"Would n't it have been just perfect if we could have had the pews repainted
before we laid the new carpet!"

"It would, indeed," the president answered; "but it will take us all winter to
pay for the present improvements, without any thought of fresh paint. If only
we had a few more men-folks to help along!"

"Or else none at all!" was Lobelia Brewster's suggestion. "It's havin' so few
that keeps us all stirred up. If there wa'n't any anywheres, we'd have women
deacons and carpenters and painters, and get along first rate; for somehow the
supply o' women always holds out, same as it does with caterpillars an' flies
an' grasshoppers!"

Everybody laughed, although Maria Sharp asserted that she for one was not
willing to be called a caterpillar simply because there were too many women in
the universe.

"I never noticed before how shabby and scarred and dirty the pews are," said
the minister's wife, as she looked at them reflectively.

"I've been thinking all the afternoon of the story about the poor old woman
and the lily," and Nancy Wentworth's clear voice broke into the discussion.
"Do you remember some one gave her a stalk of Easter lilies and she set them
in a glass pitcher on the kitchen table? After looking at them for a few
minutes, she got up from her chair and washed the pitcher until the glass
shone. Sitting down again, she glanced at the little window. It would never
do; she had forgotten how dusty and blurred it was, and she took her cloth and
burnished the panes. Then she scoured the table, then the floor, then
blackened the stove before she sat down to her knitting. And of course the