A REVOLUTION IN PLUMVILLE.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 41, 6 January 1894, Page 14

A REVOLUTION IN PLUMVILLE.

Plumville “ foh de wah ” was an ■uninteresting village lying in a remote valley of a New England agricultural district. If the soil was thin, the rocks were thick —so thick, indeed, that it was a grim joke that a shotgun was needed to get the seed-corn into the first and between the second. Owing to this bed rock, the drainage 'was poor, andwhat the drought spared, sudden showers swept away. All the young men went West, the old shoemaker had moved away, and even the minister had departed, leaving a monumental pair of crossed poles to bar the entrance of the meetin’- | house. And yet these natives—New England men and women-—were not lacking in shrewdness and commonsense. They were simply discouraged. With all their hard labour, they ! had not gone beyond the bare neces- j ities of life. They had no amuse- ! ments, no expectations, no hope. The j women had no time to sit down, hut ! spent their days cooking and washing in the kitchens. In the spring of 1880 old Mr. Elkins fell sick. His wife had just died, and he had no children. It was an added burden to the weary neighbours, who felt they must “ do ” for the old man. At the best it was fragmentary service, and the individual was alone many hours out of every twentyfour. The relief was great, therefore, when somehow or other a nephew’s i

widow, or a cousin’s daughter, appeared as nurse and housekeeper. She brought a niece with her —a slip of a freckled girl about sixteen years old, whose name was Milly French. Milly assumed the care of the chickens, milked the cow, fed Towser, and as she came and went about these duties the neighbours -wondered to hear her singing like a happy bird. She threw open the front blinds and let the sunlight sacrilegiously stream through the -windows ; she even set the sacred front door ajar, and sat on the door-steps on pleasant afternoons with her knitting-work. If the sunset were very gorgeous, she was seen with idle hands. The spindling glass was sheared off, so that the gate would swing back easily. “ It is enough to make Mis’ Elkins turn in her grave.” said neighbour Flint.

As the summer advanced, all unconscious of Plumville etiquette and conventionalit} 1 -, Milly wandered in the fields hunting for orchids, or took long w-alks to Bacon’s woods, fetching her basket full of plants which she industriously transplanted in the virgin soil of the Elkins front yard. “ Well, I never !” said Mrs Flint, as she peeped through an opportune crevice in her-side window. “What won’t she do next ?”

But Millj watered her honeysuckles, propped up her daisies, put rich loam into the sandy waste, and was rewarded by hundreds of blossoms. When the hens scratched up her treasures, she contrived an enclosure of palings that circumscribed their operations. By-and-hye she added a trellis for a wild rose-bush, and a Jong tent of twine for her fluffy wood-clematis. Little by little the small house, unpainted, but tinted a soft, silvery, weatherbeaten gray, began to outline its windows in bright green, and to throw woodbine garlands all over the homely porch. Season after season went by. Milly now had seeds and cuttings to give away. She carried bouquets to the sick, potted a root for a friend, brought a jar of mignonette from Lincoln, or received a package of seeds from a florist. It thus came to pass that every house in Plumville soon boasted a flower-bed, and in winter every kitchen had at least one window full of petunias or geraniums, the steam of cooking or washing causing them to grow wonderfully. Cold frames for pansies were manufactured ; even strawberries and asparagus were attempted. And that these improveTuents might not fail, the land about the house was drained, low branches lopped off, the sink nozzle extended to a safe distance, till light and air and dryness came to these denizens of the kitchen. You would not have known Plumville. Why, the shoemaker, who had come back to stay, pretended he Lad never seen it before. It was rumoured that a baker’s cart would come over from Lincoln once a week, and on the strength of it the postmaster cleared off: a shelf and drove six nails in the loose door-steps. But this Plumville boom is far ahead of my story. Long- before the flowers had begun to be very common there, Milly French puzzled much over the unused church. One day she g'ot the key' and went in. Though it was August, the interior was cold and damp, almost like a cellar. Cobwebs hung from the two long stove-pipes that extended the whole length of the building. Torn hymn-books were lying about, and several windowpanes were broken. A general air of desolation pervaded the place. Milly sat for a long time thinking, thinking. Then she walked very quickly to Mrs Flint’s, who lived near by. “ Oh, Mrs Flint, isn’t it disg-raceful to have our meeting-house shut up ?” she cried on entering. “ La, child, what should it be open for P” asked Mrs Flint in amazement. “ Why, to have a minister, as they r do at Lincoln, and every-where else but just here in Plumville.” “ There’s no use talkin’, Milly-; we

