"Uncle Eden," said Maggie, "do you like Meredith's story?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel like talking now, Uncle Eden?"

"What about?"

"But I mean—do you feel like talking—about anything?"

"Depends on the subject, Maggie. Hark to that woodpecker!"

"Mr. Murray does not feel like talking, I know," remarked Flora. "He feels—if he ever feels!—lazy."

"No, Miss Flora, not exactly. And yet, how delicious this quiet is!"

"And the smell of the pines!"

"And the warm, luxurious air!"

"And the light through the pine branches, and upon the coloured leaves yonder."

"Yes, and the blue of the sky," said Mr. Murray, who lying upon his back had a good view. "Blue, through the pine needles. Such an ethereal, clear blue; not like summer's intensity."

"I like summer best," said Flora.

"I like this. But what did you want to talk about, children?"

"O Uncle Eden! a great many things. You see, we do not all think alike."

"Naturally."

"And we want you to tell us how we ought to think."

"You do," said Mr. Murray laughing. "That will answer for ten years old. I am sure the others are more independent."

"But we want to know what you think, Uncle Eden—about ever so many things. We have been saving them up till you came. Ditto wants to know what Christians ought to do—about some things."

"And I hope you will tell him, Mr. Murray," said Flora, "what Christians ought not to do—about some things."

Mr. Murray raised himself up on his elbows and looked at the young people around him. It was a very pretty picture. Fair young faces, that life had not clouded, intelligent and honest; bright young figures in all the freshness of neat attire and excellent personal care; the setting of the green wood, the brown carpet of pine needles, the hazy October air, here and there the crimson of a Virginia creeper, here and there the tawny hues of a cat-briar or a wild grape-vine; stillness and softness over all, the chirrup of a cricket, the cawing of two crows flying over, the interrupted tap of the woodpecker, just making you notice how still and soft it was; and then the bright, living young faces raised or turned, and waiting upon him. Mr. Murray looked and smiled, and did not at once speak; then he asked what subject came first. So many answers were begun at once that all had to stop; then Maggie, getting the field, said—

"We want to know how much a Christian ought really to give, Uncle Eden."

"Say, rather—how much he ought to do," put in Meredith.

"Yes," added Flora; "we do want instruction on that point. Some of us are rather wild."

"Too big a subject for the present time and place," responded the referee of the little company. "To-morrow is Sunday; let us keep it for to-morrow, and come out here, or to some other place, and discuss it."

"That is delightful!" cried Maggie clapping her hands. "Now, what were some of the other things, Ditto?"

"About the Saxons. But Mr. Murray did not hear our first story.""Oh, I know. I guess he knows. You do know about the old Saxons, don't you, Uncle Eden?"

"I know there was such a people."

"And you know they were very good and very bad—both at once; and we wanted to know how they could be so much worse, and yet so much better, than people nowadays."

"How 'so much better'?"

"They told the truth, Uncle Eden."

"There were no cowards and no marriage-breakers among them," Meredith added.

"And then how 'so much worse'?"

"Oh, they were cruel! they offered human sacrifices; they were frightfully cruel."

"Yes," said Mr. Murray thoughtfully; "the contrast seems strange. They were a noble people in many ways."

"But Pastor Harms says they are not half so good now that they are Christians," Maggie went on.

"If that is true, there must be a reason for it."

"Yes, Uncle Eden, of course."

"And that reason cannot be found, in their Christianity."

"But how is it, Uncle Eden?"

"Human nature is very much alike at all times, my child."

"But the old Saxons were not like the old Romans, Uncle Eden. The word of a Saxon was better than a Roman's oath."

"And the modern Saxons are not like their forefathers," said Meredith; "at least, according to Pastor Harms."

"I have no doubt he is right."

"And Frenchmen are very different from Englishmen," added Flora.

"And both from Americans. And the Dutch from all three. We might go on indefinitely."

