[{"node":{"title":"Hanna222","Collections":"Part Three","Contributor":"Linen Hall Library","Coverage":"1951","Creator":"Linen Hall Library","Date":"Thursday, April 7, 2016","Format":"TIFF","Identifier":"Hanna222","Item Description":"Manuscript","Keywords":"Knocknadreemally, Nightshirt","Language":"English","Path":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/content/hanna222","Publisher":"Linen Hall Library","Relation":"Linen Hall Library","Rights":"Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike CC BY-NC-SA","Scanned image":{"src":"https://www.niliteraryarchive.com/sites/default/files/Hanna222_0.jpg","alt":""},"Source":"LHL Archive","Transcript":"\ufeff215\n\nChapter Six\n\nA girl of about sixteen years of age wheeled her\nbicycle out of the loanen leading to Rathard, and\ncrossing carefully to the other side of the road, pointed\nthe front wheel to Knocknadreemally Hill. She didnt\nmount immediately but stood looking at the bicycle with\nobvious satisfaction. It was brand-new. The spokes\nand rims twinkled in the sunlight as she let it run\nforward, and the black and yellow strings of the\ndress-guard were as taut and clean as harp-strings.\nShe pushed it a little faster and put on the front brake.\nWhen the back wheel rose slightly from the road at this\nsudden check, the girl chuckled in delight with a note\nas sweet as the bell on the handlebars. It was a lovely\nbicycle.\n\nShe mounted, and after a few preliminary wobbles\npicked up speed to thrust swiftly down the slope before\nthe ascent of Knocknadreemally. The impetus of her\nflight carried her halfway u'p the hill, then she raised\nherself over the bars, her bare shapely legs thrusting\nstrongly on the pedals, her red lips open as she breathed.\nShe defeated and completely subdued the hill under her\ntwinkling wheels, and shook back her brown curls to the\ncool air when she reached the level. On her right were\ntwo small cottages, one shuttered, with a beard of grass\non its thatch, now used by her family as a potato-house.\nAt the second, as she sped past it, she saw a bent old\nman clad only in a nightshirt, standing at the door.\nFor the briefest mbment she saw him reach out a clawed\nfinger at her, saw a smile break on his dirty stubbled\nface, heard him cry \"wee Martha! wee Martha!.\" But\n","Type":"Text"}}]