Montour American. (Danville, Pa.) 1866-1920, 1902-01-30

1t must be embarrassing for q lady
to begin a conversation with a strange
young man whom she is pursuing al
the rate of fifteen miles an hour. There
is not the best opportunity for the dis
play of that cool reserve 50 necessary
in such cases. The lady'S words must
be few and well chosen, especially
when her breath is getting scanty and
she can feel the dust in her throat.
After Dorothy had made up her mind
that she could not Overtake the stran.
ger and had fought one last battle with
the un-Christian impulse which prompt.
ed her to let him go where the fates
might lead him, she wasted half a mile
in trying to find some phrase that
would not sound ridiculous if screamed
after him. AS there is no such phrase
in the language, she did not find one.
She was tempted to try a counterfeit
fall from her wheel, but she knew that
he would run out Of hearing while she
was slowing down sufficiently to make
the experiment safe.
ooh, anything! Anything to end this
miseryw she groaned, and then, with
all the breath in her body: Please
stop! We're on the wrong road"
The stranger did not turn his head,
but he instantly applied his foot to the
tire of the forward wheel and brought
the machine to a stop 50 suddenly that
Dorothy ran almost up to him before
she could dismount.
Il beg your pardon" said he, raising
his cap. Did you call to meT''
He was not in the least disturbed by
the race he had run. His face was not
red, and the high, standing collm
around his neck looked as if il had
just come from a laundry. Dorothy
felt her own face blazing, and she
knew that her hair must look like Il
pitchfork full of hay III a gale of wind
Il have directed you wrongly" sale
she in a tone suited to conversation
with an unrepentant burglar This is
not the Blythedale road. | am yery
sorry
T'm sure it's not your fault in the
least" he replied. ITS the fault Of
the fellow who made the road. He
should have laid 1t out In a different
direction. But it's Il nice road, and
I'm glad to have seen it. l suppose it's
necessary to go back to the place
where yOu-that is, where r
Where the three forks are" said
Dorothy sternly.
ITO be sure" he said Il thank you
very much"
He lifted his cap again, made
graceful pedal mount and rode away.
Dorothy would have welcomed death
in any form She felt sure that this
mans absurd remarks about the road
were not due to embarrassment, as
they seemed to be, but were what the
boys call "guying." Her self esteem
was wounded to its vitals. However,
nothing remained but to fall again into
the wake of this dreadful fellow and
pursue him all the way to Blythedale.
He rode in the same leisurely manner
on the return as he had In the begin
ming of the way out, and Dorothy was
seldom more than half a cables length
forks were reached however, he quick
ened his pace and passed out of sight.
Dorothy sent up silent hymn of
Thanksgiving, but her rejoicing was
premature. for when she came in sight
of the broken guidepost there was her
acquaintance seated on a rock by the
roadside in conversation with a rustic
who leaned upon bicycle of rude and
primitive design. As Dorothy ap-
preached the cause of all her woes
stepped out into the road, with his cap
in his hand.
Il beg your pardon" he said, 'but it
seems we were on the right road after
all"
Dorothy dismOunted with more haste
than grace. The rustic approached her,
grinning, and she recognized In him the
youth who had drawn the water from
the well-that mysterious well that had
vanished.
This the road to Blythedale" cried