The same sweet weather continued again the next day; the air was even warmer still, the leaves of oaks and maples, turning more and more, were growing browner and ruddier, and the glow on the hills more deep. The pine wood, however, which lay behind, that is, north of the house, at no great distance, was uninvaded by this autumn glow. The soft, blue gleam of the pines alone stood against the heaven's mild blue overhead, and pine needles, brown and thick, carpeted the ground everywhere between the rocks. For rocks were almost everywhere at Mosswood. Only on the skirts of the wood one might see a flaming maple branch, or a golden cloud of hickory here and there, and here and there a cat-briar vine taking a tawny hue, or some low-growing cornus putting on lovely tints of madder at the edges of its leaves. Through the wood the little party wandered, not knowing where to choose to stop, and Meredith patiently drew the cart along waiting for orders. At last, on a little rising ground they found an open space, yet shadowed enough, from which there was a lookout to the house in the valley; truly no more than the chimneys could be seen; and a wider space of blue sky, and the hills towards the south. This would do. Here were pine needles enough for a carpet, and a felled pine log gave a convenient seat to those who liked it. For Meredith and Maggie preferred the ground and the pine needles. The cart was drawn up under the shade of a tree; afghan and worsted embroidery were taken out; shawls were spread; and the party settled themselves for a morning of comfort.

"This is good!" said Meredith delaying to open his book.

"How perfectly delicious this warm smell of the pines is!" said Flora."You use strong language, Flo, but for once not exaggerated. We have not got the sound of the wood-chopper's axe to-day."

"I'll tell you what you may hear, though, if you listen," said Esther,—"the woodpecker—

only there are no beech-trees on the place. You may hear him on an oak, though."

"This hazy light under the pines—through the pines—is bewitching. O October! O Mosswood!" Meredith exclaimed. "What is so pretty as these autumn woods?"

"What are you going to read us to-day?" said his sister. "Don't get poetical."

"I will read you one or two little bits first, which touch something Maggie and I were talking of yesterday. We do not want a bonfire to-day; it's too warm."

"No; we will make just a tiny little blaze by and by, to boil our kettle. It would be too warm for a bonfire; and there are no trees here to be cut."

"I should think not!" said Meredith looking up at the blue-green pine needles over his head. "Well, here's a story for you."

"Heathen?" asked Flora.

"No, Christian. 'There was a man, once upon a time, whom God had richly blessed. He had received a year's income of seven hundred thalers. Four hundred of them he needed and used for his house and family wants, and three hundred were left over. So he thought at first he would put the money out at interest, and enjoy the comfort of receiving rents which were growing while he was sleeping. As he was just setting about this, he read in a mission paper about the wants of the heathen; and the Sunday next following he heard a preaching about how the dear Lord is the safest of all to trust money to, and gives the best interest. So he made a short piece of work of it, and sent his three hundred thalers to the dear Lord for the conversion of the heathen, and said, "Lord, take Thou them; I got them from Thee, and there is all this left." "Wife," said he, when he came home at evening, "I have done a good bit of business to-day; I have got rid of my three hundred thalers, and am quit of any care of the money, over and above." "Then you may thank the dear Lord for that," said his wife. "And so I do," he answered.

"'Do I not hear at this point, not merely many a child of the world, but also many a believer, secretly half saying, "No, but what is out of reason is out of reason!"—and so do I see a certain compassionate smile playing about mouth-corners. But wait a bit; there is something coming that is more crazy yet. The next year the man was overloaded with such a blessing, that instead of seven hundred thalers, he made fourteen hundred thalers, and he did not know where it all came from. Then what does he do but take the surplus, one thousand thalers, and send it to the mission. Is the story true? do you say. You can ask the Lord "in that day;" he knows the story.'"

"I like that," said Maggie.

"Why?" Flora asked.

"I think it is nice," said Maggie with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I don't see it. What good to the man to have twice as much as he had before, if he must give it all right away again?"

"Why, he has the pleasure of giving it!" cried Maggie.

"And it shows, at any rate, that he did not get poor by his first venture," said Meredith. "And the Lord will reckon it 'at that day' as all done for Him."

"I don't think people are obliged to give away all they have got," said Flora.

