"Is that all?" said Maggie.

"All of that story," Meredith answered.

There was a long silence. On hill and rock and river there was a stillness and peace as if nowhere in the world could blood ever have flowed, or wrangling been heard, or men been cruel one to another. So soft and warm the sunlight brooded, and the dry leaves hung still on the trees and not a breath moved them, and the liquid lap of the water against the rocks far down below just came to the ear with a murmur of content. There was nothing else to hear; and the silence was so exquisite that it laid a sort of spell on everybody's tongue, while the mild sunlight on the warm, hazy hills seemed to find out everybody's very heart and spread itself there. A spell of stillness and a spell of peace. All the party were hushed for a good while; and what broke the charm at last was a long-drawn breath of little Maggie, which came from somewhere much deeper then she knew. Mr. Murray looked up at her and smiled.

"What is it, Maggie?"

"I don't know, Uncle Eden. I think something makes me feel bad."

"Feel bad!" echoed Esther.

"I don't mean feel bad exactly—I can't explain it."

"I suppose she has been thinking, as I have been," said Meredith, "that it does not seem as if this day and my story could both belong to the same world."

"Ah!" said Mr. Murray, "this is a little bit of God's part, and the other is a little bit of man's part in the world; that is all."

"But, Uncle Eden, in those dreadful times it don't seem as if there could ever have been pleasant days."

"I fancy there were. Don't you think the people of Hermannsburg must have enjoyed Tiefenthal, sometimes in the early starlight dawn and sometimes in the fresh sunrise?"

"Uncle Eden, I should always have been afraid the soldiers were coming."

"On the other hand, those people always knew that God was there. And there is a wonderful sweetness in living in His hands."

"But yet, Uncle Eden, He did let the soldiers come."

"He did not go away, Maggie."

"No; but those must have been dreadful times."

"Well, yes. They were no doubt hard times. And yet, Maggie, it remains true—'When He giveth quietness, then who can make trouble?' Think of Paul and Silas, beaten and bleeding, stiff and sore, stretched uncomfortably in the wooden framework which left them no power to rest themselves or change their position; in the noisome inner dungeon of a Roman prison, and yet singing for gladness. People cannot sing when they are faint-hearted, Maggie. The Lord keeps His promises."

"I wonder how many people would stand Pastor Harms's test?" Meredith remarked.

"They are not obliged to stand it," Flora rejoined. "There are no persecutions now; not here, at any rate. People are not called upon to be martyrs."

"Do you think the terms of service have changed?" said Mr. Murray looking at her.

"Why, sir, we are not called upon to be martyrs."

"No, but are you not called to have the same spirit the martyrs had?"

"How can we?"

"What is the martyr spirit?"

"I don't know," said Flora. "I suppose it is a wonderful power of bearing pain, which is given people at such times."

"Given to everybody?" said Meredith."Of course, not given to everybody."

"To whom, then?"

"Why, to Christians."

"And what is a Christian?" said Mr. Murray. "Are there two kinds, one for peace and the other for war?"

"No, I suppose not," said Flora, somewhat mystified.

"'Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I also confess before my Father which is in heaven.' So the Lord said. Now in times of persecution, you know what confessing Christ meant. What does it mean in these days?"

"I do not think I understand the question, Mr. Murray."

"In the Roman days, for instance, how did people confess Christ?"

"I don't know. They owned that they were Christians."

"How did they own that? They refused to do anything that could be constructed into paying honour to the gods of the people. They might have said in word that they were Christians—but nobody would have meddled with them if they would have hung garlands of flowers upon Jupiter's altar."

"No," said Flora.

"How is it in these days?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, how is Christ to be confessed in these days?"

"I don't know," said Flora; "except by making what is called a profession of religion,—joining some church, I suppose."

"Does that do it?"

"I do not know how else."

"Why, Uncle Eden," said Maggie, "how can one do it any other way?"

"One cannot do it in that way, my pet."

"Not?" said Flora. "How then, Mr. Murray?"

"What do people join the church for, then, Uncle Eden?" Esther inquired.

"Those who enlist in Christ's army must certainly put on His uniform. But who shall say that the uniform does not cover a traitor?"

"A traitor, Mr. Murray?" Flora looked puzzled.

"Yes. There are many traitors. There were even in Paul's time."

"Traitors among the Christians?"

"So he wrote. 'Many walk, of whom I have told you often, and tell you now again even weeping, that they are enemies of the cross of Christ.' They were professors of His name, nevertheless, Miss Flora; but confess Him before men, except in word, they did not. So my question stands, you perceive."

