“Yes, of course you may,” was the hearty answer.  “You may stay out as long as you like.  I’m going to sew to-morrow.  You make take it in the parsonage now and keep it until morning.  I always sleep late on Saturdays.”

So Prudence delightedly tripped up the parsonage board walk, wheeling the bicycle by her side.  She hid it carefully in the woodshed, for the twins were rash and venturesome.  But after she had gone to bed, she confided her plan to Fairy.

“I’m going at six o’clock, and I’ll be back in time to get breakfast.  But as you know, Fairy, my plans do not always work out as I intend, so if I am a little late, you’ll get breakfast for papa and the girls, like a dear, won’t you?”

Fairy promised.  And early the next morning, Prudence, in a plain gingham house dress, with the addition of a red sweater jacket and cap for warmth, set out upon her secret ride.  It was a magnificent morning, and Prudence sang for pure delight as she rode swiftly along the country roads.  The country was simply irresistible.  It was almost intoxicating.  And Prudence rode farther than she had intended.  East and west, north and south, she went, apparently guided only by her own caprice.  She knew it was growing late, “but Fairy’ll get breakfast,” she thought comfortably.

Finally she turned in a by-road, leading between two rich hickory groves.  Dismounting at the top of a long hill, she gazed anxiously around her.  No one was in sight.  The nearest house was two miles behind, and the road was long, and smooth, and inviting, and the hill was steep.  Prudence yearned for a good, soul-stirring coast, with her feet high up on the framework of the wheel, and the pedals flying around beneath her skirts.  This was not the new and modern model of bicycle.  The pedals on Mattie Moore’s wheel revolved, whether one worked them or not.

It seemed safe.  The road sloped down gradually at the bottom, with an incline on the other side.  What more could one desire.  The only living thing in sight besides birds gossiping in the leafy branches and the squirrel scolding to himself, was a sober-eyed serious mule peacefully grazing near the bottom of the hill.

Prudence laughed gleefully, like a child.  She never laughed again in exactly that way.  This was the last appearance of the old irresponsible Prudence.  The curtain was just ready to drop.

“Here goes!” she cried, and leaping nimbly into the saddle, she pedaled swiftly a few times, and then lifted her feet to the coveted position.  The pedals flew around beneath her, just as she had anticipated, and the wind whistled about her in a most exhilarating way.

But as she neared the bottom, a disastrous and totally unexpected thing happened.  The placid mule, which had been righteously grazing beside the fence, suddenly stalked into the middle of the road.  Prudence screamed, jerked the handle-bar to the right, then to the left, and then, with a sickening thud, she landed head first upon some part of the mule’s anatomy.  She did not linger there, however.  She bounced on down to the ground, with a little cry of pain.  The bicycle crashed beside her, and the mule, slightly startled, looked around at her with ears raised in silent questioning.  Then he ambled slowly across the road, and deliberately continued his grazing.