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--aptitude. 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 hav