Winfried moved
noiselessly until he stood close behind the priest.
The old man stooped to lift a black hammer of stone from the
ground,--the sacred hammer of the god Thor. Summoning all the
strength of his withered arms, he swung it high in the air. It
poised for an instant above the child's fair head--then turned to
fall.
One keen cry shrilled out from where the women stood: "Me! take
me! not Bernhard!"
The flight of the mother towards her child was swift as the
falcon's swoop. But swifter still was the hand of the deliverer.
Winfried's heavy staff thrust mightily against the hammer's handle
as it fell. Sideways it glanced from the old man's grasp, and the
black stone, striking on the altar's edge, split in twain. A shout
of awe and joy rolled along the living circle. The branches of the
oak shivered. The flames leaped higher. As the shout died away the
people saw the lady Irma, with her arms clasped round her child,
and above them, on the altar-stone, Winfried, his face shining
like the face of an angel.
[Illustration--Then Winfried told the story of Bethlehem]
IV
THE FELLING OF THE TREE
IV
A swift mountain-flood rolling down its channel; a huge rock
tumbling from the hill-side and falling in mid-stream; the baffled
waters broken and confused, pausing in their flow, dash high
against the rock, foaming and murmuring, with divided impulse,
uncertain whether to turn to the right or the left.
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