"How to confess Christ nowadays so that there shall be no mistake about it?" Meredith added. Flora and Esther and Maggie sat looking at Mr. Murray, as at the propounder of a riddle. Fenton pricked up his ears and stared at the whole group.

"What did those people do, Mr. Murray?" Flora asked.

"Paul tells. He says of them that their 'glory is in their shame;' they 'mind earthly things.'"

"How can one help minding earthly things, as long as one lives in this world?"

"One cannot, Miss Flora. But the characteristic of a Christian is, that he seeks first the kingdom of God."

"How?"

"First, to have the Lord's will done in his own heart; next, to have it done in other people's hearts."

"But you were talking of doing something to show to the world that you are certainly a Christian, Mr. Murray?"

"Yes, Miss Flora. Shall I tell you some of the ways in which this may be accomplished?"

"Yes, if you please. I am completely in a fog."

"I never like to leave anybody in a fog. Now listen, and I will give you some of the Bible marks of a real Christian.

"'Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.'"

"But, Mr. Murray!"——"Yes, that is just it exactly!" said Meredith, delighted.

"How can one forsake all he has? Be a beggar?"

"Not at all. Give it all to Christ, and be His steward."

"Not to please yourself in anything!" cried Flora.

"I did not say so. And the Bible does not mean so. For another Bible mark of a Christian is, in the Lord's words—

"'My meat is to do the will of Him that sent me.'"

"But can't one do anything that one wants to do?" cried Flora in dismay.

"Many things. But a Christian has no pleasure in what does not please God."

"How is one always to know?"

"I am going on to tell you in part. 'Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.'"

"That don't tell me," said Flora. "How can I tell what will do that? And how can one do everything so? Little things—and life is very much made up of little things. Dressing, and studying, and reading, and playing, and amusing one's self."

"O Flora?" Maggie cried; and "Why, Flora!" Meredith said, looking at her; but neither added anything more.

"The Bible says, 'Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do,'" Mr. Murray answered. "In another place, 'Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed.'"

"Well, Mr. Murray, I don't understand it; take eating and drinking—how can that be done to the glory of God?"

"You can easily see how it can be done not to His glory. Any way that is not becoming His servant is not to His glory. Therefore, in excess—of things that do not agree with you and therefore unfit you for duty—of costly dishes, which take the money that might feed starving people."

"But I can't feed all the starving people!" said Flora.

"It is something to feed one. But I will give you another Bible mark, Miss Flora, 'He that saith he abideth in Him,' that is, in Christ, 'ought himself also to walk even as He walked.' Now remember how Christ walked. He was here, 'as one that serveth.' He 'went about doing good.' He 'pleased not Himself.' He 'did always those things that please' God."

"But one can't be like Him," said Esther.

"That depends entirely upon whether you choose to be like Him."

"O Uncle Eden! He was"——

"Yes, I know, and I know what you are, and I, and all of us. It remains true,—'God is faithful, by whom ye were called unto the fellowship of His Son Jesus Christ our Lord;'—'chosen, that we should be holy and without blame before Him in love.'"

There was a pause of some length. Flora was silenced, but her eyes had filled, and her face wore a pained and bitter expression. Meredith had glanced at her and thought it better not to speak. Maggie was in a depth of meditation. Fenton had gone scrambling down the rocks. Esther looked somewhat bored.

"Have you got your book there, Meredith?" Mr. Murray asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Read us something more. And after that you may all bring your questions. We came here on purpose to talk, as I understood."

"There are different sort of things here, sir. Shall I give you a change?"

"What you will—

"'O day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next world's bud—
Th' indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his blood;
The couch of time; cares balm and bay;
The week were dark but for thy light;
Thy torch doth show the way.'"

"That's better than anything I have got, sir," said Meredith."No. But it is good. And just here and to-day the Sabbath seems dressed in royal robes. I could not but think of those lines."

"I confess, Mr. Murray, Sunday is nothing like that to me," said Flora.

"You are honest, Miss Flora. That gives me some hope of you. No, naturally the Sabbath does not seem like that to you yet.—Well, Meredith?"

"Is there more of it, sir?" Meredith's sister asked.

"More than you would care for, Miss Flora.—

"'Sundays the pillars are
On which heav'n's palace archÉd lies;
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.—'"

"And yet that need not be true, either. Go on, Meredith. What will you give us?"

