Reichenau; but he said, " Indeed?" and looked
interested.

"My brother was a farmer," continued the
other; "I entered the Lutheran Church. He
married late in life; I have been a bachelor all
my days."

"And your brother's wife," said Mr. Trefalden,
"is she still living?"

"No; she died two years after she became a
mother. For twelve years, Saxon has had no
parent but myself. He calls me ' father'—I call
him ' son.' I could not love him more if he were
really my own offspring. I have been his only
tutor, also. I have taught him all that I know.
Every thought of his heart is open to me. He
is what God and my teaching have made him."

"He is a magnificent fellow, at all events,"
said Mr. Trefalden, dryly.

"My brother was almost as tall and handsome
at his age," replied the pastor, with a sigh.

"What is his age?" asked the lawyer.

"He was twenty-two on the thirtieth of
last December."

"I should not take him to be more than
twenty."

"Twenty-two—twenty-two years, and four
months—a man in age, in stature, in strength,
in learning; but a boy at heart, cousin—a boy at
heart!"

"All the better for him," said Mr. Trefalden,
with his quiet voice and pleasant smile. " Many
of the greatest men that ever lived were boys to
the last."

"I have no desire to see my Saxon become a
great man," said Martin Trefalden, hastily.
"God forbid it! I have tried to make him a
good man. That is enough."

"And I have no doubt that you have
succeeded."

The old man looked troubled.

"I have tried," said he; "but I know not
whether I have tried in the right way. I have
trained him according to my own belief and
ideas; and what I have done has been done for
the best. I may have acted wrongly. I may
not have done my duty; but I have striven to do
it. I prayed for light—I prayed for God's
blessing on my work. I believed my prayers were
heard; but I have had heavy misgivings of
late—heavy, heavy misgivings!"

"I feel sure they must be groundless," said
Mr. Trefalden.

The pastor shook his head. He was evidently
anxious, and ill at ease.

"That is because you do not know," replied
he. "I cannot tell you now—another time—
when we can be longer alone. In the mean
while, I thank Heaven for the chance that has
brought you hither. Cousin, you are our only
surviving kinsman—you are acquainted with the
world—you will advise me—you will be good to
him! I am sure you will. I see it in your face."

"I shall be very glad to receive your
confidence, and to give you what counsel I can,"
replied Mr. Trefalden.

"God bless you!" said the pastor, and shook
hands with him across the table.

At this moment there came a sound of voices
from the further end of the terrace.

"One word more," cried Martin, eagerly.
"You know our family history, and the date that
is drawing near?"

"I do."

"Not a syllable before him, till we have again
spoken together. Hush! he is here."

A giant shadow fell upon the grass, and young
Saxon's six feet of substance stood between
them and the sun. He held a dish in his hands
and a bottle under his arm, and was followed by
a stalwart peasant woman, laden with plates and
glasses.

"The evening is so warm," said he, "that I
thought our cousin would prefer to stay here;
so Kettli and I have brought the supper with
us."

"Nothing could please me better," replied
Mr. Trefalden. "By the way, Saxon, I must
compliment you on your Greek. Theocritus is
an old friend of mine, and you read him remarkably
well."

The young man, who had just removed the
book from the table, and was assisting to spread
the cloth, blushed like a girl.

"He and Anacreon were my favourite poets,"
added the lawyer; "but that was a long time
ago. I fear I now remember very little of
either."

"I have not read Anacreon," said Saxon;
"but of all those I know, I love Homer best."

"Ay, for the fighting," suggested his uncle,
with a smile.

"Why not, when it's such grand fighting?"

"Then you prefer the Iliad to the Odyssey,"
said Mr. Trefalden. "Now, for my part, I
always took more pleasure in the adventures of
Ulysses. The scenery is so various and romantic;
the fiction so delightful."

"I don't like Ulysses," said Saxon, bluntly.
"He's so crafty."

"He is therefore all the truer to nature,"
replied Mr. Trefalden. "All Greeks are crafty;
and Ulysses is the very type of his race."

"I cannot forgive him on that plea. A hero
must be better than his race, or he is no hero."

"That is true, my son," said the pastor.

"I allow that the Homeric heroes are not
Bayards; but they are great men," said Mr.
Trefalden, defending his position less for the
sake of argument than for the opportunity of
studying his cousin's opinions.

"Ulysses is not a great man," replied Saxon,
warmly; "much less a hero."

Mr. Trefalden smiled, and shook his head.

"You have all the world against you," said
he.

"The world lets itself be blinded by tradition,"
answered Saxon. " Can a man be a hero, and
steal? A hero, and tell lies? A hero, and afraid to
give his name? Tell of Altdorf was not one of
that stamp. When Gessler questioned him