“We’ve done everything else,” said Nancy Wentworth, with a twitch of her thread; “why don’t we scrub the pews?  There’s nothing in the orthodox creed to forbid, is there?”

“Speakin’ o’ creeds,” and here old Mrs. Sargent paused in her work, “Elder Ransom from Acreville stopped with us last night, an’ he tells me they recite the Euthanasian Creed every few Sundays in the Episcopal Church.  I didn’t want him to know how ignorant I was, but I looked up the word in the dictionary.  It means easy death, and I can’t see any sense in that, though it’s a terrible long creed, the Elder says, an’ if it’s any longer ‘n ourn, I should think anybody might easy die learnin’ it!”

“I think the word is Athanasian,” ventured the minister’s wife.

“Elder Ransom’s always plumb full o’ doctrine,” asserted Miss Brewster, pursuing the subject.  “For my part, I’m glad he preferred Acreville to our place.  He was so busy bein’ a minister, he never got round to bein’ a human creeter.  When he used to come to sociables and picnics, always lookin’ kind o’ like the potato blight, I used to think how complete he’d be if he had a foldin’ pulpit under his coat tails; they make foldin’ beds nowadays, an’ I s’pose they could make foldin’ pulpits, if there was a call.”

“Land sakes, I hope there won’t be!” exclaimed Mrs. Sargent.  “An’ the Elder never said much of anything either, though he was always preachin’!  Now your husband, Mis’ Baxter, always has plenty to say after you think he’s all through.  There’s water in his well when the others is 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.”