"Two stories, sir, on the words, 'Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown.'"

"'On the twenty-fifth of June 1530, therefore three hundred and forty years ago, as is well known, our Lutheran Confession of Faith was delivered before the diet at Augsburg. There was the powerful emperor Charles V., and his brother, King Ferdinand, besides a number of electoral princes, dukes and bishops. Before this crowd of some three or four hundred nobles, stood a little company of seven princes and two represented cities; that is, the Elector John the Constant and his son John Frederick of Saxony, Margrave George of Brandenburg, Duke Ernst the Confessor and his brother Francis of LÜneburg, Landgrave Philip of Hesse, Prince Wolfgang of Anhalt, and the two burgermasters of NÜrnberg and Reutlingen. These nine stood forth with the spirit of heroes, and confessed, under signature of their names, that in this faith they would live and die, and that no power of earth or hell should make them turn from it. For the Lutherans were wickedly slandered, as men who no longer believed in anything, and who therefore deserved no other than to be rooted out from the earth. That was why the Lutheran princes had requested that it might be granted them to declare their faith publicly before the Diet; to the end that everybody might know how their belief rested upon the Scriptures and stood in harmony with the universal ancient Christian Church; and indeed had flung away only the false human teachings which had found their way into the Church. For this purpose the twenty-fifth of June was fixed. The electoral chancellor Beyer stepped into the middle of the hall with the written Confession of Faith in his hand. The evangelical princes rose and stood listening while it was read, and testified that this was the faith they held, to which by God's help they would stand unmoved. Then did all that were present hear what the faith of the Lutherans was; there stood the doctrine of the triune God, of original sin, of the eternal Godhead of Jesus Christ; of justification before God through grace alone by faith in Jesus Christ, &c., though I hope I do not need to tell you any more about it; I think you all know the Augsburg Confession and have read it, for surely you are all of you Lutheran Christians, and all Lutheran Christians know the Augsburg Confession. But if there be one among you who does not yet know this act of confession, let him be ashamed of himself, and get a copy with all speed, and read it, and read it again. When it was read aloud at Augsburg, the impression it made was very great; people saw that the Lutherans had been shamefully slandered. Duke William of Bavaria reproached De Eck with having represented the Lutheran doctrine to him in entirely false colours. The doctor answered, he would undertake to refute this writing from the Christian fathers, but not from the Scripture. Then the duke returned, "So, if I hear aright, the Lutherans are in the Scriptures, and we near by!"

"'There did the steadfast Lutherans keep that saying in their hearts—"Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown." Ay, when before the beginning of the Diet the Lutheran ministers earnestly besought the Elector of Saxony that he would not for their sakes run into danger, but graciously permit them to appear alone and give in their declaration before the emperor, the undaunted prince made them answer—"God forbid that I should be shut out from your company; I will confess my Lord Jesus Christ with you."

"'This is one story about those words; now I will give you another—'"

"Stop one minute, Ditto. Uncle Eden, I do not exactly understand all that?"

"What do you not understand?"

"Who were all those people?"

"The Catholic nobles of the German empire, with Charles the Fifth, a very powerful emperor, at their head, and the chief Catholic church doctors and dignitaries,—all that on one side; representing the powers of this world. On the other side, a little handful of men whom Luther's teaching had awakened out of the darkness of the Middle Ages, confessing Christ before men; representing the feeble flock of His followers."

"Yes," said Maggie thoughtfully. "Was there danger?"

"There was great danger to whoever got into the power of the Catholic lords."

"Do you think the world is always against the truth, Mr. Murray?" Flora asked.

Mr. Murray answered in the words of the psalm—"'Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth set themselves, and their rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against His Anointed, saying, Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.'"

"But all times are not like those times of the Reformation?"

"Not just. The world power strives against the Church in a variety of ways, sometimes with force and sometimes with guile. The beast in the vision, who has his power from the devil, sometimes makes war with the saints; and sometimes 'he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand or in their foreheads; and that no man might buy or sell save he that has the mark.'—Miss Flora, I believe the war times are the less evil and dangerous. Well, Meredith, you bear interruptions philosophically. Go on with your new story."

"This new story 'happened more than two hundred years ago, at a place called Galgenberg' (that is Gallowshill, Maggie), 'in the neighbourhood of Hermannsburg. In old times a gallows used to stand there, on which thieves and oath-breakers were hung.'"

"Oath-breakers!" said Mr. Murray. "It seems the Saxons kept their hatred of untruth. But I beg your pardon, Meredith."

