The Exeter church people were always quarrelling among themselves and carrying their quarrels to the courts of the church. The very name of Exeter gave the members of presbytery the cold creeps. But the Putney church people never quarrelled.
Danbridge church was in a chronic3 state of ministerlessness. No minister ever stayed in Danbridge longer than he could help. The people were too critical, and they were also noted4 heresy5 hunters. Good ministers fought shy of Danbridge, and poor ones met with a chill welcome. The harassed6 presbytery, worn out with "supplying," were disposed to think that the millennium7 would come if ever the Danbridgians got a minister whom they liked. At Putney they had had the same minister for fifteen years and hoped and expected to have him for fifteen more. They looked with horror-stricken eyes on the Danbridge theological coquetries.
Bloom Valley church was over head and heels in debt and had no visible prospect8 of ever getting out. The moderator said under his breath that they did over-much praying and too little hoeing. He did not believe in faith without works. Tarrytown Road kept its head above water but never had a cent to spare for missions or the schemes of the church.
In bright and shining contradistinction to these the Putney church had always paid its way and gave liberally to all departments of church work. If other springs of supply ran dry the Putneyites enthusiastically got up a "tea" or a "social," and so raised the money. Naturally the "heft" of this work fell on the women, but they did not mind—in very truth, they enjoyed it. The Putney women had the reputation of being "great church workers," and they plumed9 themselves on it, putting on airs at conventions among the less energetic women of the other churches.
They were especially strong on societies. There was the Church Aid Society, the Girls' Flower Band, and the Sewing Circle. There was a Mission Band and a Helping10 Hand among the children. And finally there was the Women's Foreign Mission Auxiliary11, out of which the whole trouble grew which convulsed the church at Putney for a brief time and furnished a standing12 joke in presbyterial circles for years afterwards. To this day ministers and elders tell the story of the Putney church strike with sparkling eyes and subdued13 chuckles14. It never grows old or stale. But the Putney elders are an exception. They never laugh at it. They never refer to it. It is not in the wicked, unregenerate heart of man to make a jest of his own bitter defeat.
It was in June that the secretary of the Putney W.F.M. Auxiliary wrote to a noted returned missionary15 who was touring the country, asking her to give an address on mission work before their society. Mrs. Cotterell wrote back saying that her brief time was so taken up already that she found it hard to make any further engagements, but she could not refuse the Putney people who were so well and favourably16 known in mission circles for their perennial17 interest and liberality. So, although she could not come on the date requested, she would, if acceptable, come the following Sunday.
This suited the Putney Auxiliary very well. On the Sunday referred to there was to be no evening service in the church owing to Mr. Sinclair's absence. They therefore appointed the missionary meeting for that night, and made arrangements to hold it in the church itself, as the classroom was too small for the expected audience.
Then the thunderbolt descended18 on the W.F.M.A. of Putney from a clear sky. The elders of the church rose up to a man and declared that no woman should occupy the pulpit of the Putney church. It was in direct contravention to the teachings of St. Paul.
To make matters worse, Mr. Sinclair declared himself on the elders' side. He said that he could not conscientiously19 give his consent to a woman occupying his pulpit, even when that woman was Mrs. Cotterell and her subject foreign missions.
The members of the Auxiliary were aghast. They called a meeting extraordinary in the classroom and, discarding all forms and ceremonies in their wrath20, talked their indignation out.
Out of doors the world basked21 in June sunshine and preened22 itself in blossom. The birds sang and chirped23 in the lichened24 maples25 that cupped the little church in, and peace was over all the Putney valley. Inside the classroom disgusted women buzzed like angry bees.
"What on earth are we to do?" sighed the secretary plaintively28. Mary Kilburn was always plaintive27. She sat on the steps of the platform, being too wrought29 up in her mind to sit in her chair at the desk, and her thin, faded little face was twisted with anxiety. "All the arrangements are made and Mrs. Cotterell is coming on the tenth. How can we tell her that the men won't let her speak?"
"There was never anything like this in Putney church before," groaned30 Mrs. Elder Knox. "It was Andrew McKittrick put them up to it. I always said that man would make trouble here yet, ever since he moved to Putney from Danbridge. I've talked and argued with Thomas until I'm dumb, but he is as set as a rock."
"I don't see what business the men have to interfere31 with us anyhow," said her daughter Lucy, who was sitting on one of the window-sills. "We don't meddle32 with them, I'm sure. As if Mrs. Cotterell would contaminate the pulpit!"
"One would think we were still in the dark ages," said Frances Spenslow sharply. Frances was the Putney schoolteacher. Her father was one of the recalcitrant33 elders and Frances felt it bitterly—all the more that she had tried to argue with him and had been sat upon as a "child who couldn't understand."
"I'm more surprised at Mr. Sinclair than at the elders," said Mrs. Abner Keech, fanning herself vigorously. "Elders are subject to queer spells periodically. They think they assert their authority that way. But Mr. Sinclair has always seemed so liberal and broad-minded."
"You never can tell what crotchet an old bachelor will take into his head," said Alethea Craig bitingly.
