“No,” said Tillie, “I don’t care about it.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes.  Tillie looked away into the starlit night and thought of Miss Margaret and wished she were alone, that her thoughts might be uninterrupted.  Absalom, at her side, kicked up the dust with his heavy shoes, as he sulkily hung his head.

Presently he spoke again.

“Will you leave me come to see you Sundays, still, if I take my chancet that I’m wastin’ my time?”

“If you’ll leave it that way,” Tillie acquiesced, “and not hold me to anything.”

“All right.  Only you won’t leave no one else set up with you, ain’t not?”

“There isn’t any one else.”

“But some chance time another feller might turn up oncet that wants to keep comp’ny with you too.”

“I won’t promise anything, Absalom.  If you want to come Sundays to see me and the folks, you can.  That’s all I’ll say.”

“I never seen such a funny girl as what you are!” growled Absalom.

Tillie made no reply, and again they went on in silence.

“Say!” It was Absalom who finally spoke.

Tillie’s absent, dreamy gaze came down from the stars and rested upon his heavy, dull face.

“Ezra Herr he’s resigned William Penn.  He’s gettin’ more pay at Abra’m Lincoln in Janewille.  It comes unhandy, his leavin’, now the term’s just started and most all the applicants took a’ready.  Pop he got a letter from in there at Lancaster off of Superintendent Reingruber and he’s sendin’ us a applicant out till next Saturday three weeks—­fur the directors to see oncet if he’ll do.”

Absalom’s father was secretary of the Board, and Mr. Getz was the treasurer.

“Pop he’s goin’ over to see your pop about it till to-morrow evenin’ a’ready if he can make it suit.”

“When does Ezra go?” Tillie inquired.  The New Mennonite rule which forbade the use of all titles had led to the custom in this neighborhood, so populated with Mennonites, of calling each one by his Christian name.

“Till next Friday three weeks,” Absalom replied.  “Pop says he don’t know what to think about this here man Superintendent Reingruber’s sendin’ out.  He ain’t no Millersville Normal.  The superintendent says he’s a ’Harvard gradyate’—­whatever that is, pop says!  Pop he sayed it ain’t familiar with him what that there is.  And I guess the other directors don’t know neither.  Pop he sayed when we’re payin’ as much as forty dollars a month we had ought, now, to have a Millersville Normal, and nothin’ less.  Who wants to pay forty dollars a month fur such a Harvard gradyate that we don’t know right what it is.”

“What pay will Ezra get at Janeville?” Tillie asked.  Her heart beat fast as she thought how she might, perhaps, in another year be the applicant for a vacancy at William Penn.

“Around forty-five dollars,” Absalom answered.

“Oh!” Tillie said; “it seems so much, don’t it?”