Excerpt from Caleb Krinkle: A Story of American Life
A hundred years have passed away since the Reverend Phineas Stevens preached to the people of Millbrook. It is probable that not one in a hundred of the present generation would ever have known that such a man once walked the earth if the good minister, by a wise and beneficent forethought, had not secured a mortgage, so to speak, upon the gratitude of all who might come after him.
Being a man of faith, and believing that there would be somebody alive after he was dead who would take pleasure in beholding the beautiful things in nature, and having a desire to do what he could to make life pleasant to everybody, he devoted a portion of his time to the planting of trees along the wide and level streets of the village.
Millbrook is not an incorporated town, and the little stream that has given a name to the place is not large enough to be called a river, for when measured from its source among the hills to where it joins the Merrimack the distance is not more than six or seven miles, if the windings of the stream are not taken into account.
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