"I'm here, Hu," she gasped.

"Where in thunder?" He parted the weeds at the edge of the road and peered in. There on her back lay Theodora, with her bicycle on top of her.

"I lost my pedals and couldn't stop till I ran into these weeds," she explained hysterically. "It was just as soft as a bed, and I went down, down, down, and landed in about six inches of water. Pull me out, Hu.

I'm drowned."

With the help of his hand, she struggled out and stood beside him in the road, with the water dripping from her short skirt. Just then, the clouds parted, and the moon, slanting down through the trees, fell upon her bedraggled figure. The brother and sister looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then they burst into a shout of laughter. It was the best tonic they could have had, and Theodora's courage rose even as she laughed.

"I know where we are now," Hubert said, while he looked about him in the growing light. "The good road is just ahead. It's as well 'tis, Ted, for you'll have to ride like the d.i.c.kens, to keep from taking cold."

"It's a warm night," she answered as blithely as she had spoken to her father, that morning; "and I never take cold. Come on, then. It's only six miles more, and I'm ready to spin."

As they turned in at the gate, the hands of the town clock marked ten minutes after ten, and Theodora's spirits fell slightly. They found the doctor and his wife playing cribbage. The doctor looked up with the content born of that unwonted luxury, an evening quite to himself.

"Home so early?" he said, with a smile. "Have you had a good time? I've really envied you, enjoying all this superb moonlight, when we old folks had to stay indoors."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Come and ride with me this morning, Ted."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm busy."

"That's what you said, last Sat.u.r.day, and week before. It's a fine morning, and I do wish you'd come. I've a headache, and I want to ride it off, if I can." Billy took off his cap, and brushed away his hair, with a little weary gesture which went to Theodora's heart. She was not discerning enough to discover that Billy's headache had developed under the inspiration of the moment, so sure was he that this was the most certain method of bringing his friend to do his will.

"I'm so sorry, Billy," she said gently. "I do want to go; but I must go somewhere else this morning."

"Let me go, too," he suggested. "I'd as soon ride one way as another."

"Oh, no," she said hastily; "and I'm not ready yet. Does your head ache very badly, Billy?"

"Very," answered the deceiver, a.s.suming the look of a martyr. "And I didn't sleep any, last night."

"What a shame! Aren't you well?" Theodora sat down on the steps and gazed so steadily at him that he blushed.

"I believe you're shamming, Billy," she said sternly. "You've no more headache than Mulvaney."

He laughed, with conscious pleasure in his guilt.

"Well, what if I haven't? I shall have, some day. Really, Ted, what is the reason you won't ride with me?"

"I can't, Billy; that's all there is about it. I've something else I must do."

"You might tell me what it is," he observed persuasively.

"I might, but I won't." Then her heart smote her at sight of his disappointed face, as he turned away. "Some day, Billy," she called after him.

He nodded, as he pulled off his cap. Then he left her.

She stood looking after him, as he went rolling away down the street. It was good to see him so independent with his new tricycle. He was growing almost as independent in the use of his crutches, and his life was quite another thing from the old limited existence when Theodora had first known him. But through it all, in gray days and in bright, she had always found him the same Billy, always ready to enter into her interests, from which of necessity he had been shut out, ready to give her a share in his own more luxurious existence. In a sense, he had been a sort of fairy G.o.dfather to Theodora, and to him and to his mother she owed a large part of her pleasures during the past few months.

How would he take the news of this last venture of hers, she asked herself. Still, he was responsible, indirectly at least, if not for the fact itself, yet for the ambition which had led to the fact. Theodora's brows puckered into an anxious frown for a moment. Then they cleared, and she hummed lightly to herself, as she stood looking up the street after her friend, who had long since disappeared from her view. It would have been an ideal morning for a ride, she knew, and she wished she might have gone off for a long spin over the country roads. Still, her face wore a very contented expression as she turned away and entered the house.

Going up to her room, she dressed hastily and ran downstairs again to the closet where her bicycle was kept. Fifteen minutes later, she stopped at the door of a book store. There, instead of leaving her bicycle outside, she coolly rolled it through the open doorway and on into a room at the back of the shop, where she also left her hat. Then she came back to the desk, mounted a lofty stool, drew a heavy book towards her, and fell to work.

She had gone to her father's office, one evening, a little more than a week before. There chanced to be no patients, but Phebe sat reading before the fire.

"I want to talk to papa, Phebe," she said.

"Talk away, then." And Phebe returned to her book.

"But it's business."

"I don't care. You won't disturb me any."

"'Tisn't that I'm afraid of. I want to see papa alone."

"You'll have to wait, then."

"Please go, Phebe."

"Sha'n't. I was here first." Phebe yawned, and nestled deeper into her chair.

"Babe, I think you will have to make way for Teddy," the doctor said, laughing. "You can read just as well somewhere else, and if Teddy really wants to talk--"

"I do, papa," she urged eagerly.

Phebe retired, grumbling.

"What is it, my girl?" the doctor asked, as Theodora perched herself on the arm of his chair.

"I want my own way, as usual, papa, and I want you to stand up for me when the others howl," she answered coaxingly.

"Howl? Do they usually howl at you?"

"Not literally, of course, and not half as much as I deserve. But then, I want moral support."

"What now?"

"I want--" Theodora paused impressively--"I want to go to college, and I want to go into business."

The doctor smiled.