ound of voices coming from the
direction of the Gullettsville road. Presently Sis and Woodward came in
sight. They walked slowly along in the warm sunshine, wholly absorbed
in each other. Woodward was leading his horse, and that intelligent
animal improved the opportunity to nip the fragrant sassafras buds just
appearing on the bushes. Teague looked at the two young people from
under the brim of his hat and chuckled, but when Sis caught sight of
him, a little while after, he was rubbing his rifle vigorously, and
seemed to be oblivious to the fact that two young people were making
love to each other in full view. But Sis blushed all the same, and the
blushes increased as she approached the house, until Woodward thought
in his soul that her rosy shyness was the rarest manifestation of
loveliness to be seen in all the wide world. As she hovered a moment at
the gate, blushing and smiling, the old mountaineer turned the brim of
his hat back from his eyes and called out with a great pretence of
formal hospitality--

"Walk in an' rest yourselves; thes walk right in! Hit's lots too soon
in the season for the dogs to bite. Looks to me, Cap, like you hain't
so mighty tender wi' that 'ar hoss er your'n. Ef you uv rid 'im down to
Gullettsville an' back sence a while ago, he'll be a-needin' feed
thereckly. Thes come right in an' make yourselves at home."

Woodward laughed sheepishly, but Sis rushed across the yard, flung her
arms around Teague's neck, and fell to crying with a vehemence that
would have done credit to the most broken-hearted of damsels. The
grizzled old mountaineer gathered the girl to his bosom and stroked her
hair gently, as he had done a thousand times before. He looked at
Woodward with glistening eyes.

"Don't min' Sis, Cap. Sis hain't nothin' but a little bit of a slip of
a gal, an' sence the day she could toddle 'roun' an' holler--good news
or bad, mad er glad--she's bin a-runnin' an' havin' it out wi' her ole
pappy. Wimmen an' gals hain't like we all, Cap; they er mighty kuse.
She never pestered wi' Puss much," continued league, as his wife came
upon the scene, armed with the plaintive air of slouchiness, which is
at once the weapon and shield of women who believe that they are
martyrs--"she never pestered wi' Puss much, but, cry or laugh, fight or
frolic, she allers tuck it out on her ole pappy."

Puss asked no questions. She went and stood by Teague, and toyed gently
with one of Sis's curls.

"Sis don'