So were the hearts of the children turned to their fathers; and it was not long before heathenism had disappeared from the valley of the Oerze, and the Lord Jesus was become the King to whom every knee in the country was bowed.'" CHAPTER XI. "Uncle Eden," said Maggie, "do you like Meredith's story?" "Yes." "Do you feel like talking now, Uncle Eden?" "What about?" "But I mean--do you feel like _talking_--about anything?" "Depends on the subject, Maggie. Hark to that woodpecker!" "Mr. Murray does _not_ feel like talking, I know," remarked Flora. "He feels--if he ever feels!--lazy." "No, Miss Flora, not exactly. And yet, how delicious this quiet is!" "And the smell of the pines!" "And the warm, luxurious air!" "And the light through the pine branches, and upon the coloured leaves yonder." "Yes, and the blue of the sky," said Mr. Murray, who lying upon his back had a good view. "Blue, through the pine needles. Such an ethereal, clear blue; not like summer's intensity." "I like summer best," said Flora. "I like this. But what did you want to talk about, children?" "O Uncle Eden! a great many things. You see, we do not all think alike." "Naturally." "And we want you to tell us how we ought to think." "_You_ do," said Mr. Murray laughing. "That will answer for ten years old. I am sure the others are more independent." "But we want to know what _you_ think, Uncle Eden--about ever so many things. We have been saving them up till you came. Ditto wants to know what Christians ought to do--about some things." "And I hope you will tell him, Mr. Murray," said Flora, "what Christians ought _not_ to do--about some things." Mr. Murray raised himself up on his elbows and looked at the young people around him. It was a very pretty picture. Fair young faces, that life had not clouded, intelligent and honest; bright young figures in all the freshness of neat attire and excellent personal care; the setting of the green wood, the brown carpet of pine needles, the hazy October air, here and there the crimson of a Virginia creeper, here and there the tawny hues of a cat-briar or a wild grape-vine; stillness and softness over all, the chirrup of a cricket, the cawing of two crows flying over, the interrupted tap of the woodpecker, just making you notice how still and soft it was; and then the bright, living young faces raised or turned, and waiting upon him. Mr. Murray looked and smiled, and did not at once speak; then he asked what subject came first. So many answers were begun at once that all had to stop; then Maggie, getting the field, said-- "We want to know how much a Christian ought really to give, Uncle Eden." "Say, rather--how much he ought to do," put in Meredith. "Yes," added Flora; "we do want instruction on that point. Some of us are rather wild."