it a glimpse er that air new
chap with the slick ha'r. Sid'll be a-peggin' out airter a while,' s'
I, 'an' ef the new chap's ez purty ez I hear tell, maybe I'll set my
cap fer 'im,' s' I."

At this fat Mrs. Puritha Hightower was compelled to lean on frail Mrs.
Puss Poteet, so heartily did she laugh.

"I declar'," she exclaimed, "ef Sue hain't a sight! I'm mighty nigh
outdone. She's thes bin a-gwine on that a-way all the time, an' I bin
that tickled tell a little more an' I'd a drapped on the groun'. How's
all?"

"My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Poteet, "I hope you all know _me_ too
well to be a-stan'in' out there makin' excuse. Come right along in, an'
take off your things, an' ketch your win'. Sis is home to-day."

"Well, I'm monstus glad," said Mrs. Hightower. "Sis use to think the
world an' all er me when she was a slip of a gal, but I reckon she's
took on town ways, hain't she? Hit ain't nothin' but natchul."

"Sis is proud enough for to hoi' 'er head high," Mrs. Parmalee
explained, "but she hain't a bit stuck up."

"Well, I let you know," exclaimed Mrs. Hightower, untying her bonnet
and taking off her shawl, "I let you know, here's what wouldn't be sot
back by nothin' ef she had Sis's chances. In about the las' word pore
maw spoke on 'er dying bed, she call me to 'er an' sez, se' she,
'Purithy Emma,' se' she, 'you hol' your head high; don't you bat your
eyes for to please none of 'em,' se' she."

"I reckon in reason I oughter be thankful that Sis ain't no wuss," said
Mrs. Poteet, walking around with aimless hospitality; "yit that chile's
temper is powerful tryin', an' Teague ackshully an' candidly b'leeves
she's made out'n pyo'gol'. [Footnote: Pure gold] I wish I may die ef he
don't."

After a while Sis made her appearance, buoyant and blooming. Her eyes
sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and her smiles showed beautiful teeth--a
most uncommon sight in the mountains, where the girls were in the habit
of rubbing snuff or smoking. The visitors greeted her with the effusive
constraint and awkwardness that made so large a part of their lives,
but after a while Mrs. Hightower laid her fat motherly hand on the
girl's shoulder, and looked kindly but keenly into her eyes.

"Ah, honey!" she said, "you hain't sp'ilt yit, but you wa'n't made to
fit thish here hill--_that_ you wa'n't, _that_ you wa'n't!"

Women are not hypocrites. Their little thrills arid nerve-convulsions
are genuine while they last. Fortunately for the wo