“Papa,” cried Hilda, indignantly, “you know I want to try again! But now listen, you and mamma both. And please don’t think I don’t appreciate what you have done to help me; but I want to go all alone this time. If I am ever going to make a teacher, I must learn to depend upon myself. I can’t always have you to do things for me. And besides, I don’t blame a school board for not hiring a teacher who hasn’t grit enough to apply alone. You know I can’t say anything for myself when you are along, papa. I can talk before a stranger lots better than I can before you.” “I don’t see why you should feel that way,” interposed Mrs. Kenyon. “You surely are not afraid of your father.” “I’m not afraid of him in one sense, but in another sense I am. I can’t talk to the directors before him as I could if I were alone. I let papa apply for me last fall, and I let him go along twice this spring, and I haven’t a school yet.” Mrs. Kenyon started to speak, but her husband shook his head at her. “I guess we’ll have to let you have your way this time,” he said. “We’ll see if you succeed any better than I did.” Hilda gave him a grateful look. “But how are you going?” he asked. “Couldn’t I walk? It isn’t far.” “No, indeed. Johnston, of course, is less than two miles away, but Mr. Andrews lives four or five miles northeast, and Smith is as far in the other direction. You’ll have twelve or fourteen miles to travel by the time you get back home. There is too much snow for you to walk, anyway, even if it wasn’t too far. And I can’t trust you to drive the team alone as cold as it is.” “I can ride old Selim. He’s safe enough.” “Yes, he’s safe enough. But you will find it pretty cold, riding so far on horseback.” “You’d better let your father take you in the buggy,” said Mrs. Kenyon. “You’ll freeze to death on Selim.” “Now, mamma, please!” begged Hilda, and her mother said no more. Hilda had many ambitions, but the nearest and most absorbing one was to get a school. Beyond that lay a college course, and beyond that—she hardly dare to think of all the good things the future might hold for her and hers if only she might go to college. But she knew that the money for a college course must come from her own efforts. She had been a very proud girl when her first certificate came. It was only for a year, of course. According to the laws of the state, one must have taught three months to receive a certificate for a longer time than that. But her grades were high enough to entitle her to a second class. The county superintendent had enclosed a kind little note with the certificate, and had spoken personally to her father, commending her work very highly. Hilda felt that she had a right to be proud. But the certificate in itself was not worth much. Its chief value lay in the fact that it entitled her to teach if she could get a school. And how she did want a school! She dreamed of it by night and talked of it by day.