The minister staggered under the blow, and his brow wrinkled.  To leave Zion Church.  It would be very hard.  And to leave there in disgrace; where would he go?  His career would be ruined.  The story would go to every church of the connection in the country, and he would be an outcast from his cloth and his kind.  He felt that it was all a mistake after all.  He loved his work, and he loved his people.  He wanted to do the right thing, but oh, sometimes, the chapel was hot and the hours were long.  Then his head would grow heavy, and his eyes would close, but it had been only for a minute or two.  Then, this morning, he remembered how he had tried to shake himself awake, how gradually, the feeling had overcome him.  Then—­then—­he had snored.  He had not tried wantonly to deceive them, but the Book said, “Let not thy right hand know what thy left hand doeth.”  He did not think it necessary to tell them that he dropped into an occasional nap in church.  Now, however, they knew all.

He turned and looked down at the little woman, who waited to hear what he had to say.

“Thankye, ma’am, Sis’ Dicey,” he said.  “Thankye, ma’am.  I believe I’ll go back an’ pray ovah this subject.”  And he turned and went back into the parsonage.

Whether he had prayed over it or whether he had merely thought over it, and made his plans accordingly, when the Rev. Elisha came into church that night, he walked with a new spirit.  There was a smile on his lips, and the light of triumph in his eyes.  Throughout the Deacon’s long prayer, his loud and insistent Amens precluded the possibility of any sleep on his part.  His sermon was a masterpiece of fiery eloquence, and as Sister Green stepped out of the church door that night, she said, “Well, ef Brothah Eddards slep’ dis mornin’, he sholy prached a wakenin’ up sermon ter-night.”  The congregation hardly remembered that their pastor had ever been asleep.  But the pastor knew when the first flush of enthusiasm was over that their minds would revert to the crime of the morning, and he made plans accordingly for the next Sunday which should again vindicate him in the eyes of his congregation.

The Sunday came round, and as he ascended to the pulpit, their eyes were fastened upon him with suspicious glances.  Uncle Isham Dyer had a smile of triumph on his face, because the day was a particularly hot and drowsy one.  It was on this account, the old man thought, that the Rev. Elisha asked him to say a few words at the opening of the meeting.  “Shirkin’ again,” said the old man to himself, “I reckon he wants to go to sleep again, but ef he don’t sleep dis day to his own confusion, I ain’t hyeah.”  So he arose, and burst into a wonderful exhortation on the merits of a Christian life.