ere 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 d