"Why did you ask him not to shoot the pigeons?" said Aunt Mercy. "If
you had said nothing, he would not have done, it."

"He is a disagreeable relation," I answered, "and I am glad he is a
tailor."

Aunt Mercy reproved me; but the loss of the pigeons vexed her. Perhaps
grand'ther thought so, for that night he asked after her geraniums,
and told her that a gardener had promised him some fine slips for
her. She looked pleased, but did not thank him. There was already a
beautiful stand of flowers in the middle room, which was odorous the
year round with their perfume.

The weather was now cold, and we congregated about the fire; for there
was no other comfortable room in the house. One afternoon, when I
was digging in Aunt Mercy's geranium pots, and picking off the dead
leaves, two deacons came to visit grand'ther, and, hovering over the
fire with him, complained of the lukewarmness of the church brethren
in regard to the spiritual condition of the Society. A shower of grace
was needed; there were reviving symptoms in some of the neighboring
churches, but none in Barmouth. Something must be done--a fast day
appointed, or especial prayer-meetings held. This was on Saturday;
the next day the ceremony of the Lord's Supper would take place, and
grand'ther recommended that the minister should be asked to suggest
something to the church which might remove it from its hardness.

"Are the vessels scoured, Mercy?" he asked, after the deacons had
gone.