Mrs. Hightower found early opportunity to deliver her verdict in Sis's ear, whereupon the latter gave her a little hug, and whispered: "Oh, I just think he's adorable!" It was very queer, however, that as soon as Sis was left to entertain Mr. Woodward (the women making an excuse of helping Puss about dinner), she lost her blushing enthusiasm, and became quite cold and reserved. The truth is, Sis had convinced herself some days before that she had the right to be very angry with this young man, and she began her quarrel, as lovely woman generally does, by a.s.suming an air of tremendous unconcern. Her disinterestedness was really provoking.

"How did you like Sue Fraley's new bonnet last Sunday?" she asked, with an innocent smile.

"Sue Fraley's new bonnet!" exclaimed Woodward, surprised in the midst of some serious reflections; "why, I didn't know she had a new bonnet."

"Oh! you _didn't_? You were right _opposite_. I should think _anybody_ could see she had a new bonnet by the way she tossed her head."

"Well, I didn't notice it, for one. Was it one of these sky-sc.r.a.pers? I was looking at something else."

"_Oh!_"

Woodward had intended to convey a very delicately veiled compliment, but this young woman's tone rather embarra.s.sed him. He saw in a moment that she was beyond the reach of the playful and ingenious banter which he had contrived to make the basis of their relations.

"Yes," he said, "I was looking at something else. I had other things to think about."

"Well, she _did_ have a new bonnet, with yellow ribbons. She looked handsome. I hear she's going to get married soon."

"I'm glad to hear it. She's none too young," said Woodward.

At another time Sis would have laughed at the suggestion implied in this remark, but now she only tapped the floor gently with her foot, and looked serious.

"I hope you answered her note," she said presently.

"What note?" he asked, with some astonishment,

Sis was the picture of innocence.

"Oh, I didn't think!" she exclaimed. "I reckon it's a great _secret_. I mean the note she handed you when she came out of church. It's none of _my_ business."

"Nor of mine either," said Woodward, with a relieved air. "The note was for Tip Watson."

This statement, which was not only plausible but true, gave a new direction to Sis's anger.

"Well, I don't see how anybody that thinks anything of himself could be a mail-carrier for _Sue Fraley!_" she exclaimed scornfully; whereupon she flounced out, leaving Woodward in a state of bewilderment.

He had not made love to the girl, princ.i.p.ally because her moods were elusive and her methods unique. She was dangerously like other women of his acquaintance, and dangerously unlike them. The princ.i.p.al of the academy in Gullettsville--a scholarly old gentleman from Middle Georgia, who had been driven to teaching by dire necessity--had once loftily informed Woodward that Miss Poteet was superior to her books, and the young man had verified the statement to his own discomfiture.

She possessed that feminine gift which is of more importance to a woman in this world than scholarly acquirements--apt.i.tude. Even her frankness--perfectly discreet--charmed and puzzled Woodward; but the most attractive of her traits were such as mark the difference between the bird that sings in the tree and the bird that sings in the cage--delightful, but indescribable.

When Sis Poteet began to question him about Sue Fraley, the thought that she was moved by jealousy gave him a thrill that was new to his experience; but when she flounced angrily out of the room because he had confessed to carrying a note from Miss Fraley to Tip Watson, it occurred to him that he might be mistaken. Indeed, so cunning does masculine stupidity become when it is played upon by a woman, that he frightened himself with the suggestion that perhaps, after all, this perfectly original young lady was in love with Tip Watson.

During the rest of the day Woodward had ample time to nurse and develop his new theory, and the more he thought it over the more plausible it seemed to be. It was a great blow to his vanity; but the more uncomfortable it made him the more earnestly he clung to it.

Without appearing to avoid him, Sis managed to make the presence of Mrs. Parmalee and Mrs. Hightower an excuse for neglecting him. She entertained these worthy ladies with such eager hospitality that when they aroused themselves to the necessity of going home, they found to their dismay that it would be impossible, in the language of Mrs.

Poteet, to "git half way acrost Pullium's Summit 'fore night 'ud ketch 'em." Sis was so delighted, apparently, that she became almost hilarious; and her gaiety affected all around her except Woodward, who barely managed to conceal his disgust.

After supper, however, Mrs. Poteet and her two guests betook themselves to the kitchen, where they rubbed snuff and smoked their pipes, and gossiped, and related reminiscences of that good time which, with old people, is always in the past. Thus Woodward had ample opportunity to talk with Sis. He endeavoured, by the exercise of every art of manner and conversation of which he was master, to place their relations upon the old familiar footing, but he failed most signally. He found it impossible to fathom the gentle dignity with which he was constantly repulsed. In the midst of his perplexity, which would have been either pathetic or ridiculous if it had not been so artfully concealed, he managed for the first time to measure the depth of his love for this exasperating but charming creature whom he had been patronising. She was no longer amusing; and Woodward, with the savage inconsistency of a man moved by a genuine pa.s.sion, felt a tragic desire to humble himself before her.

