Dab's feet had always been a mystery and a trial to him.

If his memory contained one record darker than another, it was the endless history of his misadventures with boots and shoes.

He and leather had been at war from the day he left his creeping-clothes until now.

But now he was promised a pair of shoes that would be sure to fit.
So the question of Dab's personal appearance at the wedding was all arranged between him and Ham; and Miranda smiled more sweetly than ever before upon the latter, after she had heard her usually silent brother break out so enthusiastically about him as he did that evening.
It was a good thing for that wedding, that it took place in fine summer weather; for neither kith, kin, nor acquaintances had been slighted in the invitations, and the Kinzers were one of the "oldest families." To have gathered them all under the roof of that house, without either stretching it out wider or boiling the guests down, would have been out of the question; and so the majority, with Dabney in his new clothes to keep them countenance, stood out in the cool shade of the grand old trees during the ceremony, which was performed near the open door; and were afterwards served with the refreshments in a style which spoke volumes for Mrs.Kinzer's good management, as well as for her hospitality.
The only drawback to Dab's happiness that day was that his acquaintances hardly seemed to know him.

He had had almost the same trouble with himself, when he looked in the glass that morning.
Ordinarily, his wrists were several inches through his coat-sleeves, and his ankles made a perpetual show of his stockings.