The Monitor-register., 1897-10-08
UNCLE 'zEKEL's VISION.
BY WILLIAM W. JORDAN.

to the speaker, some awed, some softly
weeping.
The service over, Uncle 'Zekel took
his way homewsrd, thinking upon the
text. He was moved. Turesscore years
he had lived at Mackerelville, a gentle
homely, honest soul; and none had known
him to harm a fellow mau. Upright
true and modest. he had gone his way,
with the respect and friendship of all.
constant at church, kind at home and
honest abroad. But he was not "a pro
fessor." AS he told his good wife, he
hadn't been called" He thought upon
these things, however, and every evening
saw him in his spindle backed arm chair,
, generally in his shirt sleeves, his spec.
tacles low on his nose, the open Bible on
his lap and reverence upon his face. At
times, during the day, he would take up
the Book, saying, "Mother, l guess In
rest a SPELL"
Many times he had been asked to con.
fess Christ; but he gently shook his
head. The step was so momentous, his
sense of unitness SO deep, and his idea OF
"a call" 81 sacred, that be could not
decide. Meetings bad been held for a
week in the faded little church. 1t was
early summer, but not often did a strange
preacher come that way. A ministerial
friond MAO u{aitinn tho pockOr l.. Ait,
scattered farming community bordering
the ocean, and the good man saw al
opportunity.
Every night :he truth had been simply,
clearly told, and every night Uncle
'Zekel felt it sinking deeper into his
heart. His daily thoughts were filled
with it, and tonight it seemed the
preacher had meant him. beyond q
doubt. And so he mused: "Git up,
Jimmy! IT must hev ben wonderful to
see Him there in the air. a-shinnin' above
him, an wearin'. mebbe, the marks of
the nails, an speakin' an CALM him by
name, saul | SaulP Seems il 'twould
make it all plain" be almost groaned.
"Why can't He come sometimes to-day?
but not to the lik Is of you, 'Zskel
Woodbury.; you're onworth. Git up,
jimmy !" And the old mare, with some
animation, turned the last corner toward
home. E
"Was it a good meetin', father?" his
wife asked, anxiously. For years she
had prayed to have him with her in the
church. Delicate healt h kept her from
these meetings, but she prayed for him
throughout the hour of service. They
were near to each other, these old people.
1t was a ctildless home, and every year
they grew more careful of each other.
"Yes, Marthy," he sighed, "'Twas a
good meetin' and very searchin.' Sew
'rul rose for prayer-Rachie Stebbins
an the young Teller that works for
Dyers, that come up from the Provinces -
"Father?"
swell, Marthy?"
"And then she could not go on. "What
vas the sermon?"
Twas the Lords appea rim to Saul an
callin' him. He said no more, but sat in
thought. and then taking down tho old
Bible. he silently pondered the story oveI
again. Feeling he was in Gods hands
the good wife went on quietly knitting,
Finally he closed the book with a sigh
saying to himself: Seems like He
might come someti mes now; but ]
s'pose not tt the likes of me-" Once
during the night, when he fell asleep aftel
a long, silent vigil, she heard him muir
muir: Seems like He might come, blu,
not" and the words drifted into silence
Early he was astir in the dewy air,
with q customary look from the door,
step toward the sea, whose distant roar
was music for him. He fed "the crit.
ters," who loved him, and extended
their moist muzzles as he passed.
"Where'll We be workin' to-day,
'Zekel ?" asked his wife, as he ended
scsnty breakfast.
SIN the hill-field." he answered. "It's
amazin' short time tween hoein' an
hayin'." And with his usual gentle
"good. by p he turned away.
This field, at the furthest part of the
farm, was SO called from the hill within
it, where the soil covered the ledge ex-
cept in spots. 1t bordered on the shore,
and looked on a wide sweep of sea, while
its passing sails, of fishermen, or larger
craft. and the distant daily smoke of the
St. Johns boat. 1t was his favoritt
place to work. In early life he followed
the sea, and never ceased to love it. 81
talks to me-" he used to say. Many
| times he would stand and gaze at thu
w~ind-swept space, and the far-away lint
over which sails went and came. To-day
he looked often, leaning upon his hoe. i
was a perfect day. The earth crumbled.
with fresh wholesome odor beneath hi
feet, the frs swayed softly on the ridge,
the air was warm with sun but vigorous
with the breathing of the sea, and the
blue waves fairly danced in joy, with a
| CLEAN in every ourving. His eyes were
on a fisherman, beating against the
| wind, but his heart was turning over anl
over those words: "Saul, Saul, why per
| secutest thou me ?" Back and forth his
hoe mechanically followed the greer
rows, and greater grew the trouble
within. At length it became unbearable
and finging away the hoe, he fell on his
knees and cried, while tears ran down his
upturned face:' 70 Lord, Lord, We know
me, 'Zekel Woodbury., thet l am on
worthy. I We sought in ways to sarve ye
but o Lord. Pm not fit to gather up thu
crumbs; and yet if ye could only Civ
me a token tibet ye're calm me, tibet ye
want me now. If ye could come fur one
leetle glimpst, fur a single word, if y
could be fur the likes of met World
failed, and he lay prone, with his face on
his hands.
Softly the wind touched the gray
head, from which his hat had fallen, a
he lay in prayer too deep for words.
Ezekiel ]" was it his name called
called in tones SO marvellous. they
seemed to hold the sound of many
waters, and yet the softness of the wind
that bloweth where it listeth-"Ezek
lei !" Bewildered. slowly he rose to hi
knees. A strange light had fallen on tn
field, dimming the sun. He felt tn
nearness of some presence, and lifted hii
eyes, to see there above him, or could !
be ? A marvellous form of radiant light