"Take the wheels, Hu, and let me walk a little. It's better to go on,
and perhaps I can ride, if I get quieted down a little. I'm sorry to be
a baby," she added piteously; "but it does hurt so."
"Baby! You!" Hubert longed to pick his sister up in his arms and carry
her to a shelter; but it was impossible. Worst of all, he dared not
openly pity her. He knew that she was using all her self-control to keep
from crying with the pain, and that a single sympathetic word would
break down her courage. "Good for you, Ted! I knew you had the sand in
you," was all he ventured to say, as she limped slowly along at his
side.
"I had too much sand under me," she answered, with a giggle which
threatened to become hysterical.
The next mile was apparently endless, and Theodora, as she looked this
way and that with stealthy, fearful glances, felt that the terrors of
the darkness almost swallowed up the pain in her ankle. Underneath the
rest, moreover, was the anxiety in regard to the delay. She knew the
strictness of her father's discipline well enough to fear his
displeasure and alarm, when nine o'clock passed and half-past nine, and
still they did not appear.
Strange to say, the pain in her foot grew less and less unbearable, as
she plodded along the sandy road. The sand was everywhere; it filled her
shoes and made each step drag more heavily. She felt as if they only
crawled along, as if the moments raced by them on wings. In sheer
desperation, she fell to counting the passing seconds, that she might
form some notion of their progress. Hubert was trudging on beside her,
whistling softly to himself. Like a true boy, he was totally oblivious
of every anxiety save for the pain which his sister was suffering, and
she had just assured him that that was better.
"Let's mount, Hu," she said desperately, when it seemed to her that they
had walked for several miles.
"Pretty bad here, Ted. Do you think you can ride?"
"I will," she answered indomitably.
She mounted, rode for a hundred yards, and fell again.
"That slippery sand!" she said petulantly. "What shall we do, Hu? We
must ride, and I can't find the path."
"You're rattled, dear; and I can't ride, myself, any too well. Follow
me."
How patient he was! Even in her anxiety and alarm, Theodora realized all
the kindly care he gave her, all the generosity with which he tried to
prevent her feeling herself a drag upon his freedom. She was quite
unconscious that she had earned his patience by showing the one quality
which boys too rarely find in their girl companions, the lack of which
leads them to take their out-of-door pleasures alone. Theodora rarely
grumbled; in a real emergency, she never complained.
It had seemed to the girl that all fun had died out of the universe,
that the mental outlook was as black as the physical one. Ten minutes
later, the woods echoed with shrieks of laughter,--laughter so
infectious that Hubert laughed in sympathy, without in the least knowing
the cause. The sounds came from some distance back of him. He dismounted
and ran along the road, unable to see his sister, and guided only by her
voice, which appeared to proceed from a bed of tall weeds by the
wayside.
"I'm here, Hu," she gasped.
"Where in thunder?" He parted the weeds at the edge of the road and
peered in. There on her back lay Theodora, with her bicycle on top of
her.
"I lost my pedals and couldn't stop till I ran into these weeds," she
explained hysterically. "It was just as soft as a bed, and I went down,
down, down, and landed in about six inches of water. Pull me out, Hu.
I'm drowned."
With the help of his hand, she struggled out and stood beside him in the
road, with the water dripping from her short skirt. Just then, the
clouds parted, and the moon, slanting down through the trees, fell upon
her bedraggled figure. The brother and sister looked at each other in
silence for a moment. Then they burst into a shout of laughter. It was
the best tonic they could have had, and Theodora's courage rose even as
she laughed.
"I know where we are now," Hubert said, while he looked about him in the
growing light. "The good road is just ahead. It's as well 'tis, Ted, for
you'll have to ride like the dickens, to keep from taking cold."
"It's a warm night," she answered as blithely as she had spoken to her
father, that morning; "and I never take cold. Come on, then. It's only
six miles more, and I'm ready to spin."
As they turned in at the gate, the hands of the town clock marked ten
minutes after ten, and Theodora's spirits fell slightly. They found the
doctor and his wife playing cribbage. The doctor looked up with the
content born of that unwonted luxury, an evening quite to himself.
"Home so early?" he said, with a smile. "Have you had a good time? I've
really envied you, enjoying all this superb moonlight, when we old folks
had to stay indoors."