he had received.

It was late in the afternoon.  The sun hung low in the west, looking fiery red, which promised a fair day on the morrow.  Once he had his letters, however, Tom paid but scant attention to anything else.

His news from Virginia must have been pleasant, if one could judge from the smile that rested upon his wind and sun-tanned face as he read on.  Again in memory he could see those loved ones in the old familiar haunts, going about their daily tasks, or enjoying themselves as usual.  And whenever they sat under the well-remembered tree in the cool of the early fall evening, with the soft Virginia air fanning their cheeks, the red and golden hues of frost-touched leaves above them, he knew their talk was mostly of him, the absent one, most fondly loved.

Tom looked up.  He thought he had heard a groan, or something very similar, break from the lips of his chum.  It startled Tom so that when he saw how troubled Jack looked a spasm of alarm gripped his heart.

“Why, what is the matter with you?” he cried, leaning forward and laying a hand on the other’s arm.  “Have you had bad news from home?”

Jack nodded his head, and as he turned his eyes his chum saw there was a look of acute anxiety in them.

“No one dead, or sick, I hope, Jack?” continued the other apprehensively.

“No, at least that is spared me, Tom; they are all well.  But just the same, it’s a bad muddle.  And the worst of it is I’m thousands of miles off, held up by army regulations, when I ought to get home for a short visit right away.”