"Waiting for Elsa Franklyn and Thistle Drury," was Monica's reply. "Seen anything of them?"
"No," replied the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, rightly nicknamed "Gipsy," instead of the plainer appellation of Emily which she had been given. She was holding a younger girl on the bicycle, who jumped off as she brought it to a stand-still. "Have a ride, Monica?"
Now Monica knew that her grandmother had a great abhorrence of girls riding bicycles, and, indeed, she had expressly forbidden her granddaughter to attempt to mount one. But Monica, in this, as in most things, entirely disagreed with her grandmother, and felt with the boundless self-confidence of youth that her own opinion was far the best. So without a qualm of conscience, she readily accepted the offer.
"I can't balance myself a bit," she said, as she mounted the machine, while Gipsy held it steady. "I have tried once or twice, but I always wobble frightfully." And her movements proved she was right.
"Oh, I say, how heavy you are!" cried Gipsy, in dismay, as Monica and the bicycle rolled first one way and then the other. "Come and hold her up, Olive."
Things went better then, with two to steady the uncertain rider, and they had gone some little distance along the road, when the Monroe children, who were a little behind, called out: "Look out, here's a motor!" And in another second the car whizzed by them.
They never knew just how it happened; whether Monica overbalanced, or whether she steered purposely into the hedge, so as to avoid the motor, but the next instant the bicycle overturned, and Monica lay all huddled up underneath it.
"Oh! Monica, are you hurt?" cried both girls simultaneously, as they lifted up the bicycle, and stood it against the hedge. But Monica neither moved nor spoke.
"Oh, she's dead!" cried the younger children, as they looked at the inanimate form, lying so still on the dusty road.
"Nonsense!" said a loud, cheery voice beside them, and looking up, startled, the girls saw that the motor had been brought to a standstill not many yards off, and its occupant had come back to see what was the matter. "Not a bit of it! The lass has only twisted her foot a bit, by the look of it, and I expect she's either stunned or fainted. I'll lift her up," and suiting the action to the word, the stranger, whom the girls had recognised as Lily Howell's father, raised Monica gently in his strong arms.