“Mebbe not, mebbe not; but the parson is feeding us on husks instead of rich spiritual food.”
“I think you are prejudiced, Deacon Crane,” said Jackson Butler, a farmer, and one of the parish committee. “Mr. Fenwick is an able man, and none of the ministers he exchanges with gives us a better sermon than he. One of my friends from New Bedford attended church with me last Sunday, and expressed himself as highly edified with our minister’s sermon.”
“I apprehend,” said the deacon, “that it is more important that he should please the members of his own flock than the stray sheep who attend church occasionally from other folds.”
“Still the verdict of an intelligent outsider carries weight.”
“I tell you I want a change,” said the deacon, with emphasis. “I want some bright, young man that’ll make a stir.”
“Do you think there are many that feel that way, deacon?”
“Not a doubt of it.”
“Who, for instance?”
“Well,” said the deacon, after a pause, “Mr. Bucklin, for instance.”
“Bucklin seldom goes to church, and last year he contributed but five dollars toward the minister’s salary.”