“She’s twelve, an’ that’s nigh to a woman. Cleve Saunders kain’t pass our place now ’thout peekin’ fer Evvie.” I expected Evvie to drop her head or wriggle behind a chair; but her chiselled chin was high, and her eyes darkened as easily as twilight water. She was the traditional woman accepting her rôle. Mrs. Kane’s glance swerved again to the typewriter, and her heart tumbled out as she said: “I been thinkin’ maybe you could learn Evvie to write on that.” “If she is so much help to you,” I answered, snatching at the first defense, “why not keep her at home until she is married?” “That’s jest the trouble--her marryin’. She’ll disapp’int any boy ’round here. They all expect a woman to take a hand in makin’ the livin’, through crap-time anyway. An’ Evvie kain’t hold out. If she could learn to work on _that_, an’ git a job in town, like as not some boy out there ’ud take a notion to her, an’ town boys don’t want their wives to work. ’Tain’t expected of ’em to do more’n the cookin’ an’ housework an’ sewin’, an’ that ’ud be easy for Evvie.” Evvie had stepped into the yard. It was a habit with her, I found, to vanish as if for charming asides with herself and to reappear with no sign of absence upon her. I reminded her mother that there might be children to care for in addition to the occupations mentioned. “’Course there would, but she’d have _them_ anywheres, an’ she’d better have ’em where life’s easier’n it is here.” “No doubt. What is her school grade?” “She’s got to the fourth reader. But she ain’t peart in her books, though she’s so smart-lookin’.” Three years glowed in respite, and my voice warmed in reply. “Bring her to me when she finishes the seventh grade, and I’ll see.” The mother’s face grew long. “She ain’t fitten’ fer school,” she said. “She’s had to quit, ’count o’ that wheezin’ ’at ketches her when she climbs up the mountain. Her poppie had to meet her half-way down ever’ day an’ carry her up on his back. She’s too big fer that now, an’ he says he reckons she knows enough. He’s awful proud o’ Evvie. An’ she’s as smart as Annie Dills who learned to write on one o’ them things an’s makin’ twelve dollars a week in Asheville.” I held out that skill on the machine would be useless without a little schooling behind it. Evvie, who had shown no interest in her future, revealed no disappointment. She was a flower and had implicit faith in the sun. But there was a touch of desperation in Mrs. Kane’s voice as she took her leave. I tried to believe with Evvie in the reliability of sunshine. A year later Evvie was “talkin’ to” Cleve Saunders. He was a good boy who had here and there learned the carpenter’s trade. Occasionally he would go to Asheville to work on a job, and then a weekly letter would come to Evvie. I approved of Cleve, but Evvie was only thirteen, and though vividly and perfectly moulded as a woman, she was small for her years. I protested to Mrs. Kane.