He had n't worn the turn-out for a couple of years, and, of course, had
grown out of it, but this did n't seem to strike him. He tugged and
fumbled till he lost patience; then he sat on the bed and railed at the
women, and wished that the shirt and the collar, and the church-service
and the parson, were in Heaven. Mother offered to fasten the collar, but
when she took hold of it--forgetting that her hands were covered with
dough and things--Dave flew clean off the handle! And when Sal advised
him to wear his coloured shirt, same as Dad was going to do, and reminded
him that Mary Anderson might n't come at all, he aimed a pillow at her and
knocked Little Bill under the table, and scattered husks all over the
floor. Then he fled to the barn and refused dinner.
Mid-day, and Dad's pants not found. We searched inside and outside and
round about the pig-sty, and the hay-stack, and the cow-yard; and eyed the
cows, and the pet kangaroo, and the draught-horses with suspicion; but saw
nothing of the pants. Dad was angry, but had to make the most of an old
pair of Dave's through the legs of which Dad thrust himself a lot too far.
Mother and Sal said he looked well enough in them, but laughed when he
went outside.
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