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 battlesteeds, 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 treetops. It gripped the oak by
its branches and tore it from the 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 moment in the
presence of almighty power.

Then he turned to the people, "Here is the timber," he cried, "already
felled and split for your new building. On this spot shall rise a chapel
to the true God and his servant St. Peter.

"And here," said he, as his eyes fell on a young fir-tree, standing
straight and green, with its top pointing toward the stars, amid the
divided ruins of the fallen oak, "here is the living tree, with no stain
of blood upon it, that shall be the sign of your new worship. See how it
points to the sky. Call it the tree of the Christ-child. Take it up and
carry it to the chieftain's hall. You shall go no more into the shadows
of the forest to keep your feasts with secret rites of shame. You
shall keep them at home, with laughter and songs and rites of love. The
thunder-oak has fallen, and I think the day is coming when there shall
not be a home in all Germany where the children are not gathered around
the green fir-tree to rejoice in the birth-night of Christ."

So they took the little fir from its place, and carried it in joy