e
wheat.

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 washcloth 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 has n't been occupied since I came here," said the
minister's wife.

"No," answered Mrs. Sargent, glad of any opportunity to retail
neighborhood 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 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 af