haven’t any money, nor any public spirit.” “ If you’ll help me, I’ll have that church open next Sunday,” cried Milly. “Me ! What can I do ? ” sighed poor Mrs Flint, aghast. “ If you get your husband to mow the grass and sweep out, I’ll do the rest.” “ I don’t believe he can.” “ Yes, he can, if he has a mind to. It wouldn’t take an hour,” asserted Milly. “ Well, I’ll ask him, but I know he wont.” “ Oh, don’t ash him; tell him he must,” said Milly, decidedly. After much protest Mr Flint agreed to cut a few swaths in front of the church door, but no persuasion could induce him to attack the cobwebs inside. Anotice in a femininehandappeared on the post-office door, and another was nailed to the big elm (the natives called it ellurn ) at “ the Corners ” to the effect that “ Sunday, August 28th, D.V., there will be services in the Congregational church. All are invited.” Old men put on their spectacles and read these notices slowly through usually aloud, and also usually said, “ I declar’ for’t!” Ho one could tell anybody anything further ; but the farmers dro’ve back to their lonely homes with a pleasant thrill of anticipation. Something was going to happen at last in Plumville. The women, when they heard, were much excited. The most dissipated among them had never seen a circus or a minstrel show since they were very young ; that was so long ago it did not seem as if they saw it. Some pious souls had sorely missed “ religious privileges,” and all had felt the need of a gregarious motive. This news was wonderful. Miss Bacon perked up and got her “ alapacca ” gown out of the camphor “ chist to baste fresh lace at the wrists.” Mrs Smith went to “ talk it over ” with Miss Brown, and staid to tea —an unheard-of self-indulgence. Half the women (exactly four) at “the Corners” harnessed up and drove to “ the Centre ” to learn if pai--ticulars were forthcoming. There were the two notices in a feminine hand ; there was a freshly cut path to the church door, and the crossbars were down ; that was all. Curiosity was at a tremendous pitch. On Sunday morning, August 28th, the farmers for five miles around came over the hills and plunged down into Plumville valley. The horse-shed was full of “ teams ; ” every hitchingpost was in use. Even Deacon Bird was on time, marshalling his numerous progeny down the aisle, quite unconscious (as all good men are) of the makeshifts in their attire, called thus suddenly to do duty as Sunday-go-fo meeting clothes. The soft summer air swayed the long cobwebs depending from the rusty stove-pipes, and blew out the musty taint of mouldy months.

It was half past ten. Perfect silence reiffned in the little bare church. Some grey heads were bent forward, as befitting the place, hut lively eyes glanced over the spectacles *in eager expectation. A few women shaded their eyes with coarsened hands in a pretence of being in prayer, but even then, a profound alertness was visible. Then this happened; Milly French rose and came forward to the communion table, upon which stood a basket of lovely ferns and late X’oses. She looked serious, but not at all frightened. She read a psalm in a clear voice, gave out a hymn, which was sung by three elderly women in the front pew, then she opened a book and read Pbillijxs Brooks’s sermon from the text, “ Comfort ye my people.” It can be imagined, perhaps, how these sympathetic words chained the attention and touched the hearts of all present. It w'as a pretty sight, and never to be forgotten by those w r ho saw it. At the close the Doxology was given with a will. And thus D.V., the Plnmville church wan reopened on Sunday morning, August 28th, and it has never been closed

since. That was years ago, but Milly French still reads a sermon there every Sunday morning. She has educated that people far beyond their means to pay for. They invite no* no candidate to their pulpit. They are familiar with the great preachers: of the world. Some incline to. episcopacy, and do not see “ how you? can get around the laying on o* hands.” Some are Beecherites j others agree with Channing. Dean. Stanley and and Canon Farrar have a following. .Robertson and Maurice are admired and loved. No creed, binds their bonsciences, no formulated vow restrains them. They range over spiritual truths as presented by different and differing minds. Earnest discussion and zealous argument show on occasion unusual thoughtfulness, and cultivation.

Thanks to Milly French, Plumville, a bower of vines and flowers, is one of the prettiest of small villages physically, while for spiritual and intellectual training it is one of the most advanced.—Selected.