Pretty soon Grandma was at the back door calling in firm though
persuasive tones:

"Husband! husband! come in, now, and get ready."

No answer. Then it was in another key, weighty, yet expressive of no
weak irritation, that Grandma called "Come, pa! pa-a! pa-a-a!" Still no
answer.

Then that voice of Grandma's sung out like a trumpet, terrible with
meaning--"Bijonah Keeler!"

But Grandpa appeared not. Next, I saw Grandma slowly but surely
gravitating in the direction of the barn, and soon she returned,
bringing with her that ancient delinquent, who looked like a lost sheep
indeed and a truly unreconciled one.

"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