Keelers went weeping to Grandma afterward, and were remodeled by her
all-comforting hand with much skill and patience.

In the midst of her preparations for breakfast, Madeline abruptly
assumed her hat and shawl, and was seen from the window, walking
leisurely across the fields in the direction of the woods. 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! a-hem! 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 perfessor, too, and thar' ain't been a
single Sunday mornin' since I've lived with ye, pa, summer or winter,