The others nodded agreement. Mr. Sinclair's inveterate34 celibacy35 was a standing grievance36 with the Putney women.
"If he had a wife who could be our president this would never have happened, I warrant you," said Mrs. King sagely37.
"But what are we going to do, ladies?" said Mrs. Robbins briskly. Mrs. Robbins was the president. She was a big, bustling38 woman with clear blue eyes and crisp, incisive39 ways. Hitherto she had held her peace. "They must talk themselves out before they can get down to business," she had reflected sagely. But she thought the time had now come to speak.
"You know," she went on, "we can talk and rage against the men all day if we like. They are not trying to prevent us. But that will do no good. Here's Mrs. Cotterell invited, and all the neighbouring auxiliaries40 notified—and the men won't let us have the church. The point is, how are we going to get out of the scrape?"
A helpless silence descended upon the classroom. The eyes of every woman present turned to Myra Wilson. Everyone could talk, but when it came to action they had a fashion of turning to Myra.
She had a reputation for cleverness and originality41. She never talked much. So far today she had not said a word. She was sitting on the sill of the window across from Lucy Knox. She swung her hat on her knee, and loose, moist rings of dark hair curled around her dark, alert face. There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that boded42 ill to the men who were peaceably pursuing their avocations43, rashly indifferent to what the women might be saying in the maple26-shaded classroom.
"Have you any suggestion to make, Miss Wilson?" said Mrs. Robbins, with a return to her official voice and manner.
Myra put her long, slender index finger to her chin.
"I think," she said decidedly, "that we must strike."
When Elder Knox went in to tea that evening he glanced somewhat apprehensively44 at his wife. They had had an altercation45 before she went to the meeting, and he supposed she had talked herself into another rage while there. But Mrs. Knox was placid46 and smiling. She had made his favourite soda47 biscuits for him and inquired amiably48 after his progress in hoeing turnips49 in the southeast meadow.
She made, however, no reference to the Auxiliary meeting, and when the biscuits and the maple syrup50 and two cups of matchless tea had nerved the elder up, his curiosity got the better of his prudence—for even elders are human and curiosity knows no gender—and he asked what they had done at the meeting.
"We poor men have been shaking in our shoes," he said facetiously51.
"Were you?" Mrs. Knox's voice was calm and faintly amused. "Well, you didn't need to. We talked the matter over very quietly and came to the conclusion that the session knew best and that women hadn't any right to interfere in church business at all."
Lucy Knox turned her head away to hide a smile. The elder beamed. He was a peace-loving man and disliked "ructions" of any sort and domestic ones in particular. Since the decision of the session Mrs. Knox had made his life a burden to him. He did not understand her sudden change of base, but he accepted it very thankfully.
"That's right—that's right," he said heartily52. "I'm glad to hear you coming out so sensible, Maria. I was afraid you'd work yourselves up at that meeting and let Myra Wilson or Alethea Craig put you up to some foolishness or other. Well, I guess I'll jog down to the Corner this evening and order that barrel of pastry53 flour you want."
"Oh, you needn't," said Mrs. Knox indifferently. "We won't be needing it now."
"Not needing it! But I thought you said you had to have some to bake for the social week after next."
"There isn't going to be any social."
"Not any social?"
Elder Knox stared perplexedly at his wife. A month previously54 the Putney church had been recarpeted, and they still owed fifty dollars for it. This, the women declared, they would speedily pay off by a big cake and ice-cream social in the hall. Mrs. Knox had been one of the foremost promoters of the enterprise.
"Not any social?" repeated the elder again. "Then how is the money for the carpet to be got? And why isn't there going to be a social?"
"The men can get the money somehow, I suppose," said Mrs. Knox. "As for the social, why, of course, if women aren't good enough to speak in church they are not good enough to work for it either. Lucy, dear, will you pass me the cookies?"
"Lucy dear" passed the cookies and then rose abruptly55 and left the table. Her father's face was too much for her.
"What confounded nonsense is this?" demanded the elder explosively.
She had borrowed that phrase from Myra Wilson, and it floored the elder. He got up, seized his hat, and strode from the room.
That night, at Jacob Wherrison's store at the Corner, the Putney men talked over the new development. The social was certainly off—for a time, anyway.
"Best let 'em alone, I say," said Wherrison. "They're mad at us now and doing this to pay us out. But they'll cool down later on and we'll have the social all right."
"But if they don't," said Andrew McKittrick gloomily, "who is going to pay for that carpet?"
This was an unpleasant question. The others shirked it.
"I was always opposed to this action of the session," said Alec Craig. "It wouldn't have hurt to have let the woman speak. 'Tisn't as if it was a regular sermon."
"The session knew best," said Andrew sharply. "And the minister—you're not going to set your opinion up against his, are you, Craig?"
"Best let 'em alone, as Wherrison says," said Abner Keech.
"Don't see what else we can do," said John Wilson shortly.
