Her father’s announcement that there was a vacancy so near home raised her hopes again. If she could get the place she could save all her salary, for the schoolhouse was so near that she could board at home, as her mother had said. She must get it, that was all. And she felt that she must go alone. Mr. Kenyon made no objection this time, and Mrs. Kenyon consented on the condition that Hilda would allow herself to be well bundled up for the long, cold ride. Hilda readily consented to this, but she almost rued her bargain in the morning when her mother insisted on putting a large coat of her own over Hilda’s and in tying a scarf over the warm hood, and when the girl had climbed on the horse she had wrapped a warm shawl about her. “How in the world am I to get on and off again with all this stuff, mamma?” she asked. “I feel as wrapped up as a mummy. I know I’ll frighten all the horses I meet.” It was well, perhaps, that she could not see herself, for she certainly cut rather a ridiculous figure. Added to all the rest, she was riding her father’s saddle. The right stirrup had been thrown over, and in this her foot rested, while the left stirrup dangled below. She had never been fortunate enough to possess a side-saddle, and had often ridden in this way about the farm. But she could not help feeling a little sensitive about her appearance on this occasion, which meant so much to her, and she wished her mother would not be so fussy. As she drew near Mr. Johnston’s house, she considered. It would take her some time to disentangle herself from her many wrappings, and to any one watching from the house she would present rather a ridiculous appearance in her necessarily clumsy efforts to dismount. So she halted old Selim some distance from the front gate, and here, hidden by the trees, she divested herself of her extra garments. Her heart was pounding away vigorously as she knocked and inquired if Mr. Johnston was in. She had known him ever since she could remember, but he seemed suddenly to have become almost a stranger. Outwardly, however, it was a very dignified young lady who presented her case before him. It seemed to her that he looked at her for fully five minutes without speaking. “So you want to teach?” he asked at last. “Pretty young, aren’t you? How old are you? Seventeen?” “Yes, sir,” answered Hilda. “I suppose that isn’t very old, but I have a good certificate, and I am pretty sure that I can teach a good school. At least, I’d try my best if you would give me a chance.” “That’s what they all say,” remarked Mr. Johnston. “I know. But that is all I _can_ say till somebody gives me a chance to show what I can do.” “You have had no experience, of course.” “No. But if I am ever to make a teacher, I’ll have to teach my first school sometime and somewhere.” “I guess that’s so. Got some pretty good grades here.” He had been examining the certificate she had handed him. “Yes, sir,” answered Hilda, modestly.