"Yet they are all descended from Noah's sons," Meredith remarked.

"It is a very curious subject, and rather deep for some of the present company. Many things go to make the differences between one nation and another. In the first place, the several families of Shem, Ham and Japheth are all strongly marked."

"Are they, sir?"

"Then, among the tribes of any one family, differences grow up from many causes. From the sort of country they inhabit, the climate that prevails, the scenery their eyes rest on, the ease or difficulty of obtaining food, and the means necessary to that end; from the religion they believe in, their situation with respect to commerce and intercourse with other nations; their habits of life superinduced upon all these."

"But the modern Saxons live where the old Saxons did, sir?"

"Barely. The country was at that time all one wild tract of forest and moor, where life had need be of the simplest; and where it was sustained in great measure by the chase and by a rude husbandry. No cities, no churches, no libraries, no merchants, no lawyers, no fine furniture, no delicate living. Nobody therefore wanted money, and nobody tried to get it. That makes all the difference in the world, children."

"Money, Uncle Eden?"

"Look at the map of Germany now; run your eye over the cities. Remember the treasures of art in this and that gallery; the beautiful old buildings almost everywhere; the great trading houses; the life of complicated interests, political, literary, scientific, social, critical, artistic, mercantile; think of the books, the pictures, the statuary, the jewellery, the carvings and engravings, the luxurious and magnificent living. Everybody wants money now, and nearly everybody either has it, or is working hard for it."

"Does money make so much odds in national character?" Meredith asked.

"It is the root of all evil," Mr. Murray said smiling.

"But, Mr. Murray, you do not seriously mean that?" said Flora.

"The Bible says it, Miss Flora; not I.""But what can you have, or do, that is worth anything, without money?"

"Exactly! That is the general opinion. So everybody is striving to get money."

"Well, people would stagnate if they did not strive for something."

"Quite true. Nevertheless, the Bible award proves itself. If you examine facts, you will find that the love of money is at the bottom of nearly all the crimes that are committed; and at the root of all the meannesses, speaking generally."

"Then you would make out money to be a bad thing, Mr. Murray!"

"Not money necessarily. But 'if any man will be rich, he shall fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition.'"

"Then was that the reason, Uncle Eden, why those old Saxons were so noble, because they had no money?"

"One reason, I fancy. Along with trade and riches, don't you see, comes the temptation to underhand and false dealings, that money may be got faster; and so comes cringing for the sake of advantage, and flattery for the same. And then, with luxury comes dislike of hardships, and neglect of manly living, and people's moral sense gets weak along with their bodily powers. Self-indulgence drives out the noble uprightness that was maintained when people feared nothing."

"But religion—Christianity?" said Meredith. "That ought to have made more difference the other way."

"So it would if it prevailed. But a name is not Christianity; and the real thing is only here and there. The wheat in the midst of tares, as the Lord said it would be."

Maggie drew a long sigh.

"The wheat must show itself for what it is," said her uncle smiling at her, "and bear a fine head of fruit, to rebuke the tares. Your old Saxons, however, were a fine stock to begin with.""I think I understand this question," said Meredith.

"I do, too," said Maggie.

"I am sorry Mr. Murray thinks so ill of money," remarked Flora.

"Of the love of it, say."

"But how can one have it—or not have it, for that matter—and help loving it?"

"So the danger comes in. And the difficulty of giving it all to Christ."

"O Uncle Eden! you are getting upon another of our questions now."

"And we have had enough serious talk for one time. Leave it till to-morrow, Maggie."

"Shall I read some more?" said Meredith. "Or have you heard enough?"

"By all means, read. This is luxury."

And Mr. Murray stretched himself comfortably on the pine needles and clasped his hands under his head, repeating, "This is luxury!" while Meredith opened his book again.

"Another Saxon story, Ditto?" Flora asked.

"Out of the Saxon chronicles. Yes. 'The story that I am going to tell you now, happened in ancient times and at a place called DagefÖrde.

