“You would have to go a long way to get one,” she answered.  “We do not keep a horse and I really—­”

“Don’t trouble yourself in the least,” I said.  “I can take you to your home without any difficulty whatever.  If you will mount your machine I can push you along very easily.”

“But then you would have to walk yourself,” she said, quickly, “and push your wheel too.”

Of course it would not have been necessary for me to walk, for I could have ridden my bicycle and have pushed her along on her own, but under the circumstances I did not think it wise to risk this.  So I accepted her suggestion of walking as if nothing else could be done.

“Oh, I do not mind walking a bit,” said I.  “I am used to it, and as I have been riding for a long time, it would be a relief to me.”

She stood perfectly still, apparently afraid to move lest she should hurt her foot, but she raised her head and fixed a pair of very large blue eyes upon me.  “It is too kind in you to offer to do this!  But I do not see what else is to be done.  But who is going to hold up my wheel while you help me to get on it?”

“Oh, I will attend to all that,” said I, and picking up her bicycle, I brought it to her.  She made a little step towards it, and then stopped.

“You mustn’t do that,” said I.  “I will put you on.”  And holding her bicycle upright with my left hand, I put my right arm around her and lifted her to the seat.  She was such a childlike, sensible young person that I did not think it necessary to ask any permission for this action, nor even to allude to its necessity.

“Now you might guide yourself with the handle-bar,” I said.  “Please steer over to that tree where I have left my machine.”  I easily pushed her over to the tree, and when I had laid hold of my bicycle with my left hand, we slowly proceeded along the smooth road.

“I think you would better take your feet from the pedals,” said I, “and put them on the coasters—­the motion must hurt you.  It is better to have your injured foot raised, anyway, as that will keep the blood from running down into it and giving you more pain.”

She instantly adopted my suggestion, and presently said, “That is a great deal more pleasant, and I am sure it is better for my foot to keep it still.  I do hope I haven’t sprained my ankle!  It is possible to give a foot a bad twist without spraining it, isn’t it?”

I assented, and as I did so I thought it would not be difficult to give a bad twist to any part of this slenderly framed young creature.

“How did you happen to fall?” I asked—­not that I needed to inquire, for my own knowledge of wheelcraft assured me that she had tumbled simply because she did not know how to ride.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she answered.  “The first thing I knew I was going over, and I wish I had not tried to save myself.  It would have been better to go down bodily.”