"Suppose they do not reckon anything they have their own? The Christians in the early times did not, if the Lord's work or the needs of others wanted it more."

"Extravagance!" said Flora. "Just enthusiasm."

"Come, I will read you another story. But the poor woman who gave all she had into the Lord's treasury was not rated as a fool by Him. I will read you now—

"'A PROBLEM ABOUT STUTEN MONEY.

"'Most of you know, it is true, right well what stuten money is, but certainly all do not. Among us, when people go to church on Sunday, the children and younger serving people of the peasants get a groschen to take along, with which they can buy a stuten, that is, a white roll, at noon when they come out of church; by the help of which they can stay in the village and so go to church again in the afternoon. Now there are a boy, a girl, and an old woman known to me, who have no other money but the stuten money they get on Sundays. So each one of them falls to considering how he or she can do something for the heathen. And they arrange it on this wise. One of them every other Sunday eats no roll, and thinks within herself, "I ate as much as I wanted this morning at home, and I can do the same again this evening." The two others buy each a small roll for half a groschen, and lay up the other half-groschen every Sunday; and when the year comes round, they have all three of them, counting the festivals, thirty groschen saved up, and bring them with glad, smiling faces to go for the conversion of the heathen. And upon being afterwards asked whether hunger did not often trouble them on Sunday? they say, they have always felt as if they had had enough; and, with God's help, they will do the same way next year.'"

"What sort of a story do you call that?" asked Flora when her brother paused.

"I call it a story of what can be done."

"And I call it a story of what ought not to be done. Both the children and the old woman needed their bread for themselves; it was not good for them to go without it. And what is a groschen? or thirty groschen?"

"What are 'two mites, which make a farthing?'"

"Oh, that is in the Bible."

"But it was in a poor woman's heart first, or we should never have had it in the Bible."

"Well, look at our luncheon," said Flora."I will look at it when I see it. What then?"

"Do you mean that we shall do wrong to eat it?"

"Not at all."

"How can those people be right and we not wrong?"

"Yes, Ditto," said Maggie. "I do not understand."

"Those people must give their groschen or give nothing. It was all they could give."

"But we might give more than we do, if we would live on bread and water," said Flora. "If we are to give all we could give, our luncheon would come to a good many groschen, I can tell you."

"We must ask Mr. Murray. I am not wise enough to talk to you," said Meredith. "I hope he will come; we are getting work ready for him. Meantime I will read you another little story. Maybe we shall find some light.

"'AS POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH.

"'There was a poor day-labourer who lived by his work from hand to mouth. He heard it read out of the Old Testament, that under the old covenant every Israelite was bound to give to God the tenth of all his incomings. That went through and through the man's head, and he thought: Could the Israelites do that by the law, and should not we Christians be able to do it by the love of Christ? So, honestly and faithfully, he lays by the tenth of his daily wages; the Lord blesses him, so that many a time he earns sixteen groschen a day; and at the end of the year he comes with his hands full, bringing sixteen thaler twenty groschen for the conversion of the heathen, and with hearty pleasure; and he says, "The love of Christ constraineth me so, I have wanted for nothing."'"

"Not much of a story," said Meredith, in concluding, "but a good deal of a suggestion."

"Suggestion of what?" asked his sister.

"Duty. Certainly a Christian ought to be able to do more for love than an old Hebrew did for law; and from this time I will imitate that old German fellow.""But, Ditto," exclaimed his sister, "a tenth of your income, you must remember, is a great deal."

"Not in proportion," said Meredith. "He would want every one of his remaining groschen for his necessities; I should not. It seems to me, the richer one is, the larger the proportion should be that should go to the Lord's uses."

"I shall ask Mr. Murray to make you reasonable!" Flora exclaimed. "Stop talking, and go on with your reading."

"The next story is about 'One Groschen and Two Pennies.'"

"'It is true what the Bible says—"The Lord maketh sore, and bindeth up; He woundeth, and His hands make whole." My heart learnt the meaning of this word when a short time ago I had to expel two pupils from the Mission-house, who had been led astray by Satan. This gave me great pain, but it had to be done, for their sakes and for the sake of the house; and it was somewhat alleviated in that they came back sorry and penitent and were taken in again.