"'Our forefathers, the old Saxons, were then divided into ediling or nobles, freiling or free peasants, and serfs. A freiling, by name Henning, lived on this farm, in the days when Hermann Billing was Duke of Saxony. At that time—it is 900 years ago—our country was already a Christian country, but still had hard fights to go through with the heathenish Wends, who made inroads almost yearly into our Eastphalian land, plundering and killing, and showing a special rage against the churches and the priests. The strong arm of the two excellent emperors, Heinrich and Otto, it is true, kept back these heathen and held them in awe; but, notwithstanding, they availed themselves of every opportunity to renew their murderous onslaughts.

"'Now when once Kaiser Otto was gone to Italy, and staying a long while away, they were minded to profit by his absence; for they supposed that now they could burn and lay waste to their heart's desire, and with no hindrance. So they came with a great host, burned down the churches, killed the priests, dragged off men, women, and children, and treasures of booty, and came as far as to this part of the country. It is told of their frightful rage against Christianity, that on one occasion they took more than twenty Christian priests, stripped off their clothes, cut bloody crosses on their faces, breasts, bodies, and backs, and then tied them by their feet to the tails of their horses, which they drove round and round till their victims were dragged to death.'"

"It cost something in those days to be a Christian," said Meredith with something of a shudder.

"There have been many such days in the history of the Church," said Mr. Murray. "And yet, it pays to be a Christian. It did then."

"I do not see, for my part, how people stood it, there and in other places," said Flora. "I should think they would not have dared to confess they were Christians."

"They could not be Christians and not confess—neither in those days nor in these days."

"Why, Uncle Eden?" said Esther, who seldom said anything.

"You know the Lord's declaration—He will own those publicly who own Him publicly, and nobody else."

"But why couldn't they own Him privately?"

"Will you tell me how that is to be done, my dear?"

"Why, by beautiful Christian living and acting," said Flora.

"Don't you see, if such living could be found among those who are in name and profession not the Lord's, it would fight all against His cause and Him? What sort of confessing of Him is that?"

Nobody answered, and Meredith went on.

"'In the meanwhile the valiant Duke Hermann had gathered his faithful followers and moved forward to meet the enemy. All the ediling and freiling were called upon for such expeditions of war, none other having the right to bear arms. The ediling served on horseback and the freiling on foot, and each one brought his own weapons with him. And Henning, the freiling of DagefÖrde, was among the Christian warriors who accompanied the Duke. Not far from here is the HÜnenburg, an extent of heath on which there are a number of burial mounds. There it came to a battle between the Christians and the heathen. The fight was long and bloody; Christ led the one host, Satan the other. The Christians fought for their faith, the heathen fought for their prey. Before the battle, Hermann with his warriors had cast himself upon his knees and besought the Lord Christ that He would be their leader. Therewith came the storm of the heathen upon them, already certain of victory, for they were many and the Christian number was small; Hermann, in his noble eagerness to protect his poor people, not having had patience to wait for further reinforcements. But the Christians stood immovable, like a wall, and the heathen fell in heaps under their swords and spears. In the Christian army there were twelve priests wearing white garments, who bore a white banner with a red cross; and wherever the fight raged most madly, thither they carried their banner, singing, "Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison;" the Christian warriors dashing after them, joining in the holy song, wielding their hacked swords, and with irresistible force driving the heathen back. In vain the heathen sought to slay the priests and to seize their white banner; every Christian presented his breast as its bulwark against the foe. Whichever way the banner turned, victory went with it. Louder and louder sounded the "Kyrie Eleison," with more and more valour and joy of victory the Christians pressed forward. Then one of the Wendish leaders, Zwentibold by name, gathered once more the bravest of his people to make a stormy effort for the banner of the cross. His rage of onset broke through some ranks of the Christians; already he had penetrated to the near neighbourhood of the priests; when a foot-soldier from among the Christians manfully planted himself in his way and thrust his sharp spear against the heathen's broad breast, so that the coat of chain armour he had on was broken, and the spear pierced through his heart. Now there was no stand made any longer; the heathen fled, and in terror they cried out, "Christ has conquered! Christ has conquered!"

