Mrs. Coyle and her sister-in-law did not agree on the subject of education. The latter’s family of boys had grown to man’s estate and married without having mastered the second reader. For once Sam Coyle did not come to his sister’s aid. Although he had no intention of allowing his children to return to school, he was swelling with pride at their changed appearance and his tongue was ready to wage a sharp battle in the cause of “larnin’.” Failing to secure an ally, the old dame prudently changed her tactics. “Hit air purty fair work,” she admitted in a conciliatory tone, scrutinizing the hem of Talitha’s gown. “But I don’t set much store by thet kind o’ goods; hit can’t hold a candle ter homespun when hit comes ter wear. If I war you, I’d put Tally ter the loom; she air old ’nough ter be larnin’ somethin’ of more ’count.” Talitha turned back to her dishes with a sigh. Martin had escaped Uncle Shad’s equally acrimonious tongue and gone to interview Squire Dodd. He did not return until the old couple had taken their departure. Gincy Gooch came over the very next afternoon. The dinner work was out of the way and Mrs. Coyle was spinning while Talitha sat on the doorstep at work on the “store goods” Martin had brought his mother for a new gown. Gincy watched the deft fingers wistfully. “Pappy says you-uns hev larned a heap of things,” she remarked. “And you’ve changed a sight; ’most ’pears ter me you ain’t Tally Coyle any more.” Talitha laughed. “Well, I am, and when you’ve been to Bentville a while you’ll change, too.” “Kin you reely read books right off ’thout spellin’ out the big words?” “Yes,” Talitha nodded, remembering her shortcomings of only a year ago. If she never went back to school how many things she had to be thankful for. “You’d like the singing, Gincy,” she said abruptly, “it’s so different from any music you ever heard.” “Diff’runt, how?” “Well, I’ll show you. Just begin some song and don’t get off the tune no matter what I sing.” “I ain’t never got off the tune yit,” reproved Gincy. She began in a clear, sweet voice “The Turkish Lady,” an old English ballad (one of many preserved for generations among the mountaineers). It ran thus: “Lord Bateman was in England born, He thought himself of a high degree; He could not rest or be contented Until he had voyaged across the sea.” Talitha joined Gincy in a mellow alto, and together the two sang verse after verse. The spinning wheel ceased to turn while the spinner listened to this new blending of voices, for the mountain people only sang the air. At the edge of the slope Sam Coyle heard it in amazement. The old ballad was familiar enough, but it had never sounded so beautiful. Gincy showed no surprise at the innovation. Her hands clasped in her lap she looked with large, dreamy eyes off to the green-topped hills lying peacefully against the shining sky. The echoes crept out of the silences and chanted the words softly over and over again.