Something of all this must have made itself felt on the mountain, for one day Teague Poteet pushed his wide-brimmed wool hat from over his eyes, with an air of astonishment. Puss had just touched upon a very important matter. "I reckon in reason," she said, "we oughter pack Sis off to school some'rs. She'll thes nat'ally spile here." "Hain't you larnt her how to read an' write an' cipher?" asked Teague. "I started in," said Mrs. Poteet, "but, Lord! I hain't more'n opened a book tell she know'd mor'n I dast to know ef I wuz gwine to die fer it. Hit'll take somebody lots smarter'n' stronger'n me." Teague laughed, and then relapsed into seriousness. After a while he called Sis. The girl came running in, her dark eyes flashing, her black hair bewitchingly tangled, and her cheeks flushing with a colour hitherto unknown to the mountain. "What now, pap?" "I wuz thes a-thinkin' ef maybe you oughtn't to bresh up an' start to school down in Gullettsville." "O pap!" the girl exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. She was about to spring upon Teague and give him a severe hugging, when suddenly her arms dropped to her side, the flush died out of her face, and she flopped herself down upon a chair. Teague paid no attention to this. "Yes, siree," he continued, as if pursuing a well-developed line of argument; "when a gal gits ez big ez you is, she hain't got no business to be a-gwine a-whoopin' an' a-hollerin' an' a-rantin' an' a-rompin' acrost the face er the yeth. The time's done come when they oughter be tuck up an' made a lady out'n; an' the nighest way is to sen' 'em to school. That's whar you a-gwine--down to Gullettsville to school." "I shan't, an' I won't--I won't, I won't, I _won't!_" exclaimed Sis, clenching her hands and stamping her feet. "I'll die first." Teague had never seen her so excited, "Why, what's the matter, Sis?" he asked with unfeigned concern. Sis gave him a withering look. "Pap, do you reckon I'm fool enough to traipse down to Gullettsville an' mix with them people, wearin' cloze like these? Do you reckon I'm fool enough to make myself the laughin'-stock for them folks?" Teague Poteet was not a learned man, but he was shrewd enough to see that the Mountain had a new problem to solve. He took down his rifle, whistled up his dogs, and tramped skyward. As he passed out through his horse-lot, a cap and worm of a whisky-still lying in the corner of the fence attracted his attention. He paused, and turned the apparatus over with his foot. It was old and somewhat battered. "I'll thes about take you," said Teague, with a chuckle, "an' set up a calico-factory. I'll heat you up an' make you spin silk an' split it into ribbens."