A fire was the first thing. Meredith and Maggie gathered dry pine branches and dead leaves, and Meredith built a nice place for the kettle with some stones. Then they found they had no matches.

"We always forget something," cried Maggie. "Now, I'll run home and fetch a box."

Meredith went too. It was only a little more walk. Then the fire was set agoing, and the kettle filled and put over. Maggie sat by to keep up the flame, which being fed with light material needed constant supply. Meredith threw himself down on the mossy bank and opened his book. For a little while there was silence.

"What are you reading, Ditto?" Maggie asked at length. She kept as good watch of Meredith as of the fire.

"You would not understand if I told you. It is a German book."

"Is it very interesting?"

"Yes."

"I knew it was. I could see by your face; when you pull your brows together in that way, I always know you are ever so much interested."

"Well, I am," said Meredith smiling.

"Would it interest me?"

"I think, perhaps, it would."

"Ah, Ditto, don't you want to try? Read us some of it. What is it about?"

"It is a Mission Magazine."

"Missionary! Oh, then, we shouldn't like it," said Esther. "I don't believe we should."

"And in it are stories," Meredith continued."What sort of stories? about heathen?"

"I like stories about heathen," said Maggie.

"Stories about heathen and Christian, which a certain Pastor Harms used to tell to his people, and which he put in the magazine."

"Did he write the magazine?"

"Yes."

"Who was Pastor Harms?"

"A wonderful, beautiful man, who loved God with all his heart, and served Him with all his strength."

"Why, there are a great many people, Ditto, who do that," said his sister.

"Most people that I have seen keep a little of their strength for something else," remarked Meredith dryly.

"Was he a German?" Maggie asked.

"He was a German; and he was the minister of a poor country parish in Hanover; and the minister and the people together were so full of the love of Christ that they did what rich churches elsewhere don't do."

"And does that book tell what they did?"

"Partly; what they did, and what other people have done."

"I should like to hear some of it," was Maggie's conclusion.

"Well, you shall. We'll try, after dinner. Flora and Esther may shut their ears, if they will."

"If you won't read something else," said Flora, "I suppose I would rather hear that than nothing. I can get on with my work better."

"And worsted work is the chief end of woman, everybody knows," remarked her brother. "The kettle is boiling, Maggie!"

All was lively activity at once. Even the afghan and the worsted embroidery were laid on the moss, and the two elder girls bestirred themselves to get out the plates and dishes from the baskets and arrange them; while Maggie made the tea, and Meredith set about his omelet. Maggie watched him with intense satisfaction, as he broke and beat his eggs and put them over the fire; watched till the cookery was accomplished and the omelet was turned out hot and brown and savoury. The girls declared it was the best thing they had ever tasted, and Flora thought the tea was the best tea, and Meredith that the bread and butter was the best bread and butter. Maggie privately thought it was the best dinner altogether that ever she had eaten in the woods; but I think she judged most by the company. It was a long dinner! Why should they use haste? The October sun was not hot; the sweet air gave an appetite; the thousand things they had to talk about gave zest to the food. They were not in a hurry with their tea, and they lingered over their apple-pie.

When at last they were of a mind to seek a change of diversion, and really the dinner was done—for talk as much as you will you yet must stop eating some time—the plates and remnants were quickly put back in the baskets and set again in the cart, tea-kettle and napkins cleared away, and the mossy dining-room looked as if no company had been there.

"This is first rate," exclaimed Meredith, stretching himself on the warm moss.

"And now, Ditto, you are going to read to us."

"Am I?"

"Yes, for you said so."

"An honourable man always keeps his promises," said Meredith. But he lay still.

The two elder girls got out their work again. Maggie sat by and silently stroked the hair on Meredith's temples.

"This is good enough, without reading," he presently went on. "The moss is spicy, the sky is blue, I see it through a lace-work of pine needles; the air is like satin. I cannot imagine anything much better than to lie here and look up."

"But you can feel the air, and see the sky, and smell the moss, too, while you are reading, Ditto."

"Can I? Well! your ten fingers are so many persuaders that I cannot withstand. Let's go in for Pastor Harms!"So he raised himself on one elbow, no further, and laid his book open on the moss before him.

"But it is in German!" cried Maggie, looking over to see.

"Never mind, I will give it to you in English—I told you it was German."

"What is the first story about?"

"You will find that out as I go on. Now, you understand it is Pastor Harms who is speaking, only he was a famous hand at story-telling, and to hear him would have been quite a different thing from hearing me." And Meredith began to read.

