The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pine Needles, by Susan Bogert Warner This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Pine Needles Author: Susan Bogert Warner Release Date: February 18, 2012 [EBook #38922] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PINE NEEDLES *** Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net cover Warne's Star Series. PINE NEEDLES. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD." They that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country." —Heb. xi. 14. New Edition. LONDON: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. NOTICE TO THE READER OF "PINE NEEDLES." This little book might have been entitled "Christian Heroes," for its contents would have justified the name. The stories reported in the "Missionsblatt" of the late Pastor Louis Harms of Hermannsburg, of lovely memory, will surely delight all who love either heroism or Christianity, and are not able to enjoy the narrations in their original German dress. The author has framed them in a light frame of her own, but the stories are left in their integrity and simplicity, with omission of scarcely a dozen words. February 1, 1877. PINE NEEDLES AND OLD YARNS. CHAPTER I. The Franklins were coming to Mosswood. This might have happened, Maggie thought, a good while ago; but, however, the view had not been shared by Mrs. Candlish; and a whole year had passed away since the joyful coming home of the family to their old possessions. The winter was spent at Mosswood in quiet gladness and gradual strength-gaining; the spring brought a return to all the favourite out-door amusements and occupations of the family. Summer was the proper time for company, and the house had been filled till the end of September. Then Mrs. Candlish declared she was tired and must run away, or she would be obliged to entertain people till November; and she joined her husband in a trip to California, which, half for business and half for pleasure, Mr. Candlish had resolved upon taking. At that juncture the children begged for the Franklins; and their mother was willing. "As I cannot be here," she said, "it will not be necessary to extend the invitation to Mrs. Franklin. You may have the others, and do what you will with them." "I should think," remarked Maggie, "if Meredith and Flora heard what mamma said, they wouldn't like it much." However, they did not hear it, and if they guessed at the substance of it I don't know; but Flora had too much curiosity, and Meredith too much affection engaged, to be over scrupulous. So they came, and were welcomed, I was going to [1] [2] say, uproariously. It just fell short of that. For even Esther privately declared to her sister that "nobody was so nice as Meredith Franklin." Now, after seeing them, the next thing was to make them see Mosswood; and many were the consultations Maggie and Esther had already held over plans and means. Nothing could be settled after all till the guests came. And when they came, the whole first evening was spent in joyous talk and recollections. But the next morning before breakfast Maggie and Meredith met at the house door. Meredith had been out walking. "How do you like it?" she asked daringly, clasping his hand, while her eyes looked love and pleasure hard into his face. "It is the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life!" "And it is such a nice day," said Maggie gleefully. "What shall we do to-day?" "Let us be out of doors!" "Oh yes, we'll be out of doors," said Maggie; "but where shall we go?" "Nowhere out of Mosswood—if you ask me. I don't want anything else." "Well, Mosswood is pretty good," said Maggie, "because, when you are at Mosswood you have the hills and the river and all, besides Mosswood, you know—O Meredith! I have thought of something!" "I dare say," Meredith answered smiling. "That is quite in your way." "This is something nice. Suppose we go out and have dinner in the woods?" "I should say it was a capital plan." "We used to do that in old times, before ever we went away. And we have got a nice little cart, Meredith, to carry our dinner, and whatever we want; and—Oh, it's nice! it's nice!" exclaimed Maggie, jumping on her toes for delight. "I'm so glad you're here! and I'm so glad to go into the woods again to dinner." "We want only one thing," said Meredith. "What's that?" "Mr. Murray." "Uncle Eden! I'll write to him." "Let us all write to him. Every one put in something. That will bring him, maybe." "Yes, that will bring him!" Maggie echoed; and I do not believe that for the rest of the morning she took another flat step. On her toes, was the only way that her spirits could go. The first thing after breakfast was the Round Robin to Uncle Eden. Maggie began it, as the youngest. "Dear Uncle Eden,—Flora and Meredith are here while mamma and papa are gone to California. We are going out in the woods to dinner; and we all want you. Do please come, if you can get away from Bay House. We want you as much as anybody can be wanted. "Maggie." Then Esther wrote— "Dear Uncle Eden,—It is quite true. We do all want you very much. Fenton is coming, and I am afraid nobody will keep him in order, if you are not here. "Esther." Then Flora— "I think we would all be very glad to see Mr. Murray. I am sure one sincerely glad would be "Flora Franklin." Last, Meredith— "Dear Mr. Murray,—You know how true is all the foregoing. And yet, though I cannot suppose I should be gladder to see you than everybody else, it does seem to me that I want to see you more than any of the rest can—because I have so many questions to ask, and feel that I need so much advice. I hope you may find that you can comply with our joint earnest desire. "Meredith Franklin." [3] [4] After