e sighing pines.

The grey columns swung right and left, and slowly fell back; the blue
columns swayed right and left, and slowly pressed forward--sometimes
beneath clouds of sulphurous smoke, sometimes beneath heavy mists of
rain, sometimes in the bright sunshine. They swung and swayed slowly
out of sight, and Hog Mountain and Gullettsville were left at peace.

The child grew and thrived. In the midst of a gaunt and sallow
generation she shone radiantly beautiful. In some mysterious way she
inherited the beauty, and grace, and refinement of a Frenchwoman.
Merely as a phenomenon, she ought to have reminded league of his name
and lineage; but Teague had other matters to think of. "Sis ain't no
dirt-eater," he used to say, and to this extent only would he commit
himself, his surroundings having developed in him that curious excess
of caution and reserve which characterises his class.

As for Puss Poteet, she sat and rocked herself and rubbed snuff, and
regarded her daughter as one of the profound mysteries. She was in a
state of perpetual bewilderment and surprise, equalled only by her
apparent indifference. She allowed herself to be hustled around by Sis
without serious protest, and submitted, as Teague did, to the new order
of things as quietly as possible.

Meanwhile the people in the valley were engaged in adjusting themselves
to the changed condition of affairs. The war was over, but it had left
some deep scars here and there, and those who had engaged in it gave
their attention to healing these--a troublesome and interminable task,
be it said, which by no means kept pace with the impatience of the
victors, whipped into fury by the subtle but ignoble art of the
politician. There was no lack of despair in the valley, but out of it
all prosperity grew, and the promise of a most remarkable future.
Behind the confusion of politics, of one sort and another, the spirit
of Progress rose and shook her ambitious wings.

Something of all this must have made itself felt on the mountain, for
one day Teague Poteet pushed his wide-brimmed wool hat from over his
eyes, with an air of astonishment. Puss had just touched upon a very
important matter.

"I reckon in reason," she said, "we oughter pack Sis off to school
some'rs. She'll thes nat'ally spile here."

"Hain't you larnt her how to read an' write an' cipher?" asked Teague.

"I started in," said Mrs. Poteet, "but, Lord! I hain't more'n opened a
book tell she know'd mor'