"Now the first thing," said Grandma, looking her forlorn captive over;
"is boots. Go and get on yer meetin' gaiters, pa."
The old gentleman, having dutifully invested himself, with those sacred
relics, came pathetically limping into the room.
"I declare, ma," said he; "somehow these things--phew! Somehow they
pinch my feet dreadfully. I don't know what it is,--phew! They're
dreadful oncomf'table things somehow."
"Since I've known ye, pa," solemnly ejaculated Grandma Keeler, "you've
never had a pair o' meetin' boots that set easy on yer feet. You'd ought
to get boots big enough for ye, pa," she continued, looking down
disapprovingly on the old gentleman's pedal extremities, which resembled
two small scows at anchor in black cloth encasements: "and not be so
proud as to go to pinchin' yer feet into gaiters a number o' sizes too
small for ye."
"They're number tens, I tell ye!" roared Grandpa nettled outrageously by
this cutting taunt.
"Wall, thar', now, pa," said Grandma, soothingly; "if I had sech feet as
that, I wouldn't go to spreadin' it all over town, if I was you--but
it's time we stopped bickerin' now, husband, and got ready for meetin';
so set down and let me wash yer head.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70