“But it would be such fun, papa,” Theodora said, with a suspicion of a pout.

“It’s too far, Teddy. It must be twenty miles each way.”

“I rode thirty, yesterday.”

“I think that is too far for you.”

“Oh, please.”

“We could take the train back, if Ted should get used up,” Hubert suggested.

“Yes, only it’s going to be such lovely moonlight.”

“Then take the train over and ride back,” Hubert amended. “Truly, papa, I think Ted could do it. She rides like an Indian.”

“I didn’t know that Indians had taken to bicycles,” Mrs. McAlister said, with a smile.

“Like a tomboy, then.”

“That’s not polite,” Theodora protested.

“Never mind; it’s true. But can’t we try it, papa? Aunt Alice is always asking us to come over to see her, and this is such a splendid chance, before I go back into school, or it gets too warm. We can ride over, Friday morning, stay all day, and come back at night. The twilights are long, at this season, and the moon will be full.”

Hubert’s persuasion carried the day, and the doctor gave a reluctant permission. Three days later, the twins set forth on their ride. Theodora, in her spotless linen suit and with her pretty wheel, was radiant with anticipations. It was her first all-day trip on her bicycle, and she felt that it would be a much more enjoyable experience than her shorter rides, which, for the most part, had been beside Billy’s tricycle. In some mysterious manner known only to boys, Hubert had learned to ride without being taught, and an occasional spin on a borrowed wheel was apparently all that was needed to keep him in perfect training.

The whole family assembled on the piazza to see them start.

“You’d better not ride back,” Mrs. McAlister called after them. “If you are at all tired, Teddy, you must take the train.”

“Yes,” Theodora said, with outward obedience and an inward resolve not to be at all tired.

“If you do ride, when shall you get home?” the doctor asked. “Give yourselves plenty of time, only set some limit, so that we sha’n’t be anxious.”

“Hm,” Theodora said thoughtfully. “Supper at five, start at six, two hours to ride, and an hour for delays. We’ll be at home at nine, at the latest.”

“Very well. Say half-past nine, then. We won’t worry till then. Take care of yourselves and have a good time.” And the doctor flourished his napkin in farewell, and then went back to his breakfast.

“Dear old Daddy!” Theodora said, while she turned in her saddle to look back, and then waved a good-by to Billy on his piazza. “He didn’t want us to go. I do hope he won’t be anxious.”

“Don’t you suppose I can take care of you, ma’am?” Hubert asked, in mock indignation, and Theodora smiled back at him contentedly.

The day was hot and dusty, and the roads more sandy than they had supposed possible, so that it was a very limp and demoralized Theodora who landed, three hours later, on her aunt’s piazza. Theodora was always destructive to her toilets, and in some mysterious manner she had parted with all of her starch and most of her neatness, in the course of the last nineteen miles. Once inside the cool, dark house, with a glass of lemonade in her hand, however, Theodora forgot the discomforts of the road.

“How goes it with you, Ted?” Hubert asked, late that afternoon. “Shall we ride, or take the train?”

She pointed up at the clear sky, broken only by a few fleecy masses of cloud on the western horizon.

“Think what that moon will be, and then ask me to take the train if you dare.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Not a bit. Don’t you think we can do it, Hu?”

He laughed at her spirit.

“All right. Don’t blame me, though, if you are dead, to-morrow.”

She tossed her head proudly.

“I don’t die so easily; but, if you ’re tired, we’ll take the cars.”

They had planned to start for home at six; but callers delayed the supper, and, when they finally mounted, the moon was standing out in the eastern sky, like a thick, white vapor. There was a chorus of good-byes, a clashing of two bells, and the twins started off upon their homeward ride.

For the first hour, it seemed to Theodora that she had never ridden more easily. The fatigue of the morning had worn away, leaving only the exhilaration; and, like most riders, she came to her best strength late in the day. Slowly the twilight fell about them, and, as the golden light of the sunset died away in the west, the silver lustre of the full moon brightened the eastern sky. Theodora’s gown was damp with the falling dew, as they rolled quietly on between fields pale with sleepy daisies and nodding buttercups. One by one, the cows in the pastures stopped grazing and lay down to rest; while, above their heads, the birds drowsily exchanged sweet good-nights. Then the last glow faded from the west, and the world fell asleep.

“I don’t half like those clouds, Ted,” Hubert said suddenly. “If they come up much faster, they’ll play the mischief with us before we get home.”

“Oh, they won’t do any harm,” Theodora said easily. “It will be light enough to ride to-night, even if it is cloudy.”

