Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1883-09-22
A WILD WHIRL.
BY PAUL PASTNOR.

iently out or the village of SOrelle on my
shadOwy Shadow" The lights we're begin
ming to burn in the windows of the scattered
cottages. and one bright star-I think 1t must
have been Venus-appeared above me in the
west, now shining glorOusly on the dark edge
Of a cloud. now plunged in the black vapors,
and anon emerging farer and brighter than be-
fore No sound was in the air, except the rush.
ing of an unfelt wind somewhere in the woods
tho occasional bleat Of an unhoused sheep, and
to my ear. the light, nesting tread of my rub
ber-shod steed- / swept on. The lights van
ished was alone on the white, ghOstly road.
alone. but not without a companion Nv
bicycle was company for me,-that delicate. re-
spOnslve, sympathetic, shall 1 not almost say.
sentient, mechanism, throbbing to the soul of
motion! 1t always seems to me alive, and can
talk TO 1t without wOrds-with nv finVer-tiDs
with my very thoughts So, too, it answers me
quicker, truer. than with language | am never
lonely with my bicycle. 1t is my frend-I love
i'll
But tonight my thoughts were flying far
ahead, even OF my whrling wheel. / was GO
Ing to Brents' Mills. And why to Brents' Mills?
Daphnis Brown was there
L learned it of the stage-drver. He had
brought her there from the railroad station.
He had actually seen her-yes, and had the in
eStimable privilege OF riding ten miles with her.
III,
breathed even In thought, would send the
crimson blood bounding to my cheeks and set
my heart beating faster than ever it drummed
on a ten-mile dash. l had met her two years
before. in Soree. at little company. She was
spending a vacation with friends at the Mills
and was teaching in Sorelle. l might have
done better. but chose. since then, to keep the
village school. She had not come the summer
following. nor the last summer; and was de-
batting whether to resign my position, and &C
hot. f.ra in, I;e%a 49,
old staSe-driver alighted. that September even
ing. and in answer to the customary question,
Well. Tom. any news?" replied, Nav, | guess
not, 'cept that Brown gals at the Mills agn."
Now, if that wasn't news | should like to
know what was?
1t so happened that the very next day there
was to be a pcnic.-an all-arOund jolly every
bOdy-inyited picnlc.-and the next day after
that was Sunday. and on Monday school began.
Gayeties would be all over; farmers beginning
their iall work; no chance to renew an ac-
quaintance with the lovely Daphnis. It would
be PRESUMPTION to trespass upon two-years-
old introduction, without the ghost of an eX-
cuse for the liberty, to intrude myself upon
Daphnis and her relations with the ba est and
most transparent personal Intentions. No; the
only way in which could gracefully reinstate
myself i'll the recollection, and, perhaps, in the
favor of the object of my affections, was to see
her that very night and invite her to attend the
picnic with me on the morrow. This would
certainly be no breach of rural etiquette, but
rather a cOrnmendable piece Of gallantry in the
eyes of the kind-hearted. pleasure-loving people
ihis is why was spinning along in the fitfnl
moonlight on the road between SOrelle and
Brents' Mills
1t was nearly an eight-mle ride The road
was fairly good One running at first directly
across the valley. and then skrtng the little
river for the rest of the way. a roughsh, but
net dangerous or very difficult. upgrade. Ow-
Ing to previous engagement, was obliged to
start rather later than | wished. so that it was
between seven and eight before got fairly out
of the village and on the lonely road. | was
aware of the rura! sentiment so well expressed
i'll that classical cOupet.-
irly 10 bed aud early to rise
Mikes N N healthy, wealthy and wiSe,"
and especially Of the fact that weary traveller
whether man or maid, city or county bred. Is
apt to seek the baimy couch of slumber at an
early hour: and so it was my desire to get over
the ground as fast as possible in the hope that
L might lind Miss Brown still among the Access
sibie number of the non-retired
was glad to hear the brawling OF the river
ahead 1t remarked the first stage of my Jour
ney past. There would be five miles of warm
peda!ling uphill, and then quick dismount at
the little brown cottage, and
But what noise the river was making!
had driven rapidly up the bank. and was
turning into the other road to breast the slope
before noticed that the big rocks in the mid
stream were well-nigh under water and that a
yellow, frothy tide was tapping the very edge or
the bank aud the road. 1t was the sulien. deep
ening roar of the water. however, which first
drew my attention to these facts had never
heard the little stream brawl like that before
To De sure. we had been having some pretty
heavy fall rains, but they had ceased nearly
three days before. and all the country roads
were getting dusty again. l must say that
was surprised; but it never entered my head to
be in the least bit alarmed at the rising of the
river. little muddy stream rrickling across
the road-bed did not even turn the current of
my thoughts from the absorbing subject they
were pursulng.-my probable reception by
Daphnis. Would she remember me? Would
she be pleased to see Inc? Would she consent to
be my companion at the mOrrOw's picnic? l
leaned forward to my work, and pushed steadily
and absent-mindedly at the pedals. It was get
ting darker and clOudier but knew the road
well. and did not even stop to light my lamp
The river rushed nOisily down the slope at nv
left, now almost yelled from sight by the thick
descending shadows. High-wOOded banks be-
gan to rise on the right and cut Off the infre-
quent beams OF the moon. My wheel struck a
large loose stone. and dismOunted and pitched
it out OF the road. lest should take header
over it on my return. expected to hear it fall
with dull thud on the grassy gin between
the road and the river. but instead was start
led by a gurglng he,-cl,ank. that told me it had
met with less resisting substance. Could it be
that the river had risen far? NervOusly
blftutu tic lily itttfe EtllIpTU OH the mead
of the machine. and struck a match The match
spluttered in the rising wind and went out. I
lighted another. and sheltered it closely be-
tween ny palms. throwing an arm over the sad
die of tine bicycle to hold the machine up 1t
kindled to ruddy fame. and l quickly trans
ferred it to the wick OF the lantern Presently
the red glare from tue reflector fell on the road.
and snapped the door OF the lantern tight and
looked around me. Right in the narrow path
way OF brightest light was a glimmer that made
me start. l rolled my machine few feet
farther toward the side of the road Yes. it was
running water! Removing the lantern held it
above my head. Almost at my very feet was
flowing a sullen, turbid stream, chOked with
brushes and grass. and sending little streamlets
out. at every depression out into the road. Good
heavens! Was there going to be a freshet?
My first impulse was to mount my machine
and fly back again to the valley; but, upon second
Thought, knew that was safe so long as the
road sk.rted the ridge, for at any time could
leave my machine, and climb up among the
trees, out OF the waters way. in case it should
be necessary. l resolved. therefore to keep on
to the Mills, and see what the condition of
affairs was there-hOping perhaps in my in
most heart. that the danger or difficulty might
be such as to render the assistance OF sturdy
bicycler not unwelcOme to certain households
Daphnis Browns for instance.
REPLACED the lantern On the head Of nv BIZ
cycle, took alittle side-run with the machine up
the incline. put nv foot QUICKLY on the stem and