The Deacon of Dobbinsville | Page 3

Olivet fell into the habit of watching Gramp's ear,
and of course the sermon was governed accordingly. Thus "According
to the deacon's ear," came to be a by-word through the community.
Well, as I have already said, Deacon Gramps sat on his plow-handles.
Just as he turned to unfasten the trace-chains from the plow to drive his
horses to the barn, he saw two men climbing over the whitewashed
fence that led from the barn toward the Church on the hill. Seeing these
men were coming towards him, he resumed his position on the
plow-handles and waited for them. As the two men drew near, he
recognized in them the familiar features of Deacon Brown and Deacon
Jones.
CHAPTER III
Jake Benton was a member of Mount Olivet Church and had been for
twenty-seven years. Jake was a man of ordinary natural intelligence,
but like most of his neighbors was utterly ignorant as far as literary
training is concerned. He naturally had deep religious sentiments.
Under proper teaching he doubtless would have pressed his way into a
genuine experience of salvation and would have lived a consistent
Christian life, but under the unwholesome teachings of Mount Olivet
he had given himself over to a mighty religious drift and had drifted far
away from God and was completely destitute of redeeming grace. Oh,
to be sure, he testified regularly at the church services and gave of his
limited means toward the church's support, but he was a man of
uncontrollable temper and was well versed in the art of old-fashioned
fist-fighting. But his profession had become a burden to him, and he
had often wondered if there were no possibility of extracting some joy
out of the juiceless lemon of his profession.

Now, it so happened one summer that Deacon Cramps had a large
drove of cattle ranging on the hills about thirty miles to the southeast of
Mount Olivet community. This drove of cattle consisted of a thousand
head, and it became necessary that the Deacon employ some
trustworthy person to herd the cattle and prevent them from scattering,
or being stolen by cattle-thieves who sometimes visited that section.
Since Jake Benton was known as an upright man and was a brother in
the church, Deacon Cramps offered him the position. Out of pure
financial necessity Jake accepted.
This was some years before the rubber-tired automobile had invaded
the flint hills of this section and thirty miles meant hours of toilsome
travel. Thus it was necessary that Jake take along a camping outfit and
remain all summer. This he decided to do. Many and long were the
hours that Jake spent in this lonely mountain retreat. For miles around
there was little sign of human activity. No sound of woodman's ax was
heard. The stillness of the long summer afternoons was broken only by
the tinkling of the bells on the hillsides. A lone log cabin lifted its
mud-chinked walls from the brow of a hill from under which flowed a
babbling stream of clear water. In the attic of this lone cabin Jake
Benton was regularly lulled to sleep by the evening lullabies of the
katydids as they sang in the tops of the postoak trees with which the
cabin was surrounded.
One August afternoon when Jake returned from his regular roundup of
the cattle, he found, seated on a log near the spring, two men. At the
sight of the men Jake's heart leaped into his mouth. For two months he
had not laid his eyes on a human form. He had heard no human voice
save his own. Needless to say, he was as much pleased as surprised to
find companions in his lonely abode. Jake neared the log where the
men sat. One of them arose and advanced toward him. "I trust," he
remarked, "that you will not think we are trespassing on your premises.
We have been traveling all day; our horses were tired and we were
thirsty, and the spring invited us to be refreshed." For a moment Jake
stood speechless, and then in almost forgotten terms he made his
unexpected visitors feel welcome.

The three men conversed for some time, and in the course of the
conversation Jake explained to them the reason for his lonely life and
the circumstances that caused him to be thus engaged. The strangers
explained that they were driving across the State, and that, in order to
make their journey fifty miles shorter, they had been instructed to take
this untraveled road through this expanse of wooded hills.
"I should think," remarked one of the men, "that this would be a
splendid place to meditate on the goodness of God. Loneliness often
begets meditation, and God loves to be the companion of the
companionless. Then, too, there is all this