descendants to perpetuate their labours, 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 didn't intend to sit through meeting on winter Sundays, with
her white ostrich feather turning grey and her eyes smarting and
watering, for the rest of her natural life.

Whereupon, this being in a business session, she then and there proposed
to her already hypnotized constituents ways of earning enough money to