The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1893-11-25

the haste could, and hurried up tne Doy,
while Mrs. Russell prepared me some
lunch.
At eleven o'clock set off promised
Bertha to be back as early as possible, and
told her not to feel uneasy in case | should
be an hour or two late.
"Be sure you don't come back until you
wish, she said ~ shall be quite easy
about you; and as this is probably the last
day you will be able to get, you had better
take full advantage of it.
| made the boy drive as rapidly as pos
sible, in order to lose no time. The pony
was fresh, and we went along at a very
good pace across the moor. The road was
good, but very dusty. | could have wei
coined shower of rain, There was every
sign in the heavens that it would not be
many hours before we should have one.
The road crossed the moor, making
slight ascent 1t thenran through a copse
of underwood for about half mile, at the
termination of which it again entered the
open country.
Nothing happened until we reached the
copse. So anxious was | to lose no time
that magaged to set my palette as we
drove along.
The sun was quite high, and l feared
that the light would not be the same as on
previous occasion, so | once again urged
the boy to drive as fast as he could. He
obeyed me, and whipped the pony up.
In few minutes, however, | warned
him that we were making too much haste.
The pace did not seem really to be very
tremendous; but there was an ominous
swaying of the vehicle, which seemed to
imply that something was wrong. Hooked.
over the side of the trap, and saw that one
wheel was swerving in most dangerous
fashion.
"Pull up r l shouted "We shall be
over in a minute ?"
The boy checked the pony at once, SEEM
ing quite as frightened as | was.
l Jumped down, and saw what the mis-
chief was.
The cap of the axletree had got loose
and come off. The wheel was gradually
working its way off the axle; in another
minute it would have entirely slipped,
and we should have had a nasty spill.
CHAPTER II.
sWhat are we to do now ?" said to the
boy inquiringly.
John was looking on most ruefnlly. lie
had no suggestion to make, he stood help
| lessly staring at the loosened wheel, scratch
ing his head.
"We can't go on like this, you know, +"
l said.
'sNo, sure enough we can't was Johns
reply.
"Well, what are we to do? p | demanded,
''Don't know, sir, was the comforting
response.
it was evident that in this juncture !
should have to rely on my own resources.
| We were now some seven miles from home,
and fully two miles from the spot at which
| had intended to resume my painting.
These two miles were all more or less uphill
and very bad road.
| | thought, however, that might be able
to carry my canvas aud easel there without
any very great difficulty.
had already pulled my apparatus from
the trap, when it suddenly occurred to me
that, even supposing were to succeed in
getting there in time to enable me to do any
work worth considering, there was the i'm
portant question how to return to be taken
into account.
The trap was evidently useless. Even
presuming / were to ride the pony back,
We should have to leave the trap and all
my materials behind; and, in the event Of
a storm coming on in the night, they would
suffer considerable injury.
soon saw that it was out of the ques-
ton that | should finish My painting that
day, at any rate, and consequently devoted
myself to the solution of the problem of
how to get home again as soon as possible.
1t was impossible to drive back, that was
clear We drew the pony along a few
yards, to see if it were at ali probable that
we could proceed, without an accident by
holding up the weak side of the trap.
No; to reach home in that fashion would
be matter of many hours.
| came to the conclusion, at length, that
the best thing to be done was for me to
walk home as rapidly as possible and get
Mr.. Russell to send out help. John,
meanwhile, was to follow on as fast as he
could, having due regard to the state of
the trap.
Seeing that l was resolved to leave him
alone, although much against his will,
John strongly advised me not to return by
the road, but to take short cut through
the wood and across the coombe He told
me that it saved at least a third of the dis
tance, and that there was a very good path
directly you crossed the ridge.
| was somewhat loath to try this new
road, the first time, in such circumstances;
but, bearing in mind that it meant getting
home at leastan hour sooner, decided to
make the attempt
Putting some sandwiches in my pocket,
and making John once more explain the
route, l left the road and began striding
down towards the valley which separated
the road from the coombe. | found
stream at the foot of the valley, which
John had omitted to mention. There was
no bridge but, fortunately, the recent
hot weather had made it fordable. tried
to get across by jumping from stone to
stone, but missed my footing once, wetting
myself nearly up to my knees.
This was wretched nuisance, as it is
far from agreeable to walk in wet boots.
There was no help for it, however; so |
pushed forward, up through the heather
and gorse, towards the stony ridge.
1t was hot and exhausting work | al
most regretted had not stuck to the road,
Notwithstanding Johns exhortation There
was scarcely the semblance of path, and
thorns greatly impeded walking.
By good luck l struck on sheep track
when about halfway up, and along this |
managed to make my way more rapidly,
although | found my wet boots and the
clinging of my trousers great annoyance.
On reaching the top of the coombe, i
looked in vain for the path which John
had mentioned