reath, for the crest of Comstock Hill is
won.

"Look behind you, Starrett," says Charley. "Did you ever see a prettier
picture?"

Starrett acknowledges he never did. The low-lying valley is green and
fair. The Owassee stretches like a silver ribbon across the picture, and
there is not a human being in sight save these two tricyclers who take
all this summer beauty into their impressible young hearts.

On they go, through Fisherville and into the open country again. Truly
no grass grows underneath those flashing wheels. The new "Columbia" has
the oil well worked in by this time, and the "Royal Mail," with its
queer one-sided "steerer," seems undisturbed by any ordinary roads. The
freshening wind is behind them; the blue sky, cloud-flecked, above; and
all around, bird-song and the rustle of blowing grass and bending
boughs.

"This is grand, Charley!" cries Starrett; "so much better than horseback
riding--and I've tried both."

"You don't tire yourself much more, and you're sure your horse won't run
away with you," Charley assents, whizzing along beside him. "I feel
strong enough for a good long run yet, and we ought to catch up with
them easily, before long."

The winding, woody road brings them suddenly to a hill-top. To the
right, below, lies a wide expanse of velvety marsh meadow, with its
vivid and variegated tints of green, olive, and reddish-brown, and
occasional intersections of tottering, moss-grown fence; there is a
starry glimmer as of lilies in the frequent pools that give back the
glory of the sun. To the left are seen the dark, still reaches of a lake
that winds in and out in the cool shadow of high woody banks. An old
ice-house stands lonesome and gray on its margin.

The brother and sister halt on the brow of the hill, to enjoy a view
that may be one of the memories of a lifetime; then the wheels roll
slowly toward the descent. The slope is steep and winding; they do not
"coast" with feet on the rest above the steering-wheel. It is not
desirable to capsize or collide with any up-coming vehicle. So they
glide warily on, with hands on the brakes, until the bottom is reached.
But here a crazy guide-post at a fork in the road misleads them by
pointing in the wrong direction for the Wareham road. But by great good
luck, they strike a shady wood track, full two miles long, which cuts
off five miles from the road they should have traveled, and which, so
Starrett says when he recognizes it, will bring them