"It's half the fun, to stop and talk, sir. 'At that time the criminal jurisdiction was located in Hermannsburg; and four times in the year, at quarter-day, court was held here and the judgment carried into effect as soon as delivered. To this end the justiciaries of Hermannsburg, Bergen, and Fallingbostel came together here and held the court, after they had first attended the weekly service in the church at Hermannsburg to prepare them for their vocation; for quarter-day always fell upon a Wednesday. However in those days perjury and theft were so rare, that once it happened that twenty years passed away, with court held every quarter-day, and nobody was sentenced. The justice of Hermannsburg had two staves, one all white, and one parti-coloured. If he found no one guilty, he broke the coloured staff; if, however, anybody was convicted, then he broke the white staff, with the words,

"The staff is broken,
The judgment is spoken,
Man, thou must hang."

"'And then, after the pastor had prayed with the criminal, the sentence was executed.'"

"Fearful times, sir," said Meredith pausing.

"Horrible!" echoed Flora.

"Two sides to the question," said Mr. Murray. "I am musing over the novelty of the combination. Twenty years without one man convicted of theft or a false oath! Think of that, and you will comprehend the horror of the crime which made such sudden work with the criminal."

"I will go on," said Meredith.—"'Some old people are yet living who have seen the gallows which stood on the Galgenberg. Now I will tell you my story about the words, "Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown." It was in the Thirty Years' War, which from 1618 to 1648 raged between the Catholics and the Protestants. Through all this miserable time the parish of Hermannsburg enjoyed the rare good fortune of having a faithful shepherd over it; his name was Andreas Kruse; he became pastor in 1617, and died in 1652. His successor, Paulus Boccatius, gives him this testimony in the church register—"True as gold, pure as silver. Ah, thou faithful and good servant, thou hast been faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler over many things." For years at a time the church at Hermannsburg was closed to him. At those times he went with his people into the wilds and held divine service there. Furthermore, the whole of the neighbouring pastors were either dead of the plague, or killed, or driven away; so that he took care of all their parishes beside his own; and this he did for twenty-five years. One good supporter he had in a bailiff called Andreas SchlÜter, who died in the year 1643, and lies buried in the churchyard at Hermannsburg; a man after God's heart, who faithfully stood by his pastor and often hid him away in his house for weeks at a time. The pastor did not merely celebrate divine service; he had also preserved the silver church vessels from the plundering hands of the enemy. These silver vessels were used in the service of the Lord's supper; and after it was over, the sacristan or clerk set tin ones in their place upon the altar. They did not mean to act any lie by this means, however, for the tin vessels were not made for the purposes of deception, but had been there beforetime. Things went on in this way until the year 1633. At that time Duke George assembled an army and marched against the imperial forces His men were burning with an eagerness for the fight, which delighted the duke. The enemy were stationed at Nienburg and Hameln. Seeing that the duke was approaching them they drew back to Oldendorf in the Hesse country, and there the duke got hold of them in the month of June 1633. When his faithful followers asked him, "What shall the battle cry be?"—"God with us!" answered the duke; and therewith they went at the enemy bravely. And soon the foe were so fearfully beaten that they scattered and fled in every direction—fifty imperial standards and twenty cannon remaining in the duke's hands.

"'Among the fugitives were the two imperial generals Merode and Gronsfeld. The former was wounded to death and died at Nienburg. Gronsfeld fled in such haste, that he lost his sword and plumed hat. The duke kept these for himself, to be his share of the spoils. In their flight the imperialists came through the LÜneburg country, with the most frightful outrages which they committed by the way. Among these, the record tells of a lieutenant captain, named Altringer, who came to the village of Hermannsburg and plundered the inhabitants; he pushed his way even into the parsonage, and asked the pastor "what he had to give him?" "I am a poor man," the latter replied; "you may open all my boxes." They did so, and—ten shillings was all they found. In a rage at this, they beat the doors and windows to pieces, and summoned him—"You must have some church furniture too—here, out with it!" The pastor answered, "Have you been in the church yet?" "Those are tin vessels," said the enemy; "you are bound to have silver ones as well. Where are they? give them up." "No," said the faithful pastor, "that is what I will not do." "Where have you hidden them?" "You are not going to find out."

