he was able to check himself in time to escape the danger, and
ran to where his friend lay.

For a few minutes the unfortunate youth lay as if he had been dead.
Then his blood resumed its flow, and when the eyes opened he found Sam
kneeling on one side of him with a smelling bottle which some lady had
lent him, and a kindly-faced elderly man with an iron-grey beard
kneeling on the other side and holding a cup of water to his lips.

"That's right, Stephen, look up," said Sam, who was terribly frightened,
"you're not much hurt, are you?"

"Hurt, old fellow, eh?" sighed Stephen, "why should I be hurt? Where am
I? What has happened?"

"Take a sip, my young friend, it will revive you," said the man with the
kindly face. "You have had a narrow escape, but God has mercifully
spared you. Try to move now; gently--we must see that no bones have
been broken before allowing you to rise."

By this time Welland had completely recovered, and was anxious to rise;
all the more that a crowd of children surrounded him, among whom he
observed several ladies and gentlemen, but he lay still until the kindly
stranger had felt him all over and come to the conclusion that no
serious damage had been done.

"Oh! I'm all right, thank you," said the youth on rising, and affecting
to move as though nothing had happened, but he was constrained to catch
hold of the stranger rather suddenly, and sat down on the grass by the
road-side.

"I do believe I've got a shake after all," he said with a perplexed
smile and sigh. "But," he added, looking round with an attempt at
gaiety, "I suspect my poor bicycle has got a worse shake. Do look after
it, Sam, and see how it is."

Twitter soon returned with a crestfallen expression. "It's done for,
Stephen. I'm sorry to say the whole concern seems to be mashed up into
a kind of wire-fencing!"

"Is it past mending, Sam?"

"Past mending by any ordinary blacksmith, certainly. No one but the
maker can doctor it, and I should think it would take him a fortnight at
least."

"What is to be done?" said Stephen, with some of his companion's regret
of tone. "What a fool I was to take such a hill--spoilt such a glorious
day too--for you as well as myself, Sam. I'm _very_ sorry, but that
won't mend matters."

"Are you far from home, gentlemen?" asked the man with the iron-grey
beard, who had listened to the conversation with a look of sympathy.

"Ay, much too far to walk," said Welland. "D'you hap