"'I will go back now a thousand years, and tell you a mission story that I am very fond of. I found it partly in the parish archives of Hermannsburg, and partly in some old LÜneburg chronicles. I say I am very fond of it; for after the fact that I am a Christian, comes the fact that I am a LÜneburger, body and soul; and there is not a country in the whole world, for me, that is better than the LÜneburg heath'"——

"Oh, stop, Ditto, please," cried Maggie, "what is a 'heath'? and where is LÜneburg?"

"Ah! there we come with our questions. LÜneburg heath isn't like anything in America, that I know, Maggie. It is a strange place. There you'll see acres and miles of level land covered with heather, which turns purple and beautiful in the latter part of the season; but in the midst of this level country you come suddenly here and there to a lovely little valley with houses and grain-fields and fruit and running water; or to a piece of woods; or to a hill with a farmhouse perched up on its side, and as much land cultivated as the peasant can manage. So the people of the parishes are scattered about over a wide track, except where the villages happen to be. And for where it is—LÜneburg is in Hanover, and Hanover is in Germany. You must look on the map when you go home. Now I will go on—

"'And next to the fact that I am a LÜneburger, comes the fact that I am a Hermannsburger; and for me Hermannsburg is the dearest and prettiest village on the heath. My mission story touches this very beloved Hermannsburg. From my youth up I have been a sort of a bookworm; and whenever I could find something about Germany, still more something about the LÜneburg heath, and yet more anything about Hermannsburg, then I was delighted. Even as a boy, when I could just understand the book of the Roman writer Tacitus about old Germany, I knew no greater pleasure than with my Tacitus in my pocket to wander through the heaths and moors and woodlands, and then in the still solitude to sit down under a pine tree or an oak and read the account of the manners and customs of our old heathen forefathers. And then I read how our old forefathers were so brave and strong that merely their tall forms and their fiery blue eyes struck terror into the Romans; and that they were so unshakably true to their word, once it was given, that a simple promise from one of them was worth more than the strongest oath from a Roman. I read how they were so chaste and modest that breaking of the marriage vow was almost an unknown crime; so noble and hospitable, that even a deadly enemy, if he came to one of their houses, found himself in perfect security, and might stay until the last morsel had been shared with him; and then his host would go with him to the next house to prepare him a reception there.

"'But my heart bled too, when I read of their crimes and misdeeds, their inhuman worship of idols, when even human beings were slaughtered on bloody altars of stone, or drowned in deep, hidden, inland lakes; when I read how insatiable the thirst for war and plunder among our forefathers was, how fearful their anger, how brutish their rage for drink and play; and when I read further, how the whole of heathen Germany was an almost unbroken wood and moorland, without cities or villages, where men ran about in the forests almost naked, at the most, clothed with the skin of a beast, like wild animals themselves; and got their living only by the chase, or from wild roots, with acorns and beechmast; then, even as a boy, I marvelled at the wonderful workings of Christianity. Only one thing I could not understand; how there should be nowadays in Christian Germany so much lying, unfaithfulness, and marriage-breaking, while our heathenish ancestors were such true, honest, chaste, and loyal men; it always seemed to me as if a German Christian must stand abashed before his heathen forefathers. And when I observed further, how many Germans nowadays are cowardly-hearted, while among our heathen ancestors such a reproach was reckoned the fearfullest of insults, it was past my comprehension how a Christian German, who believes in everlasting life, can be a coward, and his heathenish ancestors, who yet knew nothing about the blessed heaven, have been so valiant and brave.'"

"Ditto," said Maggie, interrupting him, "do you think that is all true?"

"Pastor Harms would not have lied to save his right hand."

"And—but—Ditto, do you think people in America are so bad as that?"

Meredith smiled and hesitated.

"Yes, Ditto," said Flora; "you know they are not."

"I don't know anything about it," said Meredith. "There are not any better soldiers, I suppose, in the world than the Germans, nor anywhere such a band of army officers, for knowledge of their business and ability to do it. But there are some cowards in every nation, I reckon; and as there, so here. But among those old Saxons, it appears, there were none. As to truth"—Meredith hesitated—"There are not a great many people I know whose word I would take through and through, if they were pinched."

There was a chorus of exclamations and reproaches.

"And as to marriage-breaking," he went on, "it is not at all an uncommon thing here for people to separate from their wives or their husbands, or get themselves divorced."

"Why do they do that, Ditto?" Maggie asked.

"Because they are not true, and do not love each other."

"So you make it out that the heathen are better than the Christians!" said Esther.

