The Old Peabody Pew | Page 8

sat in the end seat; the
sister that died, next, and in the corner, against the wall, Mrs. Peabody,
with a crepe shawl and a palmleaf fan. They were a handsome family.
You used to sit with them sometimes, Nancy; Esther was great friends
with you."

"Yes, she was," Nancy replied, lifting the tattered cushion from its
place and brushing it; "and I with her.--What is the use of scrubbing
and carpeting, when there are only twenty pew-cushions and six
hassocks in the whole church, and most of them ragged? How can I
ever mend this?"
"I shouldn't trouble myself to darn other people's cushions!"
This unchristian sentiment came in Mrs. Miller's ringing tones from the
rear of the church.
"I don't know why," argued Maria Sharp. "I'm going to mend my Aunt
Achsa's cushion, and we haven't spoken for years; but hers is the next
pew to mine, and I'm going to have my part of the church look decent,
even if she is too stingy to do her share. Besides, there aren't any
Peabodys left to do their own darning, and Nancy was friends with
Esther."
"Yes, it's nothing more than right," Nancy replied, with a note of relief
in her voice, "considering Esther."
"Though he don't belong to the scrubbin' sex, there is one Peabody
alive, as you know, if you stop to think, Maria; for Justin's alive, and
livin' out West somewheres. At least, he's as much alive as ever he was;
he was as good as dead when he was twenty- one, but his mother was
always too soft-hearted to bury him."
There was considerable laughter over this sally of the outspoken Mrs.
Sargent, whose keen wit was the delight of the neighbourhood.
"I know he's alive and doing business in Detroit, for I got his address a
week or ten days ago, and wrote, asking him if he'd like to give a
couple of dollars toward repairing the old church."
Everybody looked at Mrs. Burbank with interest.
"Hasn't he answered?" asked Maria Sharp.

Nancy Wentworth held her breath, turned her face to the wall, and
silently wiped the paint of the wainscoting. The blood that had rushed
into her cheeks at Mrs. Sargent's jeering reference to Justin Peabody
still lingered there for any one who ran to read, but fortunately nobody
ran; they were too busy scrubbing.
"Not yet. Folks don't hurry about answering when you ask them for a
contribution," replied the president, with a cynicism common to
persons who collect funds for charitable purposes. "George Wickham
sent me twenty-five cents from Denver. When I wrote him a receipt, I
said thank you same as Aunt Polly did when the neighbours brought
her a piece of beef: 'Ever so much obleeged, but don't forget me when
you come to kill a pig.'--Now, Mrs. Baxter, you shan't clean James
Bruce's pew, or what was his before he turned Second Advent. I'll do
that myself, for he used to be in my Sunday-school class."
"He's the backbone o' that congregation now," asserted Mrs. Sargent,
"and they say he's goin' to marry Mrs. Sam Peters, who sings in their
choir as soon as his year is up. They make a perfect fool of him in that
church."
"You can't make a fool of a man that nature ain't begun with," argued
Miss Brewster. "Jim Bruce never was very strong-minded, but I declare
it seems to me that when men lose their wives, they lose their wits! I
was sure Jim would marry Hannah Thompson that keeps house for him.
I suspected she was lookin' out for a life job when she hired out with
him."
"Hannah Thompson may keep Jim's house, but she'll never keep Jim,
that's certain!" affirmed the president; "and I can't see that Mrs. Peters
will better herself much."
"I don't blame her, for one!" came in no uncertain tones from the
left-wing pews, and the Widow Buzzell rose from her knees and
approached the group by the pulpit. "If there's anything duller than
cookin' three meals a day FOR yourself, and settin' down and eatin' 'em
BY yourself, and then gettin' up and clearin' 'em away AFTER yourself,
I'd like to know it! I shouldn't want any good- lookin', pleasant-spoken

man to offer himself to me without he expected to be snapped up, that's
all! But if you've made out to get one husband in York County, you can
thank the Lord and not expect any more favours. I used to think Tom
was poor comp'ny and complain I couldn't have any conversation with
him, but land, I could talk at him, and there's considerable comfort in
that. And I could pick up after him! Now every room in my house is
clean, and every closet and bureau drawer, too; I can't start drawin' in