“Whatever you have been paying for your spring term.”
“Well, we’ll talk over your application Monday. If we want you, we will let you know. You needn’t come to see us about it again.”
Hilda was obliged to be content with this. She thanked him, and then, behind the grove where she had tied her horse, she bundled herself up for the ride home, where an eager audience listened to her story while she thawed out her fingers and toes.
The next six days seemed interminably long to her, but Monday came at last. All day she listened expectantly for a step on the front porch, but no one came that day or the next. Wednesday morning she was helping her father about the barn, when she heard some one behind her, and turned to face Mr. Johnston.
“Hello!” he cried. “So you concluded to try farming if you couldn’t get a school?”
Hilda smiled in reply. She could not trust herself to speak. So she had failed again.
Mr. Johnston chatted with her father for a time, while she went bravely on with her work. It would never do to let him know how disappointed she was.
“Well, Hilda,” he said, finally, “I’ll expect you to do me credit this spring.”
Hilda looked up, surprised.