THE MASTER'S BICYCLE A second hand bicycle was all the master could afford, when he came to teach in our country school. After years of cycling the four miles in the rain, it disjointed. The saddle sat loosely, padded with papers and rags. During lunch hour the boys loved to pull it apart, leaving the saddle at an angle that made a pyramid of the well-worn seat. It was all they could to do to get back at him, as he lashed their growing hands with the sally rod. -- From "Perfume of the Soil," Mary Guckian, born Co. Leitrim