On Sunday morning the men were conscious of a bare, deserted60 appearance in the church. Mr. Sinclair perceived it himself. After some inward wondering he concluded that it was because there were no flowers anywhere. The table before the pulpit was bare. On the organ a vase held a sorry, faded bouquet61 left over from the previous week. The floor was' unswept. Dust lay thickly on the pulpit Bible, the choir62 chairs, and the pew backs.
"This church looks disgraceful," said John Robbins in an angry undertone to his daughter Polly, who was president of the Flower Band. "What in the name of common sense is the good of your Flower Banders if you can't keep the place looking decent?"
"There is no Flower Band now, Father," whispered Polly in turn. "We've disbanded. Women haven't any business to meddle in church matters. You know the session said so."
It was well for Polly that she was too big to have her ears boxed. Even so, it might not have saved her if they had been anywhere else than in church.
Meanwhile the men who were sitting in the choir—three basses63 and two tenors64—were beginning to dimly suspect that there was something amiss here too. Where were the sopranos and the altos? Myra Wilson and Alethea Craig and several other members of the choir were sitting down in their pews with perfectly unconscious faces. Myra was looking out of the window into the tangled65 sunlight and shadow of the great maples. Alethea Craig was reading her Bible.
Presently Frances Spenslow came in. Frances was organist, but today, instead of walking up to the platform, she slipped demurely66 into her father's pew at one side of the pulpit. Eben Craig, who was the Putney singing master and felt himself responsible for the choir, fidgeted uneasily. He tried to catch Frances's eye, but she was absorbed in reading the mission report she had found in the rack, and Eben was finally forced to tiptoe down to the Spenslow pew and whisper, "Miss Spenslow, the minister is waiting for the doxology. Aren't you going to take the organ?"
Frances looked up calmly. Her clear, placid voice was audible not only to those in the nearby pews, but to the minister.
"No, Mr. Craig. You know if a woman isn't fit to speak in the church she can't be fit to sing in it either."
Eben Craig looked exceedingly foolish. He tiptoed gingerly back to his place. The minister, with an unusual flush on his thin, ascetic67 face, rose suddenly and gave out the opening hymn68.
Nobody who heard the singing in Putney church that day ever forgot it. Untrained basses and tenors, unrelieved by a single female voice, are not inspiring.
There were no announcements of society meetings for the forthcoming week. On the way home from church that day irate69 husbands and fathers scolded, argued, or pleaded, according to their several dispositions70. One and all met with the same calm statement that if a noble, self-sacrificing woman like Mrs. Cotterell were not good enough to speak in the Putney church, ordinary, everyday women could not be fit to take any part whatever in its work.
Sunday School that afternoon was a harrowing failure. Out of all the corps71 of teachers only one was a man, and he alone was at his post. In the Christian72 Endeavour meeting on Tuesday night the feminine element sat dumb and unresponsive. The Putney women never did things by halves.
The men held out for two weeks. At the end of that time they "happened" to meet at the manse and talked the matter over with the harassed minister. Elder Knox said gloomily, "It's this way. Nothing can move them women. I know, for I've tried. My authority has been set at naught73 in my own household. And I'm laughed at if I show my face in any of the other settlements."
The Sunday School superintendent74 said the Sunday School was going to wrack75 and ruin, also the Christian Endeavour. The condition of the church for dust was something scandalous, and strangers were making a mockery of the singing. And the carpet had to be paid for. He supposed they would have to let the women have their own way.
The next Sunday evening after service Mr. Sinclair arose hesitatingly. His face was flushed, and Alethea Craig always declared that he looked "just plain everyday cross." He announced briefly76 that the session after due deliberation had concluded that Mrs. Cotterell might occupy the pulpit on the evening appointed for her address.
The women all over the church smiled broadly. Frances Spenslow got up and went to the organ stool. The singing in the last hymn was good and hearty77. Going down the steps after dismissal Mrs. Elder Knox caught the secretary of the Church Aid by the arm.
"I guess," she whispered anxiously, "you'd better call a special meeting of the Aids at my house tomorrow afternoon. If we're to get that social over before haying begins we've got to do some smart scurrying78."
The strike in the Putney church was over.
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1
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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auxiliary
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| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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14
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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20
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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21
basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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22
preened
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| v.（鸟）用嘴整理（羽毛）( preen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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lichened
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| adj.长满地衣的，长青苔的 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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30
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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31
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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32
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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recalcitrant
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| adj.倔强的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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celibacy
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| n.独身(主义) | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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auxiliaries
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| n.助动词 ( auxiliary的名词复数 )；辅助工，辅助人员 | |
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41
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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42
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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43
avocations
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| n.业余爱好，嗜好( avocation的名词复数 )；职业 | |
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44
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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45
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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46
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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47
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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48
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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49
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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50
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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51
facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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52
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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53
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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54
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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55
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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56
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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57
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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58
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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59
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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60
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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61
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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62
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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63
basses
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| 低音歌唱家，低音乐器( bass的名词复数 ) | |
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64
tenors
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| n.男高音( tenor的名词复数 )；大意；男高音歌唱家；（文件的）抄本 | |
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65
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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67
ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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70
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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75
wrack
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| v.折磨；n.海草 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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scurrying
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的现在分词 ) | |
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