There was a wide channel between this huge berg and the nearest field of ice. Flocks of Arctic sea birds rose whirring beneath the flying boat. On the edge of the ice they saw two solemn looking polar bears fishing for seals. Sea lions played on one shelving beach of ice. “Farewell to the giant iceberg!” shouted Ned, as the _Winged Arrow_ left the mountain of crystal behind. “I hope I don’t see any ice again for a year—not even next summer! B-r-r-r! Shall we ever be really warm again?” They were packed so close in the cabin and pilot room of the flying boat that they should have been more than ordinarily warm. It was indeed an uncomfortable journey to the nearest land. Captain Karofsen had studied the chart and he marked a little town near Reykjavik where Tom could make a landing without attracting attention from the authorities of the island. Of course it would have been a simple matter to get by cablegram from the United States information that would show the Governor of Iceland that the Russians were trying to steal the flying boat. But that might delay the party for several weeks. And nobody was more eager than Tom to get back to Shopton. He confided to Captain Karofsen certain messages to be sent to Mr. Barton Swift and Mary Nestor, for he expected that the flying boat would be all of three days on the journey home, even if she did not have to descend for repairs. He made the landing on the spot Captain Karofsen pointed out, with success. Nothing needed adjusting, and five minutes after taking the ground the seamen and their captain were out of the flying boat. Then, after getting a supply of gasoline and oil, the latter made another jump-off. “The old plane is doing you proud, Tom!” cried Ned, when they were in the air again. “Just keep away from icebergs, and I feel sure you will have no trouble with her. But believe me! if you take another flight into the Arctic, you can count me out.” In several ways the wonderful voyage of the _Winged Arrow_ had never been equaled by any flying boat. Her long jump over the Atlantic proved her to be a unique craft. She could remain in the air at her pilot’s will. She had proved that she could rest in rough water. And the usage she had received on the giant iceberg showed her to be a craft able to endure a deal of knocking about. Naturally, when she returned to Shopton, she was not the spick and span looking flying boat that she had been when she left that base for the Arctic. Nevertheless, her inventor was satisfied that he knew now just what he could do with her. “Will you sell her to the Navy Department if they want her, Tom?” asked Mr. Nestor, during the flight home. “I am going to sell her to nobody. Not even to the Russian Government,” said Tom, smiling. “We are in no war now, thank goodness, and I mean to keep and improve this craft until she can be no further perfected. Of course,” he added loyally, “she will be at the service of the country at any time she may be needed.”