She returned in due time,
bearing an armful of fresh evergreens, which she twisted around the
family register.
When the ancient couple made their appearance, I remarked silently, in
regard to Grandma Keeler's hair, what proved afterward to be its usual
holiday morning arrangement. It was confined in six infinitesimal braids
which appeared to be sprouting out, perpendicularly, in all directions
from her head. The effect of redundancy and expansiveness thus heightened
and increased on Grandma's features was striking in the extreme.
While we were eating breakfast, that good soul observed to Grandpa
Keeler: "Wall, pa, I suppose you'll be all ready when the time comes to
take teacher and me over to West Wallen to Sunday school, won't ye?"
Grandpa coughed, and coughed again, and raised his eyes helplessly to the
window.
"Looks some like showers," said he. "A-hem! ahem! Looks mightily to me
like showers, over yonder."
"Thar', r'aly, husband! I must say I feel mortified for ye," said
Grandma. "Seein' as you're a professor, too, and thar' ain't been a
single Sunday mornin' since I've lived with ye, pa, summer or winter, but
what you've seen showers, and it r'aly seems to me it's dreadful
inconsistent when thar' ain't no cloud in the sky, and don't look no more
like rain than I do.
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