“Presently we came to a stretch of road which had been treated to a generous top-dressing of loose sand. Such ignorance of the principles of good road-making soon brought us down both from our lofty mood and from our laboring wheels. We trudged toilsomely for nearly half a mile, saying unkind things now of the Nova Scotian road-makers, and quite forgetting the melodious sorrows of the Acadian exiles.
“Then we came to the village of Avonport, and were much solaced by the sight of the village inn.
“In the porch of the unpretentious hostelry we found a fellow ’cycler in a sorely battered condition. Several strips of court-plaster, black and pink, distributed artistically about his forehead, nose, and chin, gave a mightily grotesque appearance to his otherwise melancholy countenance. One of his stockings was rolled down about his ankle, and he was busy applying arnica to a badly bruised shin.
“Against the bench on which he was sitting leaned a bicycle which looked as if it had been in collision with an earthquake.
“The poor fellow’s woe-begone countenance brightened up as we entered, and we made ourselves acquainted. He was a solitary tourist from Eastport, Me., and a principal in the important case of Bull versus Bicycle, which had just been decided very much in favor of Bull. We dined together, and as our appetites diminished our curiosity increased.
“Presently Caldwell, as the woe-begone ’cyclist called himself, detailed to us his misadventure, as follows;—
“‘It wasn’t more than an hour before you fellows came that I got here myself. I was in a nice mess, I can tell you. But plenty of cold water and Mrs. Brigg’s arnica and court-plaster have pulled me together a lot. I only hope we can do as much after dinner for that poor old wheel of mine.
“‘This morning I had a fine trip pretty nearly all the way from Windsor. Splendid weather, wasn’t it; and a good hard road most of the way, eh? You remember that long, smooth hill about two miles back from here, and the road that crosses it at the foot, nearly at right angles? Well, as I came coasting down that hill, happy as a clam, my feet over the handles, I almost ran into a party of men, with ropes and a gun, moving along that cross-road.
“‘I stopped for a little talk with them, and asked what they were up to. It appeared that a very dangerous bull had got loose from a farm up the river, and had taken to the road. They were afraid it would gore somebody before they could recapture it. I asked them if they knew which way it had gone; and they told me the “critter” was sure to make right for the dike lands, where it used to pasture in its earlier and more amiable days.
“‘That cross-road was the way to the dikes, and they pursued it confidently. I took it into my head that it would be a lark to go along with them, and see the capture of the obstreperous animal; but the men, who were intelligent fellows and knew what they were talking about, told me I should find the road too heavy and rough for my wheel. Rather reluctantly I bade them good-morning and continued my journey by the highway.