ycle. I was
just going out on it one morning, when mother came running out of the
house, looking so pale and frightened that I was quite frightened too.

"Bertie," she said, "tell John to go at once to Dr. Bell's and ask him
to come here at once--_at once_, remember. Your father has cut his hand
very badly, and we can't stop the bleeding."

"I'll go, mother; let me go on the tricycle," I said.

And she answered, "Do, dear; only make haste!"

I don't think I ever went so fast before; but it was a good road, and
that helped me, and I was saying to myself all the time, "Oh, don't let
me be too late for the doctor! _Please_ let me find him and bring him to
father."

And I _did_ find the doctor at home. I was out of breath, but I managed
to tell him what was the matter, and he was soon ready.

Of course I couldn't keep up with his pony-cart, as father could have
done, but I got home not long after, and heard that the doctor was
there, and the bleeding had stopped.

Father was very weak for some time, and his hand was not well for
several weeks, but the doctor and mother said he would have died if I
hadn't been able to fetch the doctor so quickly on my tricycle.

That's why I like my tricycle so much, and think it such a useful thing.
If it had been a pony, it would have had to be saddled and bridled; but
I always keep it cleaned and oiled, so it was quite ready for use when
it was wanted. Mother used to be rather afraid of my riding it at one
time, but she doesn't mind it now, because she knows how useful it was
the day father cut his hand.

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ON THE THRESHOLD.

I.

Bring me my grandson, Agnes,
Bring me your first-born boy;
I may not be with you much longer,
And he is my old heart's joy.

II.

Do you think he is old enough yet, girl,
To remember me after I go?
If not I must stay awhile longer,
For he must not forget me, you know.

III.

You who are yet but a child, dear,
Will see him as tall as the squire
But I must make ready to leave you,
For have I not won my desire?

IV.

Old winter waits for the snowdrop
Before he turns to depart,
And I have stayed for the coming
Of this last joy of my heart.

V.

We meet in the same wide doorway,
And inward to life he trips
But I to my death creep outwards
And, passing, we both touch lips.

F. W. H.

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