The First Christmas Tree | Page 6

The fields
around lay bare to the moon. They saw no man, except that once, on a
path that skirted the farther edge of a meadow, three dark figures
passed by, running very swiftly.
Then the road plunged again into a dense thicket, traversed it, and
climbing to the left, emerged suddenly upon a glade, round and level
except at the northern side, where a swelling hillock was crowned with
a huge oak-tree. It towered above the heath, a giant with contorted
arms, beckoning to the host of lesser trees. "Here," cried Winfried, as
his eyes flashed and his hand lifted his heavy staff, "here is the
Thunder-oak; and here the cross of Christ shall break the hammer of
the false god Thor."
[Illustration--The sacred hammer of the god Thor]

III

THE SHADOW OF THE THUNDER-OAK
III
Withered leaves still clung to the branches of the oak: torn and faded
banners of the departed summer. The bright crimson of autumn had
long since disappeared, bleached away by the storms and the cold. But
to-night these tattered remnants of glory were red again: ancient
bloodstains against the dark-blue sky. For an immense fire had been
kindled in front of the tree. Tongues of ruddy flame, fountains of ruby
sparks, ascended through the spreading limbs and flung a fierce
illumination upward and around. ward and around. The pale, pure
moonlight that bathed the surrounding forests was quenched and
eclipsed here. Not a beam of it sifted down-ward through the branches
of the oak. It stood like a pillar of cloud between the still light of
heaven and the crackling, flashing fire of earth.
But the fire itself was invisible to Winfried and his companions. A great
throng of people were gathered around it in a half-circle, their backs to
the open glade, their faces towards the oak. Seen against that glowing
background, it was but the silhouette of a crowd, vague, black, formless,
mysterious.
The travellers paused for a moment at the edge of the thicket, and took
counsel together.
"It is the assembly of the tribe," said one of the foresters, "the great
night of the council. I heard of it three days ago, as we passed through
one of the villages. All who swear by the old gods have been summoned.
They will sacrifice a steed to the god of war, and drink blood, and eat
horse-flesh to make them strong. It will be at the peril of our lives if we
approach them. At least we must hide the cross, if we would escape
death."
"Hide me no cross," cried Winfried, lifting his staff, "for I have come to
show it, and to make these blind folk see its power. There is more to be
done here to-night than the slaying of a steed, and a greater evil to be
stayed than the shameful eating of meat sacrificed to idols. I have seen

it in a dream. Here the cross must stand and be our rede."
At his command the sledge was left in the border of the wood, with two
of the men to guard it, and the rest of the company moved forward
across the open ground. They approached unnoticed, for all the
multitude were looking intently towards the fire at the foot of the oak.
Then Winfried's voice rang out, "Hail, ye sons of the forest! A stranger
claims the warmth of your fire in the winter night."
Swiftly, and as with a single motion, a thousand eyes were bent upon
the speaker. The semicircle opened silently in the middle; Winfried
entered with his followers; it closed again behind them.
Then, as they looked round the curving ranks, they saw that the hue of
the assemblage was not black, but white,--dazzling, radiant, solemn.
White, the robes of the women clustered together at the points of the
wide crescent; white, the glittering byrnies of the warriors standing in
close ranks; white, the fur mantles of the aged men who held the
central place in the circle; white, with the shimmer of silver ornaments
and the purity of lamb's-wool, the raiment of a little group of children
who stood close by the fire; white, with awe and fear, the faces of all
who looked at them; and over all the flickering, dancing radiance of
the flames played and glimmered like a faint, vanishing tinge of blood
on snow.
The only figure untouched by the glow was the old priest, Hunrad, with
his long, spectral robe, flowing hair and beard, and dead-pale face,
who stood with his back to the fire and advanced slowly to meet the
strangers.
"Who are you? Whence come you, and what seek you here?" His voice
was heavy and toneless as a muffled bell.
"You kinsman am I, of the German brotherhood," answered Winfried,
"and