"No, I am never going again; I am preparing for the State University; I
shall take a classical course," I answered with hauteur, looking down upon
him as I spoke. Only that morning Ma had let out another tuck in my gown.

"I'm aw'fly sorry," Billy murmured with a foolish, embarrassed grin.
"Guess I'll walk along of ye, if ye don't care."

My triumph found me cold. The sting of Billy's words yet rankled, and
perhaps I was not so grateful to the little wretch as he deserved. It was
about a quarter of a mile to our house; we walked the distance in unbroken
silence. Once there, Billy rallied.

"Good-by, Miss Winship," he said, holding open the gate for me. It was the
first time that any one had addressed me by that grown-up title.

"Good-by, Billy."

And that was the end of the beginning of the Quest.

In blizzard time and through the fierce heat of summer I toiled at self-
set tasks in our ugly, comfortable home. During the blessed intervals when
we could induce "girl help" to stay with us I had scarcely any housework
to do. Fairly regular exercise came to be a habit and I worried admiring
relatives into thinking me a candidate for an early grave by taking a cold
bath every morning. In the end I managed, with a single year in a
cheerless boarding house near a village academy, where I studied greedily,
devouring my books, to enter the State University with a scholarship to my
credit.

I took half the examination in Spring and read extra Virgil and Ovid all