and a real desire to succeed, and here met
with a difficulty. I had not the art of presenting my earnest purposes
in the most assuring and credible manner. They _would_ wear, in spite of
me, an uneasy air of novelty; yet I aimed nobly. I dilated largely on
some of the evils existing in the present system of education, and hinted
at reforms not yet meditated by the world at large; but skilfully forgot
to mention my own qualifications.

On reading the letter over, I was astonished at the flattering nature of
the result, and, with the buoyant pride of one who believes he has
suddenly discovered a new resource in himself, I sent a copy of my
application to Mary Waite. She answered in the language of sorrowful
reproach:--

"Oh, S., how could you?"

I was forced to conclude that, as usual, I had somehow made a misstep,
and sought to conceal my mortification as best I might, by persuading
myself and my friend that I had only regarded the matter as a joke all
through. Nevertheless, I was bitterly disappointed.

What was my surprise, then, a few days afterwards, to receive this
communication from the Superintendent of Schools:--

"You are accepted to fill the position of teacher in the Kedarville
school." Then followed terse directions as to the best way of reaching
Kedarville, and, finally: "Mrs. Philander Keeler will board you for two
Dollars and fifty cents per week."

As I read this last clause everything that had made a sudden tumult in
my mind before was lulled into a mysterious calm.

It was not the low value set upon the means of subsistence in Kedarville.
Mercenary motives were, with me, as yet out of the question. It was not
the oppressive charm of Mrs. Philander Keeler's name that affected me so
strangely. It was the expressive combination of the whole, at once so
clear cut and unique. I murmured it softly to myself on my way home from
the Post-office.

"Han," said I, quite gravely, to my elder sister on entering the house;
"Mrs. Philander Keeler will board me for two dollars and fifty cents per
week:" and handed her the letter in pensive, though triumphant,
confirmation of my words.

"When did you do this?" she gasped, and, before I could answer, "how are
you going to get out of it?" she faintly demanded.

"Simply by getting into it, my dear," I answered, with that unyielding
sweetness of demeanor for which I fancied I had ever been distinguished
in the family circle.

I began to make my preparations f