“I’m not so sure of that,” replied the youth, with a pitiful look. “I think I’m game for three miles, if I had nothing to carry but myself, but I can’t leave my bicycle in the ditch, you know!”
“Of course you can’t,” rejoined the stranger in a cheery tone, “and I think we can help you in this difficulty. I am a London City Missionary. My name is John Seaward. We have, as you see, brought out a number of our Sunday-school children, to give them a sight of God’s beautiful earth; poor things, they’ve been used to bricks, mortar, and stone all their lives hitherto. Now, if you choose to spend the remainder of the day with us, we will be happy to give you and the injured bicycle a place in our vans till we reach a cabstand or a railway station. What say you? It will give much pleasure to me and the teachers.”
Welland glanced at his friend. “You see, Sam, there’s no help for it, old boy. You’ll have to return alone.”
“Unless your friend will also join us,” said the missionary.
“You are very kind,” said Sam, “but I cannot stay, as I have an engagement which must be kept. Never mind, Stephen. I’ll just complete the trip alone, and comfort myself with the assurance that I leave you in good hands. So, good-bye, old boy.”
“Good-bye, Twitter,” said Stephen, grasping his friend’s hand.
“Twitter,” repeated the missionary, “I heard your friend call you Sam just now. Excuse my asking—are you related to Samuel Twitter of Twitter, Slime, and Company, in the city?”
“I’m his eldest son,” said Sam.
“Then I have much pleasure in making your acquaintance,” returned the other, extending his hand, “for although I have never met your father, I know your mother well. She is one of the best and most regular teachers in our Sunday-schools. Is she not, Hetty?” he said, turning to a sweet-faced girl who stood near him.
“Indeed she is, I was her pupil for some years, and now I teach one of her old classes,” replied the girl.