"They ought to be good," Fenton growled; "they cost a precious sight of work to get 'em up here."

"And Ditto's omelet is so nice!"--Maggie went on.

"If one could live in the open air!" said Meredith, "how good it would be. I do not mean the omelet! but everything else. It's a great loss to live in houses."

"Lots of convenience, though," said Fenton.

"Look at the heap of oyster-sh.e.l.ls Fenton is throwing behind him!" cried Maggie presently.

"What's that to you?" said Fenton. "There are oysters enough. Don't meddle. If anything is a nuisance it is a meddling girl."

"How about a meddling boy?" Mr. Murray asked.

"Boys don't meddle," said Fenton. "It is girls."

"I suppose that is because the boys do the things that have to be meddled with," said Maggie sagely.

Fenton scowled, but the others laughed, and the meal went merrily forward.

"How much time have we?" Flora asked.

"For what?"

"For staying here, and reading. How long before we must break up and go home?"

"We can take our own time," said Meredith. "The tide will be good.

Indeed it will be only getting better and better. It will turn about two o'clock."

"We must get home in time for dinner," observed Fenton, however.

"I really should think you might wait a while for that," said Esther.

"Uncle Eden, if anybody else comes here this fall, they will see exactly what we had for lunch."

"How so?"

"There are the egg-sh.e.l.ls, and potato-skins, and Fenton's heap of oyster-sh.e.l.ls."

"You do not think we will leave them here? Besides, there are several heaps of oyster-sh.e.l.ls, I think; they are not all Fenton's."

"Fenton's is the biggest. But what will you do with all these things, Uncle Eden?"

"Carry them away."

"Where to, sir?" asked Fenton.

"Down the hill."

"Why, sir?"

"How would you like such a quant.i.ty of rubbish left in the woods at Mosswood, by some happy picnic party?"

"This isn't Mosswood, sir."

"No, it is some other wood."

"But it is n.o.body's ground."

"How can you venture to affirm that?"

"Well, I mean, it is n.o.body's ground in particular."

"That is more than you or I know, my boy, and is moreover highly improbable. We are certainly not intruding on anybody's privacy; but we have no right even here to leave things worse than we found them?"

"And we have got to lug all this trash down to the river again?"

"What do you think?"

Fenton thought it was "no end of a bore;" n.o.body else, however, did anything but laugh at him. After the oysters were all disposed of, the oyster-sh.e.l.ls went back into the bag, ready for transportation; Fenton remarking with great disgust that they were just as heavy and took up more room than before. Egg-sh.e.l.ls and potato-skins were swept up; cups packed away; coffee and teapot restored to the basket; hands washed; and finally the group gathered again on their couch of pine branches to enjoy every minute. They had a good s.p.a.ce of time left them still, and the day promised to finish its fair course without change, except change of beauty. Fenton joined the group now, having nothing to do, and hopeless of inducing them to break up before the last possible minute.

"What are you going to give us this afternoon, Meredith?" Mr. Murray asked.

"I have been keeping it, sir; one of my best; a story out of the Thirty Years' War. Shall I read?"

"By all means."

"'In the parish of Hermannsburg there is a forest-house, situated about an hour and a half from the church village; the place is called Queloh, and it lies in the midst of the forest. On the other side, about a quarter of an hour further on is a beautiful beech wood, which goes by the name of Buchhorst. In old times this place was inhabited by two peasants who belonged to the wide-spread peasant family of Weesen. The name of the one was Drewes, and of the other Hinz. They were both good and G.o.d-fearing men, and with their whole hearts devoted to the dear Lutheran church. Those were the times of the Thirty Years' War in which they lived, and they had to bear their share in all the distresses which that miserable war brought with it; they bore it also willingly, for the Lord's sake.

