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"Not for worlds!" exclaimed Everett as he sat down on an upturned peck measure in close proximity to the barrel. "Have you decided to have Mrs. Poteet and Mrs. Sniffer swap er puppies, Stonie?" he further remarked. "No, I didn't," answered Stonie with one of his rare smiles which made him so like Rose Mary that Everett's heart glowed within him.
Poteet had put off the task of the wash until a later day of the week and thus could make her visit with a mind unharrassed by the vision of suds boiling over on the stove and soap melting in the tub.
It was a case of civilisation or no civilisation, and there is nothing more notorious in history nothing more mysterious than the fact that civilisation is not over-nice in the choice of her handmaidens. One day it is war, another it is slavery. Every step in the advancement of the human race has a paradox of some kind as a basis. In the case of Sis Poteet, it was whisky.
"My gal-baby keeps up sich a hollerin' I can't hear my own years." "Oh!" "You better b'lieve! Nine hours ole, an' mighty peart. What's them Restercrats in the valley cuttin' up the'r scollops fer?" "Whoopin' up sesaysion. Sou' Ca'liny done plum gone out, an' Georgy a-gwine." Teague Poteet blew a long, thin cloud of home-made tobacco-smoke heavenward, leaned back heavily in his chair, and replied
Poteet remarked after it was all over, "They wer'n't a bobble frum beginnin' to en';" and when the wedding party started down the mountain in the early hours of the morning to take conveyances at Gullettsville for the railroad station, thirty miles away, Uncle Jake Norris was sober enough to stand squarely on his feet as he held Sis's hand. "Ez St. Paul says, I prophesy in perportion to my faith.
Unlike the typical American girl, whose sweetly severe portraits smile serenely at us from the canvas of contemporary fiction, Miss Poteet would have been far from equal to the task of meeting all the requirements of perfectly organised society; but she could scarcely have been placed in a position in which her natural brightness and vivacity would not have attracted attention.
"I tell you, Rose Mamie," said the General, instantly, again sympathetically alarmed, "I'd better come over in your bed and go to sleep. You can put your head on my shoulder and if you cry, getting me wet will wake me up to keep care of you agin, 'cause I am so sleepy now if you was to holler louder than Tucker Poteet I wouldn't wake up no more."
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.
Poteet up and down as if it were the handle of the town pump. "I must be sure to have an introduction to the young man. Want to meet all the voters," he added, shaking out the smile veil with energy. And at this very opportune moment he looked down the Road and espied a procession of presentation approaching.
Young Tucker Poteet waked at daylight and howled dismally with a pain that seemed to be all over and then in spots. When he went to take down the store shutters Mr. Crabtree smashed one of his large, generous-spreading thumbs and Mrs. Rucker's breakfast eggs burned to a cinder state while she tied it up in camphor for him.
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