"'Upon this they condemned the brave man to the "Swedish drink." This frightful punishment consisted in the following: The victim was brought to the dung-pit, his mouth was forced open, a gag put between his teeth, and then dung water poured down his throat; after which men stamped with, their feet upon his bloated body, until either he confessed or gave up the ghost. Now they had already brought Pastor Kruse to the dung-pit. There, before they began, he prayed with a loud voice, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on me." The lieutenant captain was moved with pity. "No," he said, "this man shall not die by the 'Swedish drink.' To the gallows with him! he shall hang." Arrived at the gallows he was there asked again, "Where is the church service?" He answered, "I shall not tell you where." Thereupon order was given to execute the sentence. But in the first place he kneeled down and prayed for his enemies also, that God would not lay this sin to their charge, but give them grace to repent. Then he mounted the ladder, and the noose was already round his neck; meanwhile a tall man coming from Celle stepped up behind a tree, where, himself unseen, he could observe everything. At the same instant people were seen on the other side coming from Hermannsburg, and making signals with a white cloth to signify that they had got the church vessels. Where had they found them? They considered that surely the pastor would have buried them in the deepest part of his house, that is in the cellar. But in what spot? This they discovered in the following manner. They poured five or six pailfuls of water on the cellar floor. At first for a while, it stood there; then all of a sudden it began to run together towards one place and there sink in. "Ha, ha," said they; "here is a hole in the ground; the things must be buried there." So they dug it up and found the church vessels. When the pastor saw the communion service in the hands of the enemy, then the tears rose to his eyes. But as for the effect those people had hoped for, that is, that his life might be saved, they found it would not do; the hard lieutenant captain would not change his order; the man must hang.

"'Then stepped out yonder tall man from behind the tree—it was General Gronsfeld; and he spoke. "Will you put to death this man who in dying prays for his enemies, and who weeps for his church service and not for his own life? Set him at liberty!" The pastor stretched out his hands to the general and implored, "Ah, my lord general, the church vessels!" But he answered, "I cannot give you those back—they are the booty of my soldiers; but your life is granted you."

"'The parish people of Hermannsburg used the tin service for a long while after that, till towards the end of the war silver vessels were again provided. Kruse remained pastor here until 1652. He too kept that saying in his heart—"Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown."'"

"What awful times!" was Flora's comment when Meredith stopped reading.

"The world has moved a little since then," Mr. Murray observed. "Let us be thankful such barbarous cruelties are no longer practised by the civilised part of the world; and civilisation is spreading."

"But I don't think much of that story," Esther went on. "The man made a great deal more fuss about the soldiers having his church service than was at all necessary. That wasn't a thing to die for."

"By his lights, and his love for the sacred vessels, it was. You must take his point of view; and then you will find him, as I do, very noble."

"But it is very difficult to take other people's point of view, Mr. Murray, especially when it is unreasonable."

"Who shall judge?" said Mr. Murray smiling.

"You mean, I might be the one who was unreasonable."

"Anybody might, occasionally. And it is of the very essence of charity, Miss Flora, to take other people's point of view. Only so can you possibly come to a right estimate of their action."

"I don't like that story much, Ditto! I mean, not so much. I wish you would read another," said Maggie.

"I will read you another," said Meredith; "and it shall be very different.