"I do not make out anything. I am only stating facts. What is called a 'Christian nation' has but comparatively a few Christians in it, you must please to remember. But I do think those old Saxons were extraordinary people. I like to think that I am descended from them."

"You, Ditto!" exclaimed Maggie in the utmost astonishment.

"Why, yes, certainly. Don't you know so much history as that? Don't you remember that the Saxons went over and conquered England, and England was peopled by them, and ruled by them, until the Norman Invasion?"

"Oh!" said Maggie with a long-drawn note of surprise and intelligence. "But I didn't know those Saxons were like these."

"No, nor did I. It interests me very much. Shall I go on with Pastor Harms?

"'The older I grew, the more eager I was to learn about Germany, and especially about my dear LÜneburg country, with its most beautiful heaths, moors, and woodlands. I cannot express the joy I took in the great fights and battles which the German Prince Herman fought with the mighty Romans. Herman was prince of the Cheruski; so the dwellers between the Elbe and the Weser at that time were called. In his time the never-satisfied Romans were bent upon subjugating all Germany, and sent their most powerful armies into the country, clad in iron mail, armed with helmets, bucklers, lances, and swords, and led by their bravest generals. But Herman, with his almost naked Germans, fell upon them, fighting whole days at a stretch, and beat them out of the land. See now, thought I to myself, there were LÜneburg people along with him, for they live between the Elbe and the Weser. Or, when others of our forefathers, who were in general called Saxons, boldly sailed over the sea in their ships, and chased the proud Romans, together with the Picts and Scots, out of England, and took the beautiful land in possession and ruled it; then I was glad again and thought with secret delight—"our LÜneburg people were there too, for those ships sailed from the mouths of the Elbe and the Weser.""'But what adoration moved my heart, when I read that these very Saxons, who conquered England, there came to the knowledge of Christianity and received it into their hearts; and now from England, from the converted Saxons, came numbers of Gospel messengers back to the German country, to turn it also to the Lord Jesus. Among them was Winfried, the strong in faith, who baptized more than 300,000 Germans, and was called the apostle of Germany; there were the two brothers Ewald, who both heroically died a martyr's death, being sacrificed by our forefathers to their idols. After them others carried on the work, especially Willehad and Liudgar, and the good emperor Charles the Great helped them, until at last all Germany was Christianised, and became through the Gospel what it is now. And I have often thought, how stupid are the unbelievers who follow the new fashion of despising Christianity. We have to thank Christianity for everything we are or have. Science, art, agriculture, handicrafts, cities, villages, houses, all have come to us in the first place through Christianity; for before that, as I said, our forefathers ran about naked in the woods like wild beasts, and fed on roots and acorns; and I used to think the best thing would be, to drive the infidels and the scornful contemners of Christianity into the woods and forests, draw a hedge about them, and let them eat acorns and roots in the woods till they come to their senses. In young people's heads a great many queer fancies spring up, which yet are not entirely unworthy of regard; and I still believe that would be the best medicine for infidels.'"

"But, Meredith," said Flora, "the Greeks and Romans had cities and villages, and sciences, too, and arts, without Christianity."

"Quite true, but the Saxons didn't."

"Perhaps, they would."

"Perhaps, they wouldn't. The Greeks and Romans were wonderful people, and so were the ancient Egyptians; but though they had arts, and built cities, they had very little science. And science and Christianity have changed the face of the Christian world. Well, let us have Pastor Harms.

"'But I must go back to my story. Whenever I happened upon an old library, I searched it through to see if I could find something about Germany, and especially about LÜneburg. And I do not regret the quantities of dust I have swallowed in my way; although I did often lament aloud to see so many fine old manuscripts almost eaten up with dust and mice, about which nobody had troubled himself for who knows how many years? But also I found many a one that repaid the trouble of the search. From the sound MSS. I made extracts diligently. But I had a good many vexations, too. For example, I have come to cities and villages, in which last there were baronial manors. There I sought to come at the books and MSS. of the olden time. And would one believe it? Old collections of books had been sold entire, by the hamperful, to trades-people for wrapping their cheese in. I was baffled. So much the more precious became my extracts. From them I will tell you something now, which I found about my beloved Hermannsburg.