"'Duke Hermann looked about him to see the brave freiling who had done such a deed of heroism; it was Henning, the freiling of DagefÖrde. For his reward, Hermann dubbed the brave man knight upon the field of battle, and Henning returned to his house as an ediling. Though but for a little while. For Hermann was minded to profit by his victory and compel his stubborn enemies to keep the peace in future. So he pushed on with his army, now greatly reinforced, into the country of the Wends, and Henning went with his Duke.

"'Not far from the Elbe there was a temple of the heathenish idol Radegast; this temple stood within a strong fortress, called the fortress of Radegast, where now the village of Radegast lies. The heathen had collected and carried to this place all the treasures of the prey they had seized in their plundering incursions. Hermann resolved to storm this fortress, and therewith to destroy the bulwark of heathenism on this side the Elbe. The heathen defended themselves with the bravery of despair; many assaults were beaten back, and many a Christian fell in death before the ramparts of the fortress. The tenth day of the siege, the Christians held divine service and on their knees prayed the Lord of hosts to give them victory. Then they rushed upon the place to take it by storm; and among the foremost of those who clambered up the ramparts of the fortress was Henning of DagefÖrde, who in order to inspirit the Christians and terrify the heathen set up the field-song of the HÜnenburg—"Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison, Kyrie Eleison!" Just as he had sung it through, an arrow from one of the enemy pierced his bold heart; he fell to the ground in death, but as a dying conqueror, who has gained the battle for Christ and with Christ. The fortress was won; those of the heathen who would not yield were put to death. Hermann dashed away a tear from his manly eye as he buried the brave Henning, and he said to Hilmer, Henning's oldest son, a boy of sixteen, who had come along to the war, "My son, you are early fledged. Your father was a true Christian and a true Saxon; follow in his steps, and so long as I live, I will be your father." Of all the enormous booty which Hermann found in the Wendenburg Radegast, this noble man kept nothing for himself. One half of the treasures he set apart, to rebuild with them all the churches which the Wends had burned down; the other half he distributed among his knights and warriors. Hilmer of DagefÖrde got his share too, and indeed a double portion, one for himself and one for his father. When he returned home, he took counsel with his mother what they should do with it; and they agreed together that it should be used for the glory of God. They erected a chapel in their own house, with an altar and all the fittings of a church. Part of the money was applied to this use, and with the remainder a chaplaincy was founded in the church at Hermannsburg, which at that time was the only church in the whole Oerze valley, with the stipulation that the chaplain should come every Sunday to DagefÖrde and hold divine service in the chapel there. A servant, with a led horse, must go to fetch him every time from Hermannsburg, and bring him back thither again. This service at DagefÖrde lasted till the Reformation. But when the evangelical faith was preached in Hermannsburg by the valiant Pastor GrÜnhagen, who, as I told you awhile ago in Tiefenthal, was converted to the pure Lutheran doctrine by an artisan fellow who read him the little Lutheran catechism, then this service at DagefÖrde ceased, because the possessors of DagefÖrde held stiffly and firmly by the Catholic faith, and obstinately rejected the pure doctrine. But now for a long time there have been lords of DagefÖrde no more. The race died out; and when one only of the family was left, he entered a Catholic cloister, where, in the year 1616, he died. Then the reigning Duke gave the manor of DagefÖrde to the lords of LÜneburg, and they again sold it to some peasants, after they had divided the farm into two. So these farms have again become what they were originally—peasant farms. God grant to the present owners that they may stand firm and true to the pure faith of our beloved church, that they may earnestly strive to be genuine Christians and genuine Saxon peasants; then will it go well with them and with those that come after them.'"