The Old Peabody Pew: A Christmas Romance of a Country Church


Dedication


To a certain handful of dear New England women of names unknown to the
world, dwelling in a certain quiet village, alike unknown:--

We have worked together to make our little corner of the great universe a
pleasanter place in which to live, and so we know, not only one another's
names, but something of one another's joys and sorrows, cares and
burdens, economies, hopes, and anxieties.

We all remember the dusty uphill road that leads to the green church
common. We remember the white spire pointing upward against a background
of blue sky and feathery elms. We remember the sound of the bell that
falls on the Sabbath morning stillness, calling us across the
daisy-sprinkled meadows of June, the golden hayfields of July, or the
dazzling whiteness and deep snowdrifts of December days. The little
cabinet-organ that plays the doxology, the hymn-books from which we sing
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow," the sweet freshness of the old
meeting-house, within and without--how we have toiled to secure and
preserve these humble mercies for ourselves and our children!

There really _is_ a Dorcas Society, as you and I well know, and one not
unlike that in these pages; and you and I have lived through many
discouraging, laughable, and beautiful experiences while we emulated the
Bible Dorcas, that woman "full of good works and alms deeds."