“Can you teach the children to dance?” said Darg:—“Here,” said he, getting up, and cutting two or three of the old fashioned pigeon wings,—“can you do this?” Arthur and all present laughed heartily, and the young man acknowledged that he had the advantage there too, “for he did not teach dancing.” “Let him take the situation,” said Conway, as the old man left the room to feed his dogs, “I am looking out for a teacher, and you are just the one to suit me. Here you will only get one hundred and fifty dollars a year, and very plain board; whereas, with me you shall have three hundred, and live upon the fat of the land.” Of course, this offer was better than the one Arthur came to seek; and he told Mr. Conway that he should talk the matter over with Mr. Green, and then give him an answer. But Mr. Green shook his head; he had no great opinion of Conway, who was the principal of the grammar-school in Drizzletown, and had about forty boys under his care. They knew little of him, and for his part, he said, he did not care to know more. He advised Arthur to rough it with them until something better offered, and promised to give him board for a very moderate sum. This decided Arthur—for he longed for rest and ease of mind; and if he remained here, he should be with a man who felt a friendly interest in his welfare. The next morning at ten o’clock the trustees of the school were to meet—and there were already nine candidates even for so humble a situation. The good-hearted landlord told Arthur not to be cast down, for, according to his judgment, the trustees would decide in his favor unanimously. His only wonder was, that such an ill-looking fellow as Darg, though he might have a pocket-full of letters, should presume to expect an acceptance. One by one the candidates were examined, and one by one they departed. Godfried Darg requested to be questioned last—and Arthur’s turn now came. He could not help smiling as he saw the solemn pomposity of the committee, not one of whom were judges of the real merits of a candidate—and he felt that before them he had no chance. All at once he recollected the letter given to him by Mr. Crosbie; and stepping up to the gentleman at the head of the table, whose name he learned was Barnes, asked if that letter were for him. Mr. Barnes took the letter, nodded his head gravely, and opened it—he read it—passed it to his neighbor, who in his turn read it—and so it went around the table. When they had all finished it, Mr. Barnes said, “I believe, gentlemen, I can anticipate your sentiments—and so, with your leave, I shall beg Mr. Hazerelle to retire.” “What is there in that letter,” said Arthur, to Mr. Barnes, “which refuses me a hearing? I came here by the invitation of your advertisement; and as to the letter which has given you, as I perceive, an unfavorable opinion of me, the writer of it has no more knowledge of me than I have of any gentleman here present—not so much, in fact.”