contemplated moving for the next century at least. He was a bitter
disappointment." She looked down the roadside where the mule was
contentedly grazing, with never so much as a sympathetic glance toward
his victim.

"I'm afraid your bicycle is rather badly done up."

"Oh,--whatever will Mattie Moore say to me? It's borrowed. Oh, I see
now, that it was just foolish pride that made me unwilling to ride during
decent hours. What a dunce I was,--as usual."

He looked at her curiously. This was beyond his comprehension.

"The bicycle belongs to Mattie Moore. She lives across the street from
the parsonage, and I wanted to ride. She said I could. But I was
ashamed to ride in the daytime, for fear some of the members would think
it improper for a girl of the parsonage, and so I got up at six o'clock
this morning to do it on the sly. Somehow I never can remember that it
is just as bad to do things when you aren't seen as when you are. It
doesn't seem so bad, does it? But of course it is. But I never think of
that when I need to be thinking of it. Maybe I'll remember after this."
She was silent a while. "Fairy'll have to get breakfast, and she always
gets father's eggs too hard." Silence again. "Maybe papa'll worry. But
then, they know by this time that something always does happen to me, so
they'll be prepared."

She turned gravely to the young man beside her. He was looking down at
her, too. And as their eyes met, and clung for an instant, a slow dark
color rose in his face. Prudence felt a curious breathlessness,--caused
by her hurting ankle, undoubtedly.