"Well!" said Flora, "you've come in good time. We are going home."

"Home!" echoed Maggie.

"To be sure. Don't you think we want dinner some time?" said Esther; "and we are tired sitting here. And it is growing late besides. Just look where the sun is."

There was nothing to be said to the sun; and the books and work being stowed again in the cart, Meredith took his place as porter, and the little company returned to the house.

CHAPTER V.

A little tired, and not a little hungry, it was very good now to have a change, and be at home. The girls went to dress for dinner, while Meredith, whose toilet was sooner made, sat on the terrace in the mellow October light and dreamed. Dinner went off merrily. After dinner, when it began to be dark, they all repaired to the library. A little fire was kindled here, for the pleasure of it rather than from the need. The afghan and worsted embroidery came out again under the bright lamplight; but Meredith sat idly tending the fire.

"Ditto," said Maggie, "can't we see about all those Saxon G.o.ds now?--or don't you want to?"

"Of course, I want to see about them," said Meredith, springing up and going to the bookcases. "I want to know myself, Maggie."

"Were they different from the Roman and Grecian G.o.ds?" Flora asked.

"It is safe for people who cannot keep their ears open, to refrain from questions," Meredith answered.

"Why, I heard all you read," said Flora, pouting a little; "but how should I know but those were the same as the Roman G.o.ds, only under different names?"

"If you please to recollect, you will remember that the two nations had nothing to do with one another except at the spear's point. But if I can find what I want, I will enlighten you and myself too," said Meredith, rummaging among the bookshelves. "Here it is, I believe!" And with a volume in his hand he came back to the table and the lamp; but then became absorbed in study. Worsted needles flew in and out. Maggie watched Meredith's face and the leaves of his book as they were turned over.

"Well, Ditto?" she said after a while.

"What?"

"Yes, _what_?" said Maggie, laughing. "Have you found anything?"

"To be sure!" said Meredith, straightening himself up. "Yes, Maggie, it's all here--in a somewhat brief fashion."

"Well, who was Woden?"

"Woden was the princ.i.p.al deity. He was the G.o.d of the moving air, and of the light."

"Like Apollo," said Flora.

"Yes--more like Zeus or Jupiter. He was the all-father--the universally present spirit: above all the other G.o.ds. He was the G.o.d of the sky.

They represented him with two ravens that sat on his shoulders, which every morning brought him news of whatever was going on in _Midgard_."

"What's Midgard?"

"Our lower earth. And the abode of the G.o.ds was called _Asgard_."

"We did not read anything about Midgard and Asgard to-day."

"No, but I thought you might like to know. And then _Walhalla_ was the place where Odin put half of the brave men who were slain in battle."

"What became of the other half?" said Flora.

"The G.o.ddess Freija took care of them. What she did with them, this book does not say. I have read before of the 'halls of Walhalla,' I am glad to know what it means."

"Who was Freija?"

"Wait a bit; I have not got through with Woden, or Odin. His two ravens were called _Hunin_ and _Munin_--which means, Thought and Memory. That's pretty! Woden is painted also as attended by two dogs. He was the chief and head of the G.o.ds, you understand. Now Freija was one of his wives.

Naturally, she was the G.o.ddess of good weather and harvests--a fair kind of G.o.ddess generally. Also the dead were in her care; the other half of the heroes slain in battle came into her hands. She is painted riding in a chariot drawn by two cats."

"But, Ditto, if Woden was the sky G.o.d, I don't see why those old Saxons should have fancied he would like such cruel sacrifices. Sunlight looks bright and cheerful."

Meredith mused.

"Yes," he said, "it does look bright and cheerful--but, it hates darkness."

"What then, Ditto?"

"Darkness means sin."

"Oh, do you think that?" cried Maggie. "To be sure, I know darkness means sin. But do you think those old Saxons"----

"They felt the difference between darkness and light, undoubtedly, and they feared the sun-G.o.d."

"But I don't see how they could think he was so cruel, though."

"I suppose that is all quite natural," said Meredith musingly. "How afraid we should be of G.o.d, if we did not know Jesus Christ!"

"Were the old Hebrews so afraid of Him?" Flora asked.

"Terribly. Don't you remember? they always thought they must die when the Angel of Jehovah appeared to them? And how should people who never heard of Christ guess that G.o.d is so good as He is? They feel that they are sinners--how should they know that He will forgive?"

"But to think to please Him by such awful sacrifices!" said Flora.

"I suppose the idea was, to give him the most precious thing there was."

"I shall ask Mr. Murray," said Flora. "It is all a puzzle to me. In the first place, I do not believe such heathen people know they are sinners."

"Yes, they do. Certainly they do, all the world over, and this is one of the ways they show it. 'How beautiful' among them must be 'the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace!--that bringeth good tidings of good; that publisheth salvation!'"

"What a pity you hadn't lived in Landolf's time!" said Flora.

"There are enough heathen left," said her brother, "and worse than those old Saxons. Theirs was not a bad specimen of heathen mythology, by any means. And yet, think of believing one's self given over to the tender mercies of Woden and Thor!"

"And yet by your account people were better than they are now!"

"Some people--and some people," answered Meredith. "I must ask Mr.

Murray about that. I do not understand it."