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Waco

ship is out of sight. The motor has conked out entirely. I looked at George, he just winked at me and smiled. We are spiraling down. George's eyes. Alert, sad, searching, looking quickly, piercingly. I'm not afraid, we are all here to-gether. The fields all seem to be so small. They are fenced with huge sun bleached roots of trees. The spirals are wider now. We are going in for a landing, headed up the slope of the mountain.

CRACK! One side of the ship slants a wing tip into the ground. Guess it is only one side of the landing gear. George is out, and wiping the fuselage off, so we wont get oil on our clothes.

Farmers are coming on the run. They look frightened. I wasn't. I hope they wont ask George, "didja come down Mister?"

George is lying down on his back, away from every one. I knew he wanted to be alone. He was afraid we would crash and the motor come in on us, killing us, leavinghim safe in the pilots seat. He always did feel the pilot should be up front where he would catch the motor in a crash, not jeopardize the passengers. It really isn't fair to him for us to come along with him. I wont beg anymore.

This is Winburne, Pa. The landing gear and wing tip broken and a completely ruined motor, but all of us safe, in such a little field.

The air mail plane is coming back. He is driving low. That is pretty dangerous in these mountains. What if his motor should conk out?

George has wig-wagged to him, urging him to go back to Bellefonte.

I shall be glad to get into a skirt. I put on my jodphurs [[jodhpurs]] because of the oil. Everyone keeps asking is the little boy mine who was in the aero-plane. They can't seem to believe it. They gawk at my jodphurs [[jodhpurs]], and seem to understand I am the little boy's Mother, but they can't seem to assimulate [[assimilate]] it.