The Real Charlotte. 79 



certain extent enjoying the thought that he could still make 

 a fool of her. " Ah, well ! " he sighed, '' there's no use try- 

 ing to get those times back, any more than there is in trying 

 to forget them." He hesitated. " But, after all, there's 

 many a new tune played on an old fiddle ! Isn't that so ? " 

 He was almost frightened at his own daring as he saw 

 Charlotte's cheek burn with a furious red, and her lips 

 quiver in the attempt to answer. 



Upon their silence there broke from the distance a loud 

 scream, then another, and then a burst of laughter in a duet 

 of soprano and bass, coming apparently from a lane that 

 led into the road a little further on — a smooth and secluded 

 little lane, bordered thickly with hazel bushes — a private 

 road^ in fact, to a model farm that Mr. Lambert had estab- 

 lished on his employer's property. From the mouth of this 

 there broke suddenly a whirling vision of whiteness and 

 wheels, and Miss Fitzpatrick, mounted on a tricycle and 

 shrieking loudly, dashed across the high road and collapsed 

 in a heap in the ditch. Lambert started forward, but long 

 before he could reach her the Rev. Joseph Corkran emerged 

 at full speed from the lane, hatless, with long flying coat- 

 tails, and, with a skill born of experience, extricated Francie 

 from her difficulties. 



" Oh, I'm dead ! " she panted. " Oh, the horrible thing ! 

 What good were you that you let it go ? " unworthily attack- 

 ing the equally exhausted Corkran. Then, in tones of con- 

 sternation, ^' Goodness ! Look at Mr. Lambert and 

 Charlotte ! Oh, Mr. Lambert," as Lambert came up to 

 her, " did you see the toss I got ? The dirty thing ran 

 away with me down the hill, and Mr. Corkran was so tired 

 running he had to let go, and I declare I thought I was 

 killed — and you don't look a bit sorry for me ! " 



" Well, what business had you to get up on a thing like 

 that ? " answered Lambert, looking angrily at the curate. 

 " I wonder, Corkran, you hadn't more sense than to let a 

 lady ride that machine." 



" Well, indeed, Mr. Lambert, I told Miss Fitzpatrick it 

 wasn't as easy as she thought," replied the guilty Corkran, a 

 callow youth from Trinity College, Dublin, who had been 

 as wax in Francie's hands, and who now saw, with unfeigned 

 terror, the approach of Charlotte. " I begged of her not to 



