" And Mrs. Day, having shut up her husband as was her
bounden duty as a wife and a Christian, tied her bonnet strings a
little tighter and looked distinctly pleased with herself.
"Abel ain't startin' any new gossip," was Aunt Abby's opinion, as
she sprung to his rescue. "One or two more holes in a colander
don't make much dif'rence.--Bartholomew, we're certainly goin' to
be late this mornin'; we're about the last team on the road"; and
Aunt Abby glanced nervously behind. "Elder Boone ain't begun the
openin' prayer, though, or we should know it. You can hear him
pray a mile away, when the wind's right. I do hate to be late to
meetin'. The Elder allers takes notice; the folks in the wing
pews allers gapes an' stares, and the choir peeks through the
curtain, takin' notes of everything you've got on your back. I
hope to the land they'll chord and keep together a little mite
better 'n they've done lately, that's all I can say! If the Lord
is right in our midst as the Bible says, He can't think much of
our singers this summer!"
"They're improvin', now that Pliny Waterhouse plays his fiddle,"
Mrs. Day remarked pacifically. "There was times in the anthem
when they kept together consid'able well last Sunday.
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