The big machine, with its great canvas wings, alighted in a field not far from here. I was immediately notified, and I went hurriedly to the place. By the aid of horses and wagons we moved the flying machine to a more protected yard near our home. I must confess that when I heard the American language again, I had a touch of homesickness.

The aviator says that when the wind is right he will start on his return trip. He had made some small repairs, and he is all ready. An hour ago we stood looking at the large bird-like shape.

"There is a seat for you," he said to me. "You'd better come along with me."

I looked at him and then at the machine. For a moment I was tempted.

"Think what a sensation you will make," he said. "You will be the most honored and most sought-after man in the world."

Just then Rachel came out, as if she desired to speak with me, but seeing the stranger she went back indoors. The aviator looked at her, then at me.

"Thank you - but I'll remain," I said, with a foolish blush.

"I don't blame you," he replied, seeing there is not room for three in my machine."

He told me he would be glad to deliver any message I might have to the people or to my own folks. He had implicit confidence that he would get back. He took my name and address. I wrote a note to the people whom I had left in charge of my farm, telling them that it was theirs and their children's after them, as long as I was away. Then I thought of this narrative which I have been writing. If this could come to the knowledge of the other world, it would be worth while. I told the aviator about it, and he said he would like to take it along. And so I have decided to send this story out into a world, where, I fear, I shall never again go. I hope it will arrive safely and do some good in the world.

And so a last word of good-bye and greeting. As I have before stated, I have no relatives that I know of. There are none, especially, who care whether I ever return or not; and I am sure there are those here who would be very sorry to have me leave them.

My life in the big world seems to be getting dim. Wounds, which I there received, are healed. I am living very much in the present, being occupied, not only with those close to me in the household of Joseph, my father and friend, but also with the affairs of whole people. I can do much good here - much more than in the world from whence I came. There I would be an interesting person only, and likely as not, they would discredit my story; but here-well, anyone who reads this must see that my wisest plan is to remain.

I have already formed a philosophy of life. We know but little of the why's and wherefore's of this earthly existence of ours; but it seems to me that this is a fast and true rule: Happiness cannot be found by seeking directly after it; it comes only when one, forgetful of self, is trying to bring it to others. I have tried in a small way to apply that rule here, and it has worked splendidly.

Good-bye. Peace be with you all.