The pulpit was the old-fashioned barrel-shaped structure, and, like some of the sermons, was high above the heads of the people. There was a great sounding-board over the head of the preacher, and it used to be a subject of calculation with the boys, whether this board would not some day fall on the devoted head of the speaker and stop the sound altogether. This church had the old family square pew, and in front of the pulpit was a bench for the deacons. The people were classified in their pews according to age, and the oldest, perhaps on account of their difficulty in hearing, occupied the seats nearest the pulpit. The church building was not warmed, save by the fervid sermons of those grand old Puritan divines. That, however, reached only the head and heart, hence, for the feet, they made stoves of sheet iron, over which was a perforated tin casing, and over this a hardwood casing. Coals from corncobs, or seasoned hickory, as being the most durable, were placed in this stove, which was carried in the bottom of carriage or sleigh to church, where its heat would last all forenoon. At the close of the forenoon service, the people went to the neighboring church house, which was warmed by a log fire. Here they ate their luncheon, and then returned to the church for another two hours’ devotion. The Rev. Timothy P. Gillett was pastor of this church in Mr. Plant’s boyhood. He taught an academy--Mr. Plant being a scholar for several terms--in addition to his ministerial duties of preaching, visiting, and catechising the church people. He was a sober, solemn, orthodox clergyman of the old school, scholarly and dignified both in and out of the pulpit. It is only a hint of the changes that time brings, and no reflection on this good man’s charity to say that, had he seen one of the modern ministers visiting his flock on a bicycle, he would have had him deposed from the sacred office. Some unfortunate misunderstanding came between him and his congregation in the latter part of his ministry, so that his wife refused to have his remains interred in the church burying-ground. She afterwards relented, was herself buried in the church cemetery, and left in her will two thousand dollars to defray the cost of removing her husband’s remains thither, and for erecting a suitable monument to his memory. The sacred dust of both pastor and wife rests, as it should, among the people to whom they ministered for some fifty years or more. The town of Branford was composed of an intelligent, industrious, and religious people, mostly farmers and well-to-do citizens. The academy presided over by the Rev. Timothy P. Gillett constituted a centre of intellectual, moral, and spiritual development that inspired the life and elevated the character of the people. The following account from, the _Branford Annals_ is only one of the many testimonies that might be recorded of the patriotism and courage of this people: