This met with Aunt Melvy's instant disapproval.
"For mercy sake, git out ob my way!" she cried, as she squeezed past the ironing-board to get to the stove.

"I'll press yer pants, ef you'll jus' take yourself outen de kitchen.

Be sure don't burn 'em?
Look a-heah, chile; I was pressin' pants 'fore yer paw was wearin' 'em!" Aunt Melvy's temper was a thing not to be trifled with when a "protracted meeting" was in session.

For years she had been the black sheep in the spiritual fold.

Her earnest desire to get religion and the untiring efforts of the exhorters had alike proved futile.