intelligible　to　me；　for　it　was　in　an　unknown　tongue—neither　French　nor　Latin。　Whether　it　were　Greek　or　German　I　could　not　tell。

“That　is　strong；”　she　said；　when　she　had　finished：　“I　relish　it。”　The　other　girl；　who　had　lifted　her　head　to　listen　to　her　sister；　repeated；　while　she　gazed　at　the　fire；　a　line　of　what　had　been　read。　At　a　later　day；　I　knew　the　language　and　the　book；　therefore；　I　will　here　quote　the　line：　though；　when　I　first　heard　it；　it　was　only　like　a　stroke　on　sounding　brass　to　me—conveying　no　meaning：—

“‘Da　trat　hervor　Einer；　anzusehen　wie　die　Sternen　Nacht。’　Good！　good！”　she　exclaimed；　while　her　dark　and　deep　eye　sparkled。　“There　you　have　a　dim　and　mighty　archangel　fitly　set　before　you！　The　line　is　worth　a　hundred　pages　of　fustian。　‘Ich　wage　die　Gedanken　in　der　Schale　meines　Zornes　und　die　Werke　mit　dem　Gewichte　meines　Grimms。’　I　like　it！”

Both　were　again　silent。

“Is　there　ony　country　where　they　talk　i’　that　way？”　asked　the　old　woman；　looking　up　from　her　knitting。

“Yes；　Hannah—a　far　larger　country　than　England；　where　they　talk　in　no　other　way。”

“Well；　for　sure　case；　I　knawn’t　how　they　can　understand　t’　one　t’other：　and　if　either　o’　ye　went　there；　ye　could　tell　what　they　said；　I　guess？”

“We　could　probably　tell　something　of　what　they　said；　but　not　all—　for　we　are　not　as　clever　as　you　think　us；　Hannah。　We　don’t　speak　German；　and　we　cannot　read　it　without　a　dictionary　to　help　us。”

“And　what　good　does　it　do