"'To the honour of the Lord I will here speak good of the balm which shortly after my great hurt He laid upon the wounds. May it have somewhat of the sweetness of that ointment which filled the whole house.

"'Soon after the departure of the pupils was made known, I had a visit from an eight-year-old boy. He had a groschen in his hand and a reading-book under his arm. He told me that he had found this groschen fourteen days before on the way to church; that he had asked his father to publish the discovery, and he himself had announced it in school. But nobody had been found to own the groschen. I said to him: "Well, what do you think, my child? does the groschen belong to you? will you buy something with it?" The boy answered, "No, the groschen is not mine, so I am not going to keep it. I will give it to the dear Saviour for the poor heathen children, to get a spelling-book for them." When I questioned him further, he said that once in the church, where his father takes him every Sunday, I had said "whoever keeps what does not belong to him is a thief; and"—he added with great seriousness, "you said, a Christian child must not be a thief!" I received the groschen now and thanked him. But the boy had not done yet. He asked me if it were true that two of the pupils had been expelled from the Mission-house. When with a sorrowful face I assented, he answered, "You need not be so troubled about it. You can send me instead. I can spell already, and I will soon learn to read." When the little fellow with great earnestness had said that, I could not help folding him to my breast in heartfelt gladness. Then I knelt down, and together with him prayed that the Lord would some time make a true missionary of him. He went away at last, but could not at first rightly understand how it was that I had as yet no use for him.

"'Soon after this, I receive a letter from a dear friend who had been making a lively stir in the matter of the Mission among his school and the parish to which his school belonged. The Lord had granted him access to the hearts of great and small, and with cordial pleasure he had been collecting till he should have a full thaler made up, which then should be sent me. Now he wrote the thaler was made up, and he sent it, and this was how it had come about. In a hospital, where he is accustomed to hold devotional service for an hour, he had mentioned the conversion of the heathen. The next day came a widow, shoved four groschen under one of the books which lay on the table, and then, with a greeting from her children, laid two groschen on the table, saying, "Now the thaler will be made up!" To this Mission thaler, which indeed was made up now, a little girl of nine years old had every Sunday contributed two pennies, which she received from her mother to buy rolls with. Some time after, the mother brought the child's two pennies again, silently; but it struck our friend that she had great tears in her eyes. The thing was soon explained. The child had fallen ill. Sunday her mother said to her, "To-day you shall keep your roll for yourself." "No," the child answered, "I could not be easy if I did. I promised my dear Saviour once, that as long as you gave me two pennies to buy rolls with, I would give the money on Sunday for the heathen." How glad that true mother's heart must have been! She had reason to say, "But what a value these two pennies had for me! I could not let them out of my hands at first, for joy." God bless mother, child, and teacher! The Mission must indeed thrive when such gifts are offered. From another dear friend of missions, personally unknown to me, moreover, I received a contribution for the Mission, in the making up of which both men and beasts had given their help. The contributors were specially mentioned, the men at their head; then at the conclusion followed, "A hen, so much and so much."'"

"Well, Ditto," said Flora, "I will say, you do read the most extraordinary stories."

"Like them?"

"No, I don't think I do much. Do you bring them forward as our examples, hen and all?"

"You might do worse."

"But, Ditto," Maggie said anxiously, "you do not think we ought to go without what we want, do you, for the sake of the heathen?"

"Ask Mr. Murray that question, Maggie. Whose hat is that I see over the wall, coming up to the gate?"

Maggie jumped up to look, and then, with a scream of "Uncle Eden! Uncle Eden!" sprang away down the path to meet him. The others dropped book and work and followed her. The pine wood was screened off from the shrubbery and pleasure grounds (but indeed all Mosswood pretty much was pleasure grounds) by a low stone wall, in which wall a little gate admitted to the entrance of the wood. By the time Mr. Murray, skirting the wall, had come to that point, the group of young people had reached it also, and there Mr. Murray received a welcome that might have satisfied any man. Maggie threw herself on his neck with cries of delight; Flora's bright, handsome face sparkled with undisguised pleasure; even Esther looked glad, and Meredith's wringing grasp of the hand was as expressive as anything else. Surrounded by them, almost hemmed in his steps, questioned and answered and welcomed, all in a breath, by the gay little group, Mr. Murray slowly made his progress along the pine walk towards the present camping place. He had got the round-robin, yes, and he had obeyed their summons as soon as he could after clearing away a few impediments of business; he had made an early start, and come all the way that morning from Bay House, and he was very glad to be with them. Now what were they going to do with him?

