p of blood shall fall to-night, save that which pity has
drawn from the breast of your princess, in love for her child. Not
a life shall be blotted out in the darkness tonight; but the great
shadow of the tree which hides you from the light of heaven shall
be swept away. For this is the birth-night of the white Christ,
son of the All-Father, and Saviour of mankind. Fairer is He than
Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin the Wise, kinder than
Freya the Good. Since He has come to earth the bloody sacrifices
must cease. The dark Thor, on whom you vainly call, is dead. Deep
in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. His power in the
world is broken. Will you serve a helpless god? See, my brothers,
you call this tree his oak. Does he dwell here? Does he protect
it?"

A troubled voice of assent rose from the throng. The people
stirred uneasily. Women covered their eyes. Hunrad lifted his head
and muttered hoarsely, "Thor! take vengeance! Thor!"

Winfried beckoned to Gregor. "Bring the axes, thine and one for
me. Now, young woodsman, show thy craft! The king-tree of the
forest must fall, and swiftly, or all is lost!"

The two men took their places facing each other, one on each side
of the oak. Their cloaks were flung aside, their heads bare.
Carefully they felt the ground with their feet, seeking a firm
grip of the earth. Firmly they grasped the axe-helves and swung
the shining blades.

"Tree-god!" cried Winfried, "art thou angry? Thus we smite thee!"

"Tree-god!" answered Gregor, "art thou mighty? Thus we fight
thee!"

Clang! clang! the alternate strokes beat time upon the hard,
ringing wood. The axe-heads glittered in their rhythmic flight,
like fierce eagles circling about their quarry.

The broad flakes of wood flew from the deepening gashes in the
sides of the oak. The huge trunk quivered. There was a shuddering
in the branches. Then the great wonder of Winfried's life came to
pass.

Out of the stillness of the winter night, a mighty rushing noise
sounded overhead.

Was it the ancient gods on their white battle-steeds, with their
black hounds of wrath and their arrows of lightning, sweeping
through the air to destroy their foes?

A strong, whirling wind passed over the tree-tops. It gripped the
oak by its branches and tore it from its roots. Backward it fell,
like a ruined tower, groaning and crashing as it split asunder in
four great pieces.

Winfried let his axe drop, and bowed his head for a mo