"Oh, you'll do famously," said Mr. Dunlee. "And now, daughter, I'll wish
you good-by and the very best luck in the world."

"Good-by, papa," said Kyzie, and locked the door after him. "I wish I'd
asked him to stay till I called them in and took their names. Papa is so
dignified that it would have been a great help. My, I feel as if I
weren't more than six years old!"

She walked the floor, watch in hand. "Fifty seconds of nine."

She went to the bell-rope and pulled with both hands. It was quite
needless to use so much force. The bell was directly over her head; and
instead of the "mellow lin-lan-lone" she expected, it made a din so
tremendous that it almost seemed as if the roof were about to fall upon
her. At the same time there was a scrambling and pounding at the door.
The children were trying to get in.

"Oh, miserable me, I've locked them out!" thought the little teacher in
dismay.

She hastened to the door and opened it, and they rushed in with a shout.
This was an odd beginning; but Kyzie said not a word. She remembered
that she was now Miss Dunlee, so she threw back her shoulders and looked
her straightest and tallest, and as much as possible like Miss Prince,
her favorite teacher. She had intended all along to imitate Miss
Prince--whenever she could think of it.

Only fourteen years old! Well, what of that? Grandma Parlin had been
only fourteen when she taught _her_ first school. Keep a brave heart,