The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-09-22

HI Lu0 euOEC UO COmIOEL ms SLFICk6U wife that he forgot his own sorrow, and failed also to notice that the drouth had ripened the corn before its time; so that where he had hoped to find the full, ripe ear, only prema- ture nubbins were hidden away under the crisp, yellow shucks.
 "Well," the deacon drew his wife's head to his bosom, "we have got each other, Mary, an that's a heap to thank the Lord for"
 But even that solace was denied him very long. Always, as the dea- con said, "one of the ailin' ones," the strain upon mind and heart was too great for the frail body, and Mrs. Ellis was laid to rest by the side of her little girl under the cedars beyond the wheatfield.
 The deacon's cross was growing heavy indeed. The ncighbors began to call him Job, and, although his voice still led the old hymn on Sab- bath mornings in the village church, there was quiver in it that told how heavily the tired heart was leaning upon the "Goodness and Mercy" which he declared had followed him "all the days of his lite."
 Yet he still sang in the cornfeld when the skimpy nubbins had been stored, and there was nothing to do but to gather the fodder:
 "oh, to Grace how great debtor Daily I'm constrained to be-"
 The poor heart felt revival of the long-tried trust as the crisp, golden blades rustled to his touch. "It's something to be thankful 1or," he said to his hired boy, David. pulling the last armful from the stunted stalks.
 Then the harvesting was finished l; except the gathering of the pippins and the wine-saps and, as the crop had been short one, the gathering of it in was small matter.
 "We've got enough to eat, anyhow" he told the neighbors, "an', that's something to be thankful for"
 Finally the fruit was stored and Deacon Ellis entered into his we'll earned winter rest.
 "The Lord will let Job alone now" Farmer Fosters wife now said, "an' sholy it is time."
 But the deacon's troubles were not yet ended; there was still one more calamity in store for him,-the fire that burned his barns and destroyed his last faint hope of paying off the mortgage upon his land. It was nearly the final stroke. The old man had buried his wife and child, for whom he worked and saved,-now the means of his own livelihood were vanishing.
 His neighbors were appalled,. The good old deacon had no enemies; and now even those who had found some- thing to laugh at in h i'
 in the face of calamity were shocked.
 The Sunday following the burning of the barns the neighbors met early at the church and discussed the mat ter among themselves. It was finally decided that among themselves they would raise enough money to pay off the mortgage on the farm, and from their own full granaries furnish seed for the next years crop.
 "I want to hear him bless the Lord once more," said Farmer Foster, with big tear in either eye.
 "And have somethin' to bless Him for," added his wife, as she brushed off crystal drop that had trickled to the tip of her nose.
 Then some one whispered that the deacon was at the door and the con- gregation settled down. to it's accus- toned quiet and decorum as the old man entered. He was aging, Deacon Ellis was; he leaned heavily upon his staff, and the neighbors noticed, for the first time, how the silver in his hair had given place to snow. Farmer Fosters tears no longer stood in his eyes, but followed each other in quick succession down his sum- Drowned cheeks. He felt, as did many others of the congregation, that at last Deacon Ellis stood face to face with that moment in his life when there was nothing left for gratitude. For the first Sunday since the little church had heard his prayers there would be no thanksgiving. Then the sympathetic farmer thought of the mortgage, already as good as lifted, and he felt strong impulse to rise up in his place and tell him; to cry out |: "Thank the Lord If you wish; go on thanking Him."
 So excited did he become that Mrs. Foster touched him on the arm and said, in whisper: "Zekiel, kneel down."
 The deacon had begun his prayer 1; broken and quivering the accents, soft and slow the petition. The rod had fallen SO heavilyl There was a plead- ing cry for strength, grasp at faith, full surrender to the will of Him who doeth all things well; and then, as the voice gathered strength and the heart refurnad fa ifa old lima fxusf