"'I may say in the first place to our dear country people, that the whole of Northern Germany in early times was called the country of the Saxons. How wide that was, may best be seen by the language. So far as low German is spoken, so far extends the land of the Saxons; for low German is their proper mother-tongue. So I am never ashamed of the low German in our country; it is the true mother-tongue of our land and people; my heart always swells when I hear low German spoken. This entire Saxon nation was divided into three tribes. One tribe, which dwelt for the most part towards the west, that is, in the OsnabrÜck region and further west as far as the Rhine, was called the Westphalians. The second tribe, which dwelt mostly at the east, as far as the Elbe and further, was called the Eastphalians. Between the two lived the third tribe, called the Enger or the Angles; for Enger and Angle are all one. We here in LÜneburg belong to the Eastphalians. The name is said to have come from the bright or pale yellow hair of our forefathers. For clear yellow or pale yellow was called "fal." Our ancestors wore this bright yellow hair long and hanging down, something like a lion's mane; what so many young people nowadays would esteem a splendid adornment. These forefathers of ours in the time of Charlemagne were yet mere heathen and held to their heathen idol worship with extraordinary tenacity and devotion. They were further a wild, bold, stiffnecked people, with an unbending spirit, holding fast to everything old, and with that, loving freedom above all else. They had no rulers, properly speaking; each house-father was a despotic prince in his own house, and lived alone upon his territory, just that he might be free and rule his realm independently. Their common name, Saxon, came from a peculiar weapon, the sachs; a stone war-mallet or battle-axe, which was made fast to a longer or shorter wooden handle. In the strong hands of the Saxons this was a fearful weapon, with which they rushed fearlessly upon the foe, hastening to come to a hand-to-hand fight; for they liked to be at close quarters with their enemies.

"'Wild and terrible as their other customs were, was also their idol worship. Their principal deity was called Woden, in whose honour men were slaughtered upon great blocks of stone; their throats being cut with stone knives. Not far off, some two or three hours from Hermannsburg, are still what are called the seven stone-houses; in other words, blocks of granite set up in a square, upon which a great granite block lies like a cover. The men to be sacrificed were slain upon these blocks of granite. Quite near our village too, there stood formerly some such sacrificial altars. How fearful and bloody these sacrifices were, appears from what an old writer relates; that it was the custom of the Saxons, when they returned home from their warlike expeditions, to sacrifice to their idols every tenth man among the captives; the rest they shared among themselves for slaves. And upon special occasions, for instance, if they had suffered severe losses in the war, the whole of the captives would be consecrated to Woden and sacrificed. That's the Woden we call one day of the week after.'"

"We? One day of the week!" exclaimed Maggie; while Flora looked up and said, "Oh yes! Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" repeated Maggie.

"Woden's-day," said Meredith.

"Is it Woden's-day? Wednesday? But how come we to call it so, Ditto?"

"Because our fathers did."

"But that is very strange. I don't think we ought to call it Woden's-day."

"The Germans do not call it so, who live at this time round those old stone altars; they say Mittwoche, or Mid-week. But the English Saxons seem to have kept up the title."

"Are those stone altars standing now, Ditto?"

"Some of them, Pastor Harms says; and what is very odd, it seems they call them stone houses; and don't you recollect Jacob called his stone that he set up at Bethel, 'God's house'?"

"Well, Ditto, go on please," said Maggie.

"You don't care for archÆology. Well—'The German emperor Charlemagne, who reigned from 768 to 814, was a good Christian. He governed the kingdom of the Franks; and that means the whole of central and southern Germany, together with France and Italy; and all these, his subjects, had been already Christian a long time. On the north his empire was bordered by our heathen ancestors, the Saxons, and they were the sworn foes of Christianity. Whenever they could, they made a rush upon Charlemagne's dominions, plundered and killed, destroyed the churches and put to death the Christian priests; and were never quiet. So Charlemagne determined to make war upon the Saxons, partly to protect his kingdom against their inroads, and partly with the intent to convert them with a strong hand to the Christian religion. Then arose a fearful war of thirty-three years' length, which by both sides was carried on with great bitterness. The Saxons had, in especial, two valiant, heroic-hearted leaders, called "dukes" because they led the armies. The word "duke," therefore, means the same as army-leader. The one of them in Westphalia was named Wittekind; the other in Eastphalia was named Albion, also called Alboin. Charlemagne was in a difficult position. If he beat the Saxons, and thought, now they would surely keep the peace, and he went off then to some more distant part of his great empire, immediately the Saxons broke loose again, and the war began anew. Charlemagne was made so bitter by this, that once when he had beaten the Saxons at Verden on the Aller, and surrounded their army, he ordered 4500 captive Saxons to be cut to pieces, hoping so to give a disheartening example. But just the contrary befell. Wittekind and Albion now gathered together an imposing army to avenge the cruel deed; and fought two bloody battles, at OsnabrÜck and Detmold, with such furious valour that they thrust Charlemagne back, and took 4000 prisoners; and these prisoners, as a LÜneburg chronicle says, they slaughtered—part on the Blocksberg, part in the OsnabrÜck country, and part on the "stone-houses;" where the same chronicle relates that Wittekind, on his black war-horse, in furious joy, would have galloped over the bleeding corpses which lay around the stone-houses: but his horse shied from treading on the human bodies, and making a tremendous leap, struck his hoof so violently against one of the stone-houses that the mark of the hoof remained. Wittekind elsewhere in the chronicle is described as a noble, magnanimous hero; and this madness of war in him is explained on the ground of his hatred of Christians, and revenge for the death of the Saxons at Verden.

