life, he declared himself pleased to Settle as Soon as might be Judged
Convenient."

But that was a hundred and fifty years ago, and much has happened since
those simple, strenuous old days. The chastening hand of time has been
laid somewhat heavily on the town as well as on the church. Some of
her sons have marched to the wars and died on the field of honor; some,
seeking better fortunes, have gone westward; others, wearying of village
life, the rocky soil, and rigors of farm-work, have become entangled
in the noise and competition, the rush and strife, of cities. When the
sexton rings the bell nowadays, on a Sunday morning, it seems to have
lost some of its old-time militant strength, something of its hope and
courage; but it still rings, and although the Davids and Solomons,
the Matthews, Marks, and Pauls of former congregations have left few
descendants to perpetuate their labors, it will go on ringing as long as
there is a Tabitha, a Dorcas, a Lois, or a Eunice left in the community.

This sentiment had been maintained for a quarter of a century, but it
was now especially strong, as the old Tory Hill Meeting-House had been
undergoing for several years more or less extensive repairs. In point
of fact, the still stronger word, "improvements," might be used
with impunity; though whenever the Dorcas Society, being female, and
therefore possessed of notions regarding comfort and beauty, suggested
any serious changes, the finance committees, which were inevitably
male in their composition, generally disapproved of making any impious
alterations in a tabernacle, chapel, temple, or any other building used
for purposes of worship. The majority in these august bodies asserted
that their ancestors had prayed and sung there for a century and a
quarter, and what was good enough for their ancestors was entirely
suitable for them. Besides, the community was becoming less and less
prosperous, and church-going was growing more and more lamentably
uncommon, so that even from a business standpoint, any sums expended
upon decoration by a poor and struggling parish would be worse than
wasted.

In the particular year under discussion in this story, the valiant
and progressive Mrs. Jeremiah Burbank was the president of the Dorcas
Society, and she remarked privately and publicly that if her ancestors
liked a smoky church, they had a perfect right to the enjoyment of it,
but that she did n't intend to sit through meeting on winter Sunda