miability with which the animal moved away.

But it was a wise steed, for when it came upon Sis Poteet standing by
the side of the road, it threw up its head and stopped. Woodward lifted
his hat, and held it in his hand. She gave him one little glance, and
then her eyes drooped.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said, pulling a dead leaf to
pieces. Her air of humility was charming. She hesitated a moment, but
Woodward was too much astonished to make any reply. "Are you very mad?"
she asked with bewitching inconsequence.

"Why should _I_ be mad, Miss Sis? I am glad you have given me the
opportunity to ask your pardon for coming up here to worry you."

"I wanted to ask you if pap--I mean, if father went to Atlanta to see
you," she said, her eyes still bent upon the ground.

"He said he wanted to see me on business," Woodward replied.

"Did he say anything about me?"

"Not that I remember. He never said anything about his business even,"
Woodward went on. "I told him about some of my little troubles, and
when he found I was coming back here, he seemed to forget all about his
own business. I suppose he saw that I wouldn't be much interested in
anybody else's business but my own just then." Sis lifted her head and
looked steadily at Woodward. A little flush appeared in her cheeks, and
mounted to her forehead, and then died away.

"Pap doesn't understand--I mean he doesn't understand everything, and I
was afraid he had----Why do you look at me so?" she exclaimed, stopping
short, and blushing furiously.

"I ask your pardon," said the young man; "I was trying to catch your
meaning. You say you were afraid your father----"

"Oh, I am not afraid now. Don't you think the weather is nice?"

Woodward was a little puzzled, but he was not embarrassed. He swung
himself off his horse and stood beside her.

"I told your father," he said, drawing very near to the puzzling
creature that had so wilfully eluded him--"I told your father that I
was coming up here to ask his daughter to marry me. What does the
daughter say?"

She looked up in his face. The earnestness she saw there dazzled and
conquered her. Her head drooped lower, and she clasped her hands
together. He changed his tactics.

"Is it really true, then, that you hate me?"

"Oh! if you only knew!" she cried, and with that Woodward caught her in
his arms.

An hour afterwards, Teague Poteet, sitting in his low piazza, cleaning
and oiling his rifle, heard the s