"'At last, in the year 785, Wittekind and Albion were baptized, and embraced the Christian religion. Thereupon came peace among that part of the Saxons which held them in consideration, for the most distinguished men by degrees followed their example; and it was only in the other portions of the country that the war lasted until the year 805; when at last the whole country of the Saxons submitted to Charlemagne, renounced heathenism, and accepted Christianity. So hard did it go with our forefathers before they could become Christians; but once Christians, they became so zealous for the Christian faith that their land afterwards was called "Good Saxony" as before it had been known as "Wild Saxony." Charlemagne, however, was not merely at the pains to subdue the Saxons, and to compel them into the Christian faith, but as a truly pious emperor, he also took care that they should be instructed; and wherever he could he established bishoprics and churches. For example, the sees of Minden, OsnabrÜck, Verden, Bremen, MÜnster, Paderhorn, Halberstadt, and Hildesheim, all situated in the Saxon country, owe their origin to him. At all these places there were mission establishments, from which preachers went out into the whole land, to preach the Gospel to the heathen Saxons.

"'Among those Willehad and Liudgar were distinguished for their zeal. With untiring faithfulness, with steadfast faith, and great self-sacrifice, they laboured, and their works were greatly blessed of the Lord. Willehad finally became bishop in Bremen and Liudgar bishop of MÜnster. They may with justice be called the apostles of the Saxons. In a remarkable manner the conversion of our own parts hereabouts proceeded from the mission establishment in Minden. Liudgar had lived there a long while, and his piety and his ardour had infected the young monks assembled there with a live zeal for missions. One of these monks, who the chronicle tells came from Eastphalia, and had been converted to Christianity through Liudgar's means, was called Landolf. Now when Wittekind and Albion had received holy baptism, and so a door was opened in the Saxon land to the messengers of salvation, Landolf could stand it no longer in MÜnden, but determined to go back to his native Eastphalia and carry the sweet Gospel to his beloved countrymen. He had no rest day nor night; the heathen Eastphalians were always standing before him and calling to him, "Come here and help us!"'"

"There!" said Meredith pausing, "that's how I feel."

Every one of the three heads around him was lifted up.

"You, Ditto?" exclaimed Maggie, but the others only looked.

"Yes," said Meredith, "I feel just so."

"About whom?" said his sister abruptly.

"All the heathen. Nobody in particular, Everybody who doesn't know the Lord Jesus."

"You had better begin at home!" said Flora with an accent of scorn.

"I do," said her brother gravely; and Flora was silent, for she knew he did.

"But why, dear Ditto?" said Maggie, with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity.

"I am so sorry for them, Maggie." And watching, she could see that Meredith's downcast eyes were swimming. "Think—they do not know Jesus; and what is life worth without that?"

"But it isn't everybody's place to go preaching," said Flora after a minute.

"Can you prove it? I think it is."

"Mine, for instance, and Maggie's?"

"What is preaching, in the first place? It is just telling other people the truth you know yourself. But you must know it first. I don't think it is your place to tell what you do not know. But the Bible says, 'Let him that heareth say, Come!' and I think we, who have heard, ought to say it. And I think," added Meredith slowly, "if anybody is as glad of it himself as he ought to be, he cannot help saying it. It will burn in his heart if he don't say it."

"But what do you want to do, Ditto?" Maggie asked again.

"I don't know, Maggie. Not preach in churches; I am not fit for that. But I want to tell all I can. People seem to me so miserable that do not know Christ. So miserable!""But, Ditto," said Maggie again, "you can give money to send missionaries."

"Pay somebody else to do my work?"

"You can tell people here at home."

"Well—" said Meredith with a long breath, "let us see what Landolf the Saxon did."