"'The story that I am now about to tell you is such a one as certainly nobody expects to hear from me; it is namely, the story of a night-watchman. But there is no sort of reason why you should laugh at this word, for indeed the story is a pretty one; and I wish all the night-watchmen in city and country would take after this man and do as he did; that is, provided they could do it from the bottom of their hearts. A poor cottager in one of our country villages, some years ago, out of curiosity, came to one of our mission festivals. There to his astonishment he heard that the Lord Jesus will have all men to be saved, that are in the whole earth, even the poor heathen; and that accordingly He has commanded His servants, the Christians, to cast the net of the gospel into the sea of the heathen world. He heard how the heathen are to be saved, because Jesus died for all men; how they can nevertheless no otherwise be saved than through faith in Him; because there is salvation for sinners in no other but only in the name of Him who was crucified for sinners and is risen again. Meanwhile however, by means of this mission festival the dear man himself is taken in the net of the gospel; for he sees that he also is a sinner, and therefore for him also there is no salvation except in Him who forgives sins, because He has made reconciliation for sinners with God. And now, finding himself salvation in Christ, this experience of his convinces him that nobody but Jesus can really help the poor heathen. But then since Jesus can come to the poor heathen in no way but by his Word and sacrament, and his Word and sacrament the heathen have not, it becomes very clear to his mind that the Word and sacrament must be carried to them. This, moreover, can be done only by messengers to the heathen, who must be sent to them, because they have not got wings to fly thither. Then he begins to ponder the question, how he can do something to help. So he buys himself a mission-box, that he may always be putting something in there when he has anything to spare. As nevertheless what goes in is only the mites of poverty, it looks to him a great deal too little. He makes the resolve now that every quarter of a year he will go round the village with his box to collect for the mission. But this is a resolve he cannot perform; for inasmuch as the mission is not known to the people of his village, he reflects that where there is no heart for the mission, naturally there are no gifts for it. And there he was quite right, and did a wise thing to let his collecting project alone. So about that he gives in, and quietly hangs up his mission box in his room, on a nail opposite the door, so that every one who comes into the room can see it. And people do observe it, and many a one asks what sort of a thing that can be? He makes answer, it is for this purpose: that whatever goes into it will be applied to the converting of the heathen. And so in this way some few mites do actually get in; which, however, at the end of each year bring but a small sum. Now as this sum is still far too small to content him, he turns simply to the dear Lord Jesus, and says to Him—"Dear Lord, as for going to the heathen myself, that I cannot do: I am too old, and I have not learned enough. But because Thou hast done so much for me and in me, I would like greatly to do something for Thee, and truly a little more than I have done hitherto. So give me Thy Holy Spirit, that I may know how to manage it; for without Him man's knowledge is nought." Following upon such a prayer then, the Lord appointed him to be nightwatcher. For without his having in the least anticipated such a thing, the village community invited him to undertake the service of the night-watch in the village. He made answer, he must take the matter into consideration before God and with his wife. The latter was not at first disposed to be pleased that he should wake while others slept; and his own flesh also takes to it not kindly, to have to wander about in the village in snow and rain, when it is cold and when it is stormy, while everybody else is lying upon his ear. But his former prayer recurs to him, the Lord is certainly now giving him something to do; and so he says to the Lord Jesus—"My dear Saviour, if Thou canst use me in this way, keeping watch in the village with Thy holy angels, who are about us at all times, then give me strength and joy to do it!" And as the Lord grants him both, the thing is settled, and in the name of Jesus he accepts the office of night-watch. The custom in that place makes it a rule, that on New Year's night the night-watch should sing under people's windows a couple of pretty Christian verses, as it were a New Year's greeting; to one this verse, to the next the other verse, and so round at all the houses. New Year's day then, or the day after, he may go round again visiting house by house, and wish happy New Year; and the people give him according to their means and according to their inclination a gift, smaller or larger, and these gifts belong to his service earnings; it is no begging either, for the stipulation is made at the time he is put in office. With true gladness of heart now in the New Year's night he sings under all the windows in the village; and as he does this, he seems to himself just the same as a priest of God; his office seems to him a right holy one. And particularly where he knows that a sick person is lying in a house he sings the loveliest verses of faith and comfort, so that tears run down over his own cheeks in the doing of it. That night is verily a night of triumph in his work; and he begins to bear a cordial love to his calling, as one the Lord has given him and has sanctified. To go round on New Year's day, however, and wish the people joy, that is what he cannot make up his mind to; it is a festival and a holiday; it belongs to the Lord; and it must be spent in the church and with the Bible. But the next day he has time, and then he will go; and then his mission-box occurs to him, which is still hanging there on its nail. Now he knows what he is to do. He takes the box in his hand and goes the rounds, house after house, and gives his good wishes. Everywhere the people receive his hearty congratulations kindly, and every one puts his hand in his pocket with alacrity to fetch out a little present for him; the faithful man has indeed done his work so honestly, and but just now has sung for them so heartily and such beautiful verses! But he holds forth his box to his benefactors, and begs them to put whatever they design for him in there, for what they give is to go to the conversion of the heathen. So upon that one asks him a question, and another asks him a question, and he has opportunity to open his mouth with gladness and testify of the misery of the poor heathen, and of the sacred duty of helping them, that so they may be converted. And God gives His blessing both to deeds and word; and now the man finds himself able to send in not a little, but a good deal, for the conversion of the heathen, who lie so heavily on his heart.

"'Do you ask where this happened and who did it? It happened in our country, and six nightwatchers have done it. Who are they? Go along and ask the Lord in the last day; He has got all their names written down. I shall not tell them to you, for I will not rob them of their blessing. It might happen, however, that one or the other of them may read these lines. If that be the case, then I say to him, "Keep still and do not betray thyself, that thou lose not thy humility."'"