"'Although they had been stripped of their goods a number of times by the Catholic soldiers, they had nevertheless preserved their most precious things, that is, their books; their Bibles, singing books and catechisms. These were, you must know, very necessary to them, for in those days there were as yet no village schools. In the entire parish of Hermannsburg there was but a single school, and that was in the church village; and this school was attended by the children only for one year, or it might be only half a year, previous to their confirmation. For all the rest, every house-father must himself play the schoolmaster. And in many respects, those must have been glorious times. Every evening when the fire was kindled on the hearth of the so-called Flett'" (a sort of hall or common room between the barn and the house), "'and the women were busy on the hearth with their cooking, the house-father with the whole of the household a.s.sembled around the fire--children, servants, and maids. Then the little ones were instructed in spelling and reading, in which business the servants and maids were faithful helpers of the house-father. After that, the catechism was taken in hand; some spiritual songs were sung; a portion was read aloud from the Bible and talked about, in the course of which very lovely and profitable words were often spoken; the old histories and legends and stories of the country, handed down from father to son, came in for their share of attention; the laws, manners, and usages which custom had made binding were discussed; and the "Flett" hour was one so full of enjoyment and so full of instruction that it was looked forward to during the whole day by both old and young. And this "Flett" hour was a strong fortress against the intrusion of innovations; and it can be shown, that the new ways, that is, the G.o.dless new ways, never came until the "Flett" hours were given up. This Flett'" (or great middle hall of the house) "'with its hearth was as it were the home sanctuary, in a certain degree the domestic altar. From there, too, the peasant could overlook his whole house and prevent any disorders. Usually there was only one dwelling-room in the house, called the "Donz," which, however, was for the most part used merely for eating and spinning, and served for the whole, for grandparents and father and mother and children and men and maids; for the meals were also in common; and that old people should be portioned off and take what was called their part, was a thing unheard of; it would have brought unending disgrace upon the peasant's head. It was just as little thought possible that the peasant should take his meals separate from his men and maid-servants; they all formed one great family.

"'I said awhile ago, that in the ravages of the war these people had saved what they held dearest, namely, their books. They had managed it in this way. In every "Donz" the furniture consisted only of a large table, a table with folding leaves'" (a Klapptisch--I don't know whether that is a table that folds together, or a table shelf that folds up against the wall), "'a cupboard, and some wooden chairs and stools; but by the side of the stove there stood a "grandfather's chair" of more pretension, covered with leather, in which indeed the peasant himself, when he came home from the field in the evening, was wont to rest himself for a while. The seat, also covered with leather, they had made movable, so that it could be lifted up and shut down; and beneath this seat the books were placed in security; nothing was to be seen of them when the seat was shut down, and n.o.body would look for them there. And it was quite needful that they should preserve their books so carefully; for the Catholic soldiers in the Thirty Years' War waged a regular war of extermination against Lutheran books.

"'One evening, Drewes the father, that is, the farmer, was sitting in his house, with his people around the hearth in the "Flett," and they were just speaking of the great victory which the Lutherans under General Torstensohn had fought for and gained at Leipzig; and the house-father was giving his opinion that soon now surely enough blood would have flowed, and that peace must be near. Upon that came his neighbour hastily in and said,--"Neighbour, hurry and loose your cattle, and let us flee to the wood; the emperor's forces are only half an hour off." Quick everybody sprang up; the cattle were muzzled to prevent their bellowing; the few bits of clothing and some victuals were caught up; and away they went plunging into the thickest part of the forest, as fast and as noiselessly as they could. Hinz closed the procession, and when the cattle were got out of sight he took post behind a tree, that he might see what the soldiers would do. He had not long to watch; for it was scarcely a quarter of an hour later that bright flames went crackling up into the sky; both houses together with the out-buildings were in a blaze. The soldiers were enraged that they had found no booty, and had set fire to everything. Hinz hastened now into the thick of the wood after the others, and when he caught up with them he told them of their misfortune. With that, they all fell upon their knees and thanked G.o.d that he had saved their lives and their cattle; and it never came into any one's head to weep so much as a single tear; they could build huts for themselves in the wood; and their hearts did not hang upon things of this world. But what is this? what could all of a sudden force such a deep sigh from Father Drewes that it absolutely startled them all? what could bring great tears into the eyes of that strong man, whom n.o.body had ever seen weep before? "G.o.dfather Hinz," he said with his voice half stifled with pain,--"our books! our books! Ah, they are burnt up by now! our own and our children's only treasure and comfort!" And behold, they all then fell to weeping, men and women and children, men and maids, as if their hearts would break. At last spoke out the old Father Hinz, an eighty-years-old grey-headed man,--"Hush, children! if our books are burned, our G.o.d and Saviour is not gone with them; we have Him in our hearts; and His Word we have too, not only in the Bible but in our memories. I will say out a chapter for you every morning and every evening, out of my heart." Then they grew quiet, and he folded his hands and began at once, and prayed first the twenty-third psalm, and then the seventy-third psalm, and finally the eighth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans; all verse for verse from the beginning to the end.'"

"The twenty-third and the seventy-third?" said Maggie interrupting.

"Which are they?"

"Don't you know? The twenty-third begins,--'The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.'"

"And it goes on,--" said Mr. Murray,--"'He prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; he anointeth my head with oil; my cup runneth over.'"

"Not very appropriate," said Flora.

"I thought very appropriate."

"Why they were just in great want, sir; even of the most ordinary comforts."

"A good time to remind themselves of their extraordinary comforts."

"What had they to justify them in talking of their 'cup running over?'"