The Old Peabody Pew | Page 7

all dry!"
"But how about the pews?" interrupted Mrs. Burbank. "I think Nancy's
idea is splendid, and I want to see it carried out. We might make it a
picnic, bring our luncheons, and work all together; let every woman in
the congregation come and scrub her own pew."
"Some are too old, others live at too great a distance," and the minister's
wife sighed a little; "indeed, most of those who once owned the pews or
sat in them seemed to be dead, or gone away to live in busier places."
"I've no patience with 'em, gallivantin' over the earth," and here Lobelia
rose and shook the carpet threads from her lap. "I shouldn't want to live
in a livelier place than Edgewood, seem's though! We wash and hang
out Mondays, iron Tuesdays, cook Wednesdays, clean house and mend
Thursdays and Fridays, bake Saturdays, and go to meetin' Sundays. I
don't hardly see how they can do any more 'n that in Chicago!"
"Never mind if we have lost members!" said the indomitable Mrs.
Burbank. "The members we still have left must work all the harder.
We'll each clean our own pew, then take a few of our neighbours', and
then hire Mrs. Simpson to do the wainscoting and floor. Can we scrub
Friday and lay the carpet Saturday? My husband and Deacon Miller can

help us at the end of the week. All in favour manifest it by the usual
sign. Contrary minded? It is a vote."
There never were any contrary minded when Mrs. Jere Burbank was in
the chair. Public sentiment in Edgewood was swayed by the Dorcas
Society, but Mrs. Burbank swayed the Dorcases themselves as the wind
sways the wheat.
CHAPTER II

The old Meeting House wore an animated aspect when the eventful
Friday came, a cold, brilliant, sparkling December day, with good
sleighing, and with energy in every breath that swept over the dazzling
snowfields. The sexton had built a fire in the furnace on the way to his
morning work--a fire so economically contrived that it would last
exactly the four or five necessary hours, and not a second more. At
eleven o'clock all the pillars of the society had assembled, having
finished their own household work and laid out on their respective
kitchen tables comfortable luncheons for the men of the family, if they
were fortunate enough to number any among their luxuries. Water was
heated upon oil-stoves set about here and there, and there was a brave
array of scrubbing-brushes, cloths, soap, and even sand and soda, for it
had been decided and
manifested-by-the-usual-sign-and-no-contrary-minded-and-it-was-a-
vote that the dirt was to come off, whether the paint came with it or not.
Each of the fifteen women present selected a block of seats, preferably
one in which her own was situated, and all fell busily to work.
"There is nobody here to clean the right-wing pews," said Nancy
Wentworth, "so I will take those for my share."
"You're not making a very wise choice, Nancy," and the minister's wife
smiled as she spoke. "The infant class of the Sunday-school sits there,
you know, and I expect the paint has had extra wear and tear. Families
don't seem to occupy those pews regularly nowadays."

"I can remember when every seat in the whole church was filled, wings
an' all," mused Mrs. Sargent, wringing out her wascloth in a
reminiscent mood. "The one in front o' you, Nancy, was always called
the 'deef pew' in the old times, and all the folks that was hard o' hearin'
used to congregate there."
"The next pew hasn't been occupied since I came here," said the
minister's wife.
"No," answered Mrs. Sargent, glad of any opportunity to retail
neighbourhood news. "'Squire Bean's folks have moved to Portland to
be with the married daughter. Somebody has to stay with her, and her
husband won't. The 'Squire ain't a strong man, and he's most too old to
go to meetin' now. The youngest son has just died in New York, so I
hear."
"What ailed him?" inquired Maria Sharp.
"I guess he was completely wore out takin' care of his health," returned
Mrs. Sargent. "He had a splendid constitution from a boy, but he was
always afraid it wouldn't last him.--The seat back o' 'Squire Bean's is
the old Peabody pew--ain't that the Peabody pew you're scrubbin',
Nancy?"
"I believe so," Nancy answered, never pausing in her labours. "It's so
long since anybody sat there, it's hard to remember."
"It is the Peabodys', I know it, because the aisle runs right up facin' it. I
can see old Deacon Peabody settin' in this end same as if 'twas
yesterday."
"He had died before Jere and I came back here to live," said Mrs.
Burbank. "The first I remember, Justin Peabody