all were done, Maggie begged for the paper, to add a word that nobody else must see. This was what she said— "Dear Uncle Eden,—I want to say a private word to you. I feel somehow as if it was not just exactly respectful to Meredith and Flora that they should be here with nobody but just us. Don't you think so? But if you could come, it would be all right. We are going in the woods to dinner to-day—Oh, I wish you were here! "Maggie." This joint epistle finished and sealed, and some other despatches for Leeds got ready, it was time to see about making preparations for the woods. Where should they go? Question the first. "To the old Fort." "To the Happy Valley." "No, to the Lookout rock." "Not to-day, Esther. Let's keep that for Uncle Eden. Suppose—suppose"—— "The Plateau." "It seems to be an embarras de richesses," said Meredith laughing, "and I do not wonder. Let me help you. Suppose we go up on this height just east of us; isn't the view pretty from there?" "The South Pitch! Oh, it's lovely up there!" cried Maggie. "You look down on the house, and you look down the river, and it's shady and nice. It's just lovely! That is best for to-day. Then, other days, we'll take the other places. Now, we must get ready." "What?" said Flora. "Oh, you must get your work, or books if you like; whatever you like; and Meredith must find a book, too, I suppose; we always take books and work, and then we talk; but once when we took nothing, then we didn't do anything. Esther and I must prepare the waggon; cart, I mean." "What is to go in the cart? Cannot we help you?" said Meredith. "And, where is the cart, in the first place?" "Oh, it's up in the wood-house loft; we haven't had it out this year yet, you know. Ditto, maybe you'll tell Fairbairn to get it down, will you?" "Who is Mr. Fairbairn?" "Oh, the gardener. He's out there somewhere. Esther and I must go to Betsey for things." "I suppose I shall know Fairbairn when I see him," said Meredith smiling, as he put on his hat. In a quarter of an hour the cart stood at the door, and Esther and Maggie and Flora were busily packing "things" in baskets. Meredith came to put his hand to the work. "It is so hard to remember everything," said Esther. "We always forget something or other, and then somebody has to go back for it. Now, here is all the china, I think. Oh, stop! have we put the teapot in?" "Who wants tea?" said Meredith. "In the woods? Oh, we always have tea in the woods, and sometimes coffee." "Make a fire to boil the kettle?" "Why, of course!" "How should I know it was of course? Well, tea is very good in the woods, I have no doubt. Don't forget the tea." "But I should have forgotten the sugar, if you hadn't spoken." "And the salt! don't forget the salt; we always do." "We don't want salt to-day; we have nothing to eat it with." "Yes, we have." "No, we haven't; there is cold ham, and bread, and butter, and apple-sauce." "Take the salt," said Meredith, "and give me a few eggs, and I'll make you a friar's omelet." "A friar's omelet! What is that?" "You'll see. Only I shall want a dish to mix it in, you know." [5] Delightful! The dish was fetched from the kitchen, and the omelet pan. Ham and apple-sauce Betty had packed for the party already; rolls and butter, spoons and knives and forks, a pitcher of cream, napkins—I do not know what all— went into the other baskets, and were finally stowed in the cart. A light porter's cart, it was; roomy enough; and yet it grew pretty full. The tea-kettle must find a place; then books and knitting and paper. Then thick shawls to spread upon the rocks, to make softer seats for the more ease-loving. Fairbairn carried a tin pail with water. All these arrangements took up time; so the morning was well on its way and the dew long off the grass, when at last the procession set forth. Meredith drew the cart, which he was informed he must do carefully, or the cream would slop over, and, possibly, other damage be done. It was not a long way they had to go this morning. Bordering upon the lawn and shrubbery, to the east, rose a little rocky height, which, in fact, prevented the dwellers at Mosswood from ever seeing the sun rise. But the hill was so pretty, they forgave it. Towards the house it presented a smooth wall of grey granite; on the top it also showed granite in quantity, there, however, alternating with moss and thin grass, and overshadowed by cedars, oaks, and pines, with now and then a young hemlock. The soil was thin; the growth of trees in consequence not lofty; nevertheless, very graceful. No cultivation, hardly any dressing, had been attempted; the purple asters sprung up at the edge of the rocks, and huckleberry bushes stood where they found footing; here and there a bramble, here and there a bunch of ferns. Now the oak leaves were turned yellow and brown; the huckleberry bushes in duller hues of the same; moss was dry and crisp, and ferns odorous in the warm air. To reach the top of the height a circuit must be made. There was no path leading straight from the house. Through the grounds at the back of the house the way wound along between beds of acheranthus and cineraria which made warm strips of bordering, with scarlet pelargoniums lighting up the beds beyond in a blaze of brilliance. Turning then into a carriage road, the party followed it to the north of the height which Maggie had called the South Pitch, and struck off then southwards into a little, mossy, rocky, hardly-traced path under the trees. "This is easy enough," said Meredith, guiding his cart somewhat carefully, however, to avoid severe jolts which would have endangered the cream. "I do not see where the pitch is yet." "Ah, but you will when you get to the south end," said Maggie. "Look out, Ditto, here's