"It ain't de sleepin' itse'f," he went on, "ef you 'member in de
Gyarden of Gethsemane, endurin' de agony of ouah Lawd, dem what he
tuk wid him fu' to watch while he prayed, went to sleep on his han's.
But he fu'give 'em, fu' he said, 'De sperit is willin' but de flesh is
weak.' We know dat dey is times w'en de eyes grow sandy, an' de haid
grow heavy, an' we ain't accusin' ouah brothah, nor a-blamin' him fu'
noddin'. But what we do blame him fu' is fu' 'ceivin' us, an' mekin'
us believe he was prayin' an' meditatin', w'en he wasn' doin' a
blessed thing but snoozin'."

"Dat's it, dat's it," broke in a chorus of voices. "He 'ceived us,
dat's what he did."

The meeting went stormily on, the accusation and the anger of the
people against the minister growing more and more. One or two were for
dismissing him then and there, but calmer counsel prevailed and it was
decided to give him another trial. He was a good preacher they had to
admit. He had visited them when they were sick, and brought sympathy
to their afflictions, and a genial presence when they were well. They
would not throw him over, without one more chance, at least, of
vindicating himself.

This was well for the Rev. Elisha, for with the knowledge that he was
to be given another chance, one trembling little woman, who had
listened in silence and fear to the tirades against him, crept out of
the church, and hastened over in the direction of the parsonage. She
met the preacher coming toward the church, hymn-book in hand, and his
Bible under his arm. With a gasp, she caught him by the arm, and
turned him back.