Part 18 (1/2)

”That is neither here nor there. He is a Scot. I may marry like the rest of the world, but while my life days last, Sunna Vedder will not marry a Scot.”

”Yes--but there was some talk that way. My aunt heard it. My aunt hears everything.”

”I will tell thee, talk that way was all lies. No one will Sunna Vedder marry, that is not of her race.” Then she put her arms round Eric, and kissed his wan face, calling him ”her own little Norseman!”

”Tell me, Sunna, what is happening in the town?” said he.

”Well, then, not much now. Men are talking of the war, and going to the war, and empty is the town. About the war, art thou sorry?”

”No, I am glad----

”How glorious the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!”

And he raised his small, thin hands, and his face glowed, and he looked like a young St. Michael.

Then Max lifted the globe and books aside and put his chair close to his brother's. ”Eric has the soul of a soldier,” he said, ”and the sound of drums and trumpets stirs him like the cry of fire.”

”And so it happens, Mr. Grant, that we have much noise lately from the trumpets and the fife and drums.”

”Yes, man is a military animal, he loves parade,” answered Max.

”But in this war, there is much more than parade.”

”You are right, Miss Vedder. It was prompted by that gigantic heart-throb with which, even across oceans, we feel each other's rights and wrongs. And in this way we learn best that we are men and brothers. Can a man do more for a wrong than give his life to right it?”

Then Eric cried out with hysterical pa.s.sion: ”I wish only that I might have my way with Aberdeen! Oh, the skulking cowards who follow him!

Max! Max! If you would mount our father's big war horse and hold me in front of you and ride into the thick of the battle, and let me look on the cold light of the lifted swords! Oh, the s.h.i.+ning swords! They shake! They cry out! The lives of men are in them! Max! Max! I want to die--on a--battlefield!”

And Max held the weeping boy in his arms, and bowed his head over him and whispered words too tender and sacred to be written down.

For a while Eric was exhausted; he lay still watching his brother and Sunna, and listening to their conversation. They were talking of the excitement in London, and of the pressure of the clergy putting down the reluctancies and falterings of the peace men.

”Have you heard, Miss Vedder,” said Grant, ”that one of the bishops decided England's call to war by a wonderful sermon in St. Paul's?”

”I am sorry to be ignorant. Tell me.”

”He preached from Jeremiah, Fourth Chapter and Sixth Verse; and his closing cry was from Nahum, Second Chapter and First Verse, 'Set up the standard toward Zion. Stay not, for I will bring evil from the north and a great destruction,' and he closed with Nahum's advice, 'He that dasheth in pieces is come up before thy face, keep the munition, watch the way, make thy loins strong, fortify thy power mightily.'”

”Well, then, how went the advice?”

”I know not exactly. It is hard to convince commerce and cowardice that at certain times war is the highest of all duties. Neither of them understand patriotism; and yet every trembling pacifist in time of war is a misfortune to his country.”

”And the country will give them--what?” asked Sunna.

”The cold, dead d.a.m.nation of a disgrace they will never outlive,”

answered Max.

There was a sharp cry from Eric at these words, and then a pa.s.sionate childish exclamation--”Not bad enough! Not bad enough!” he screamed.

”Oh, if I had a sword and a strong hand! I would cut them up in slices!” Then with an hysterical cry the boy fell backward.