a rock in your way. And these huckleberry bushes are very thick." Following on over rocks and bushes, they soon came to the place Maggie meant, and Meredith rested his cart and stood still to look. From the southern brow of the little hill, the ground fell steeply away; so steeply that the eye had unhindered range over the river which lay below, and the hills bordering it, and the point of Gee's Point which there pushes the river to the eastward. Not a tree-branch even was in the way; river and hills lay in the October light, still, glowing, fair, as only October can be. "Do you like it, Meredith?" asked Maggie wistfully. Her opinion of Mosswood had been long a fixed one. "I have never seen such a place!" "Uncle Eden had his tent up here one summer, and he cut away all the branches and trees that were in the way of the view; for he wanted to lie in his tent at night and be able to look out and see the river and the hills in the moonlight." "And did he have this wall built too?" asked Meredith, seeing that the platform where he stood was held up on the side towards the river by a regularly laid, though unmortared, wall. "Oh," said Esther laughing, "that wall was laid a hundred years ago, Meredith. Soldiers laid it; our soldiers; all Mosswood was fortified; this is a breastwork." "Whom do you mean by 'our soldiers'?" "Why, the Americans," said Esther. "When they were fighting that war, a hundred years ago. You'll find bits of breastwork all over Mosswood." "Well, that is delightful," said Meredith. "We are historical. Now, what are we to do first? I move, we make our camp just here. We cannot have a better place." So there a rock under a tree, here a bit of mossy bank, was taken possession of; places were carpeted with shawls, and luxurious loungers were at rest upon them. Fairbairn set down the pail of water and departed; Flora got her worsted embroidery out of the cart, and Esther a strip of afghan which she was ambitiously making. Maggie nestled up to Meredith's side on the moss and laid her little hand in his, and for a little while they were all quiet; these last two enjoying October. But Meredith did not long sit still; he must go exploring, up and down and all round the South Pitch. Maggie followed him, as ready to go as he, and talking all the while. It was nothing but rocks and moss and trees and brambles and ferns; with the delicious river glittering below the rocks, and the glow of the hills coming to them through the trees, and golden hickory leaves falling at their feet, and now and then a chestnut burr or a hickory schale to be hammered open. Warm and tired at last they came back to their place. And then the girls declared it was time for dinner. [6] [7] [8] CHAPTER II. 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 [9] [10] [11] 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 [12] [13] 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 [14] [15] [16] 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." [17] [18] [19] "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. [20] [21] [22] "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." CHAPTER III. "'What did this man do in the daring of faith? He first got permission of his superiors; then he went aboard of a little boat, took nothing else with him but his Bible and his Prayer-book, his few tools, a fishing net, and food for several days, and then dropped down the Weser, all alone, intending by that way to get to the Eastphalians. But his chief strength was prayer, in which he lived day and night. When he came to the place where the Aller flows into the Weser, he quitted the Weser and went up the Aller, that he might look at the spot where those 4500 Saxons were cut to pieces by Charlemagne, and on the ground pray for the murdered men. For at that time it was believed that even the dead could be helped by prayer, as is still the erroneous teaching of the Catholics. Leaving that place, he wished to visit the "stone-houses," that he might pray there too, where the captive Franks had been slaughtered by the Saxons; and so he went on up the Aller and from the Aller into the Oerze, all the while living upon the fish which he caught.'" "Had he no bread?" said Maggie. "How should he?—going through wild woods and countries lone in his boat? He would come to no bakers' shops, Maggie." "Just living on fish! Well, go on, Ditto." "'But all along on this journey he had not only caught fish, but also everywhere preached the Gospel. And then must have been the first time that the sweet name of Jesus was ever heard in our region. Perhaps when you look at the map you will ask, why Landolf went this difficult way by water, which was a very roundabout way besides, to get to the "stone-houses," when he could have come across from Verden by a much nearer and straighter route? Our chronicle gives two reasons: first, the whole interior of the country at that time was almost nothing but thick forest and deep morasses, through which there was no going on foot; and secondly, he had been told in Verden, that if he wanted to visit the "stone-houses," he must first go to the Billing of the long-legged Horz-Saxons, who lived on the river Horz in Harm's "ouden dorp." Now this river Horz is the Oerze; and the name, the chronicle announces, comes from the fact that this river runs and leaps like a Horz—that is, a horse; and because a great many horses were pastured on its banks. For the chief wealth of our Saxon ancestors consisted in cattle, especially in horses, which they used not only for riding and in war expeditions, but reckoned their flesh a favourite food. And were a horse but entirely spotless and white, it was even held to be sacred. Such white horses were kept in the sacred