Saying which last, Mr. Murray stretched himself on the soft carpet of pine needles and surveyed the tokens of work and play around the spot.

"From Bay House this morning! And no lunch yet? That's good!" cried Maggie. "Now, dear Ditto, the first thing is to give him something to eat. He must be ravenous. If you'll build a fireplace, I'll make the fire, and then we can have the kettle boiled in a very little time."

Mr. Murray lay on his elbow on the pine needles and watched them as Meredith built a few stones together to support the tea-kettle, and then he and Maggie ran about collecting bits of pine and pine cones and fuel generally. And then there was the careful laying of dry tinder together, and the match applied, and the blue, hospitable smoke began to curl up under and round the kettle, and an aromatic, odoriferous smell came floating in the air.

"This is better than anything I have seen for some time, children," he said.

"Ah, wait!" cried Maggie. "We have got stewed pigeons for lunch."

Mr. Murray laughed. "What are you all doing out here, besides eating pigeons?"

"We have set out with the determination to live out of doors," said Flora; "and so we do it. This is the third day, and it is absolutely delightful."

"What are you doing?"

"I see you looking at our worsteds—aren't they pretty colours, Mr. Murray? Esther and I play with these, while Ditto reads to us. And we have laid up a great deal of work for you."

"In what shape, pray?"

"Questions. Somehow, as we read, we get up difficult questions, that nobody can answer, and that we are not all agreed upon; and then by general consent we refer them to you."

Mr. Murray watched the tiny tongues of flame which were darting up round the tea-kettle, where Maggie sat supplying small sticks and resinous pine cones to feed the fire. The scene was as pretty as possible; Meredith roaming hither and thither collecting more fuel, and the shawls and even the worsted lying about, with the gay, young figures, touching up the gipsy view with bits of colour. He watched in silence.

"Mosswood is the most delicious place we have ever seen," Flora went on.

"Almost any place is good in October. How pleasant this veiled light is! What are you about, Maggie?"

"This is the pot of pigeons, Uncle Eden; we are going to get them hot. The kettle boils; now would you like some coffee, Uncle Eden?"

But Mr. Murray declared himself satisfied with tea. And in a little while the scene became more gipsy than ever; except that gipsys are not supposed to indulge in much refinement of china cups and silver spoons. Everybody was picking pigeon bones, however; and bread and butter, and cups of tea, and baked potatoes (which came out hot from the house, brought in a basket by Fairbairn), and peaches and pears to conclude with, were discussed with great enjoyment and amidst a great deal of talk. Fenton arrived from the fishing to take his share; but I do not think he was as glad to see his uncle as the others had been; and as soon as lunch was over he took himself away again. Then cups and plates and dÉbris were packed away into the cart; the little fire had burned itself out; fingers were washed in Eastern fashion, somebody pouring water over the others' hands; and at last worsted needles and knitting needles came into play again, and the circle was made up around Mr. Murray, who declared himself to be quite refreshed and rested.

"Ready for questions, Uncle Eden?"

"Are the questions very deep?"

"Oh, yes, Uncle Eden; none of us can answer them."

"They had need be profound! How did they come up?"

"From Meredith's book. Ditto was reading to us some delicious stories about the old Saxons, and their ways and their gods; and we have ever so many questions to ask you, Uncle Eden."

"Have you any more of those Saxon stories on hand, Meredith?"

"Plenty, sir."

"Then I wish you would go on and read another; and so I should perhaps get into the atmosphere of your questions. Besides, I feel like being luxurious and lazy in this warm, spicy air. Suppose we have a story now, and the questions by and by?"

They were all agreed to that. Maggie settled herself to listen comfortably, and Mr. Murray lay on his elbow and looked thoughtfully into the reader's face, or into the blue-green pine wilderness around, or above to the quiet, clear blue which stretched over all; but if Mr. Murray's body was resting, I am inclined to think his mind was busy enough.