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She prayed earnestly for his safety that night. When he left her, she
often lay in anxiety, wondering if he had got home safely.
He dropped down the hills on his bicycle. The roads were greasy, so he
had to let it go. He felt a pleasure as the machine plunged over the
second, steeper drop in the hill. "Here goes!" he said. It was risky,
because of the curve in the darkness at the bottom, and because of the
brewers' waggons with drunken waggoners asleep. His bicycle seemed
to fall beneath him, and he loved it. Recklessness is almost a man's
revenge on his woman. He feels he is not valued, so he will risk
destroying himself to deprive her altogether.
The stars on the lake seemed to leap like grasshoppers, silver upon the
blackness, as he spun past. Then there was the long climb home.
"See, mother!" he said, as he threw her the berries and leaves on to the
table.
"H'm!" she said, glancing at them, then away again. She sat reading,
alone, as she always did.
"Aren't they pretty?"
"Yes.


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