"I'm going home to-morrow, Miss Sis," he said finally, in sheer desperation.

"Well, you've had a heap of fun--I mean," she added, "that you have had a nice time."

"I have been a fool!" he exclaimed bitterly. Seeing that she made no response, he continued: "I've been a terrible fool all through. I came here to hunt up blockade whisky----"

"_What!_"

Sis's voice was sharp and eager, full of doubt, surprise, and consternation.

"I came to Gullettsville," he went on, "to hunt up blockade whisky, and failed, and three weeks ago I sent in my resignation. I thought I might find a gold mine on my land-lot, but I have failed, and now I am going to sell it. I have failed in everything."

Gloating over his alleged misfortunes, Woodward, without looking at Sis Poteet, drew from his pocket a formidable-looking envelope, unfolded its contents leisurely, and continued--

"Even my resignation was a failure. Hog Mountain will be raided to-morrow or next day."

Sis rose from her chair, pale and furious, and advanced toward him as if to annihilate him with her blazing eyes. Such rage, such contempt, he had never before beheld in a woman's face. He sat transfixed. With a gesture almost tragic in its vehemence, the girl struck the papers from his hands.

"O you mean, sneaking wretch! You----"

And then, as if realising the weakness of mere words, she turned and pa.s.sed swiftly from the room. Woodward was thoroughly aroused. He was not used to the spectacle of a woman controlled by violent emotions, and he recognised, with a mixture of surprise and alarm, the great gulf that lay between the rage of Sis Poteet and the little plat.i.tudes and pretences of anger which he had seen the other women of his acquaintance manage with such pretty daintiness.

As the girl pa.s.sed through the kitchen, she seized a horn that hung upon the wall, and went out into the darkness. The old women continued their smoking, their snuff-rubbing, and their gossiping. Mrs.

High-tower was giving the details of a local legend showing how and why Edny Favers had "conjured" Tabithy Cozby, when suddenly Mrs. Poteet raised her hands--

"_Sh-h-h!_"

The notes of a horn--short, sharp, and strenuous--broke in upon the stillness of the night. Once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! It was an alarm that did not need to be interpreted to the sensitive ear of Hog Mountain. The faces of the old women became curiously impa.s.sive. The firelight carried their shadows from the floor to the rafters, where they seemed to engage in a wild dance,--whirling, bowing, jumping, quivering; but the women themselves sat as still as statues. They were evidently waiting for something. They did not wait long. In a little while the sharp notes of the horn made themselves heard again--once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice! once, twice, thrice!

Then the old women arose from their low chairs, shook out their frocks, and filed into the room where Mr. Philip Woodward, late of the revenue service, was sitting. There would have been a good deal of constraint on both sides, but before there could be any manifestation of this sort, Sis came in. She seemed to be crushed and helpless, nay, even humiliated.

"Why, my goodness, Sis!" exclaimed Mrs. Hightower, "you look natchully f.a.gged out. A body 'ud think you'd bin an' taken a run up the mountain.

We all 'lowed you wuz in here lookin' airter your comp'ny. Wher'd you git the news?"

"From this gentleman here," Sis replied, indicating Woodward without looking at him. She was pale as death, and her voice was low and gentle.

Woodward would have explained, but the apparent unconcern of the women gave him no opportunity.

"I declare, Sis," exclaimed her mother, with a fond, apologetic little laugh; "ef you hain't a plum sight, I hain't never seed none."

"She's thes es much like her Gran'pap Poteet," said Mrs. Hightower, "ez ef he'd 'a' spit'er right out'n his mouth--that she is."

This led to a series of reminiscences more or less entertaining, until after a while, Sis, who had been growing more and more restless, rose and said--

"Good night, folks; I'm tired and sleepy. The clock has struck eleven."

"Yes," said Mrs. Poteet, "an' the clock's too fast, bekaze it hain't skacely bin more'u a minnit sence the chickens crowed for ten."

This remark contained the essence of hospitality, for it was intended to convey to Mrs. Poteet's guests the information that if they were not ready to retire, she was prepared to discredit her clock in their interests. But there was not much delay on the part of the guests. The women were dying to question Sis, and Woodward was anxious to be alone; and so they said "Good night," the earnestness and quaint simplicity of the old women carrying Woodward back to the days of his childhood, when his grandmother leaned tenderly over his little bed, and whispered: "Good night, dear heart, and pleasant dreams."

Shortly afterward the lights were put out, and, presumably, those under Teague Poteet's roof addressed themselves to slumber. But what of the news that Sis had given to the winds? There was no slumber for it until it had fulfilled its mission. Where did it go, and what was its burden?