forests of oak, where they were used for nothing but soothsaying; for by the neighing of these white horses the heathen priests prophesied whether a business, or a campaign, that was in hand, would turn out happily or unhappily. For this reason also our Lüneburg country since the [23] [24] [25] earliest times has borne the free, bounding horse in its escutcheon; and for the same reason most of the houses in the country of Lüneburg down to the present times have their gables adorned with two wooden horses' heads; and it is only lately that this custom has somewhat fallen off. "'The Saxons, or as the chronicle writes, Sahzen, were called "Horzsahzen," either because they lived on the Horz, or Oerze; or because they were almost all of them horsemen and owned a great many horses. They bore besides the honorary title of the "long-legged," for our forefathers were distinguished by their unusual stature. It is remarkable that the name "Lange" is still the widest spread family name of any in our region, so that there are villages that are almost exclusively inhabited by "Langen," among whom a goodly number might yet be called "long-legged;" though many also have grown something shorter, while they nevertheless bear the name of Lange. Well, that is all one, so they only keep the old, tried faithfulness and honesty, and the manly holding to their word, and the beautiful pureness of morals, for which our forefathers were renowned. "'But now, what sort of a man is the Billing? Our chronicle translates the word into Latin; curatos legum, that is, the "guardian of the laws." Bill, you see, in old low German or Saxon, was a "law" which had been confirmed by the whole assembly of the people; and the man who proposed these laws, and when they were confirmed had the charge of seeing that they were not transgressed, was called the Billing. The Billing of the Horzsahzen was at this time a man named Harm, that is Hermann; and he lived in Harm's ouden dorp—or Hermann's old village. The spot where this old village of Hermann stood is now a cultivated field, about ten minutes away from the present Hermannsburg; and this field is still called at the present day up'n Ollendorp, and lies right on the Oerze. To this place accordingly the brave Landolf repaired, and was received kindly and with the customary Saxon hospitality by Hermann the Billing. "'Hermann's dwelling was a large cottage, surrounded with pens for cattle, especially for horses, which were pastured on the river meadows. There were no stables; the animals remained day and night under the open sky, and even in winter time had no shelter beyond that of the thick forest with which the land was covered. The pens themselves were merely enclosures without a roof. Landolf was entertained with roasted horses' flesh, which to the astonishment of his hosts he left untouched. For by the rules of the Christian Church at that time it was not permitted to eat horse-flesh; they reckoned it a heathen practice. "'When Landolf had made his abode with the Billing for a while, he found out that his host was in fact the principal person in all that district of country, and as guardian of the laws enjoyed a patriarchal and wide-reaching consideration. He was indeed no edeling (or nobleman), only a freiling—a free man; but he possessed seven large manors; on which account later writers, as for instance Adam of Bremen, give the Billing family the name of Siebenmeyer.' (Sieben means seven, Maggie.) 'The oldest son, who regularly bore the name of Hermann, was the family head; and after the death of his father the dignity of Billing descended to him. The younger brothers were settled in some of the other manors, remaining nevertheless always dependent upon the oldest. "'Now Landolf preached the Gospel zealously to the family whose guest he was, and they listened to him with willing ears. But when he would have declared his message also to the Saxons who lived in their neighbourhood, Hermann explained to him that by law and usage he must not do that, until permission had first been given him by the regular assembly of the people. As the house-father he himself could indeed in his own family allow the proclamation of the Christian faith; but a public proclamation must have the decision of the people upon it, that is, of the assembly of all the free men. Landolf had arrived in the autumn—the stated gathering of the commons would not be till spring, and indeed not till May; in the meanwhile he must be contented. Hard as it was for Landolf to wait so long, for his heart was burning to convert the poor heathen to Christ, he yet knew the people and their customs too well to contend against them. So all winter he abode with Hermann. And a blessed winter that was. It was the habit of the family, when at evening a fire was kindled in the middle of the hut, that the whole household, men, women, and children, even the servants and maids, should assemble around it—the master of the house having the place of honour in the midst of them. The house-father then generally told stories about the heroic deeds of their forefathers; about the ancient laws and usages, the knowledge of which was handed down from father to son; and Landolf sat among them and listened with the rest, but soon got permission to tell on his part of the wonderful things of the Christian faith. So then he profited by the long winter evenings to tell over the whole Bible story of the Old and New Testaments. And with such simplicity, and with such joy of faith and confidence he told it, that the hearts of his hearers were stirred. In addition to that, he often sang the songs of the Christian Church, in a clear, fine-toned voice; and presently some among them, the younger especiall...