On the following Sabbath Seraiah read to the congregation the story of the Three Children in the fire, and then delivered a stirring address on the faith and courage of the heroic mother and her sons. The people listened with a breathless attention, and when he had finished, drew, so to speak, together that deep sigh of relief which tells the speaker that he has been holding the hearts of his hearers. He was one of those trustful souls who amidst all dangers find their strength in quietness and confidence. But the other leaders of the settlement could not help feeling somewhat anxious as to the future. What was to be the end? This constancy under suffering was grand beyond all praise; but were they and their brethren to stand still and see the religion of their fathers trampled out in blood? Was there no one to strike a blow for their faith and their fatherland? For they could measure the average strength and depth of human nature, and knew that there are ten who are ready to do and dare for one who can suffer and be strong. “Do you remember,” said Seraiah to his brother-in-law, as they were talking over the position of affairs after the gathering for worship—“do you remember that day when we fought against the Edomites, how our line crumbled away while we had to stand still as a target for the Edomite arrows, and how it grew solid again in a moment when our general gave the signal to charge? One was ready before to think that half the men were cowards, and then one could almost have sworn that there was not a coward among them. Yes, Azariah, we must strike when the time comes; but when the time will come is more than I can tell.” The next day brought an answer to his question. The people were dispersing after the usual morning prayer when a stranger was seen hurrying up the pass. Arrived at the top, where a party of the men had gone to meet him, he threw himself breathless on the ground; at the same time he drew a small piece of folded parchment from the pouch which was fastened to his girdle, and handed it to one of the men. It ran thus: “Mattathias to Seraiah, in the wilderness of Bethaven, greeting. Listen to the young man who brings this present without doubting, for he is faithful, and speaks words of truth.” In a few moments Seraiah appeared. By this time the messenger had recovered his breath, and was ready to tell his tale. “What news bring you?” said Seraiah. “Great news; for the Lord has smitten His enemies hip and thigh by the hand of Mattathias, son of Asmon, and by the hand of his sons.” A murmur of delight ran through the little audience, and every eye brightened at the prospect of action. “Tell on. We hear!” cried Seraiah. “May I crave a drink of water? for the way is long, and I have been travelling since the sun set yesterday.” The water was fetched. When he had quenched his thirst, young Asaph—that was the messenger’s name—began his story.