“Johnston told me that there would be a change for the spring term down here in Hazel Row,” he went on. “The board is going to meet next Monday, he said. So if you want to try again we’d better get in your application within a day or two.”
Mrs. Kenyon heard her husband’s question, and came in from the kitchen to hear what further he might have to say, while the two younger children dropped their play to listen. They were all interested in Hilda’s attempt to get a school.
“You could board at home if you got that,” said Mrs. Kenyon. “It’s only two miles.”
Mr. Kenyon laughed. “Better catch your hare before you cook it. Perhaps Hilda doesn’t even want to try again.”
“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.