“But we have that long stretch of woods, you know.”

“I forgot that.” Theodora spoke lower, and involuntarily glanced over her shoulder. “How far is it?”

“Five miles. That won’t take us long, and we’re almost there now.”

“Yes; but it’s hilly and no track to speak of. Hurry, Hu! Let’s ride faster and get through it before that cloud gets over the moon. I wish we had lanterns.”

It is exciting work to race with a cloud. Vapors are unreliable things at best, and are prone to roll up the sky with fateful swiftness. As Hubert and Theodora came under the first of the trees, the cloud came above them, and the moon vanished. Theodora was as plucky as a girl could be; but there was something rather fearful to her in this dark and lonely road, where she and Hubert were the only moving objects, but where unknown beings might lurk in every shadow, ready to spring out and drag her down to the earth. The formless fear lent an unsteadiness to her progress, and she began to wobble.

“How dark it is!” she said, in an odd, constrained little voice. “It must be very late, Hu. Can you see your watch?”

“It’s not light enough.”

“Haven’t you a match?”

“No.”

“I know we sha’n’t get home at nine.”

“We have till half past, you know. Keep up your pluck, Ted. We’re all right. Let’s ride a little faster.”

Half-way down the next hill, there came a clatter and a bump, followed by a little moan from Theodora. Hubert sprang to the ground and ran to her side.

“I slipped in the sand and had a fall, a bad one. I’ve done something to my ankle.”

“Is it sprained?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Leaning heavily on his arm, she scrambled to her feet.

“What is it, Ted? Shall we go back?”

She shut her teeth for a moment.

“No; what’s the use?”

“Sha’n’t I go for somebody?”

“Where’s the nearest house?”

“Two miles back.”

She gave a little sigh of pain. Then she said steadily,

“Take the wheels, Hu, and let me walk a little. It’s better to go on, and perhaps I can ride, if I get quieted down a little. I’m sorry to be a baby,” she added piteously; “but it does hurt so.”

“Baby! You!” Hubert longed to pick his sister up in his arms and carry her to a shelter; but it was impossible. Worst of all, he dared not openly pity her. He knew that she was using all her self-control to keep from crying with the pain, and that a single sympathetic word would break down her courage. “Good for you, Ted! I knew you had the sand in you,” was all he ventured to say, as she limped slowly along at his side.

“I had too much sand under me,” she answered, with a giggle which threatened to become hysterical.

The next mile was apparently endless, and Theodora, as she looked this way and that with stealthy, fearful glances, felt that the terrors of the darkness almost swallowed up the pain in her ankle. Underneath the rest, moreover, was the anxiety in regard to the delay. She knew the strictness of her father’s discipline well enough to fear his displeasure and alarm, when nine o’clock passed and half-past nine, and still they did not appear.

Strange to say, the pain in her foot grew less and less unbearable, as she plodded along the sandy road. The sand was everywhere; it filled her shoes and made each step drag more heavily. She felt as if they only crawled along, as if the moments raced by them on wings. In sheer desperation, she fell to counting the passing seconds, that she might form some notion of their progress. Hubert was trudging on beside her, whistling softly to himself. Like a true boy, he was totally oblivious of every anxiety save for the pain which his sister was suffering, and she had just assured him that that was better.

“Let’s mount, Hu,” she said desperately, when it seemed to her that they had walked for several miles.

“Pretty bad here, Ted. Do you think you can ride?”

“I will,” she answered indomitably.

She mounted, rode for a hundred yards, and fell again.

“That slippery sand!” she said petulantly. “What shall we do, Hu? We must ride, and I can’t find the path.”

“You’re rattled, dear; and I can’t ride, myself, any too well. Follow me.”

How patient he was! Even in her anxiety and alarm, Theodora realized all the kindly care he gave her, all the generosity with which he tried to prevent her feeling herself a drag upon his freedom. She was quite unconscious that she had earned his patience by showing the one quality which boys too rarely find in their girl companions, the lack of which leads them to take their out-of-door pleasures alone. Theodora rarely grumbled; in a real emergency, she never complained.

It had seemed to the girl that all fun had died out of the universe, that the mental outlook was as black as the physical one. Ten minutes later, the woods echoed with shrieks of laughter, laughter so infectious that Hubert laughed in sympathy, without in the least knowing the cause. The sounds came from some distance back of him. He dismounted and ran along the road, unable to see his sister, and guided only by her voice, which appeared to proceed from a bed of tall weeds by the wayside.

“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 dickens, 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.”