Brother Edwards could not understand this unresponsiveness on the part
of his people. They had been wont to weave and moan and shout and sigh
when he spoke to them, and when, in the midst of his sermon, he paused
to break into spirited song, they would join with him until the church
rang again. But this day, he sang alone, and ominous glances were
flashed from pew to pew and from aisle to pulpit. The collection that
morning was especially small. No one asked the minister home to
dinner, an unusual thing, and so he went his way, puzzled and
wondering.

Before church that night, the congregation met together for
conference. The exhorter of the morning himself opened proceedings by
saying, "Brothahs an' sistahs, de Lawd has opened ouah eyes to
wickedness in high places."

"Oom--oom--oom, he have opened ouah eyes," moaned an old sister.

"We have been puhmitted to see de man who was intrusted wid de
guidance of dis flock a-sleepin' in de houah of duty, an' we feels
grieved ter-night."

"He sholy were asleep," sister Hannah Johnson broke in, "dey ain't no
way to 'spute dat, dat man sholy were asleep."

"I kin testify to it," said another sister, "I p'intly did hyeah him
sno', an' I hyeahed him sno't w'en he waked up."

"An' we been givin' him praise fu' meditation," pursued Brother Isham
Dyer, who was only a local preacher, in fact, but who had designs on
ordination, and the pastoring of Zion Church himself.