Chapter 5

Einar.

First over yonder peak, then downTo the fjord haven in the west;On Egir’s courser through the foamRide homeward to the bridal feast,—So to the sunny south togetherLike paired swans in their first flight——

First over yonder peak, then down

To the fjord haven in the west;

On Egir’s courser through the foam

Ride homeward to the bridal feast,—

So to the sunny south together

Like paired swans in their first flight——

Brand.

And there——?

Einar.

A life of summer weather,A dream, a legend of delight.For on this Sabbath morn have we,High on the hills, without a priest,From fear and sorrow been releasedAnd consecrated to gaiety.

A life of summer weather,

A dream, a legend of delight.

For on this Sabbath morn have we,

High on the hills, without a priest,

From fear and sorrow been released

And consecrated to gaiety.

Brand.

By whom?

Einar.

By all the merry crowd.With ringing glasses every cloudWas banish’d that might dash the leavesToo rudely at our cottage eaves.Out of our speech they put to flightEach warning word of stormy showers,And hail’d us, garlanded with flowers,The true-born children of Delight.

By all the merry crowd.

With ringing glasses every cloud

Was banish’d that might dash the leaves

Too rudely at our cottage eaves.

Out of our speech they put to flight

Each warning word of stormy showers,

And hail’d us, garlanded with flowers,

The true-born children of Delight.

Brand.[Going.]

Brand.

[Going.]

Farewell, ye two.

Einar.[Starting and looking more closely at him.]

Einar.

[Starting and looking more closely at him.]

I pray you, holdSomething familiar in your face——

I pray you, hold

Something familiar in your face——

Brand.[Coldly.]

Brand.

[Coldly.]

I am a stranger.

Einar.

Yet a traceSurely there lingers of an oldFriend of my school-days—

Yet a trace

Surely there lingers of an old

Friend of my school-days—

Brand.

School-friends, true;But now I am no more a boy.

School-friends, true;

But now I am no more a boy.

Einar.

Can it be——?[Cries out suddenly.]Brand! It is! O joy!

Can it be——?

[Cries out suddenly.]

Brand! It is! O joy!

Brand.

From the first moment I knew you.

Einar.

Well met! a thousand times well met!Look at me!—Ay, the old Brand yet,Still centred on the things within,Whom never any one could winTo join our gambols.

Well met! a thousand times well met!

Look at me!—Ay, the old Brand yet,

Still centred on the things within,

Whom never any one could win

To join our gambols.

Brand.

You forgetThat I was homeless and alone.Yet you at least I loved, I own.You children of the southern landWere fashion’d of another clayThan I, born by a rocky strandIn shadow of a barren brae.

You forget

That I was homeless and alone.

Yet you at least I loved, I own.

You children of the southern land

Were fashion’d of another clay

Than I, born by a rocky strand

In shadow of a barren brae.

Einar.

Your home is here, I think?

Brand.

My wayLies past it.

My way

Lies past it.

Einar.

Past? What, further?

Brand.

FarBeyond, beyond my home.

Far

Beyond, beyond my home.

Einar.

You areA priest?

You are

A priest?

Brand.[Smiling.]

Brand.

[Smiling.]

A mission-preacher, say.I wander like the woodland hare,And where I am, my home is there.

A mission-preacher, say.

I wander like the woodland hare,

And where I am, my home is there.

Einar.

And whither is your last resort?

Brand.[Sternly and quickly.]

Brand.

[Sternly and quickly.]

Inquire not!

Einar.

Wherefore?

Brand.[Changing his tone.]

Brand.

[Changing his tone.]

Ah,—then know,The ship that stays for you belowShall bear me also from the port.

Ah,—then know,

The ship that stays for you below

Shall bear me also from the port.

Einar.

Hurrah! My bridal-courser trueThink, Agnes, he is coming too!

Hurrah! My bridal-courser true

Think, Agnes, he is coming too!

Brand.

ButIam to a burial bound.

Agnes.

A burial.

Einar.

You? Why, who is dead?

Brand.

The God who wasyourGod, you said.

Agnes.[Shrinking back.]

Agnes.

[Shrinking back.]

Come, Einar!

Einar.

Brand!

Brand.

With cerements woundThe God of each mechanic slave,Of each dull drudger, shall be laidBy broad day in his open grave.End of the matter must be made;And high time is it you should knowHe ail’d a thousand years ago.

With cerements wound

The God of each mechanic slave,

Of each dull drudger, shall be laid

By broad day in his open grave.

End of the matter must be made;

And high time is it you should know

He ail’d a thousand years ago.

Einar.

Brand, you are ill!

Brand.

No, sound and freshAs juniper and mountain-pine!It is our age whose pining fleshCraves burial at these hands of mine.Ye will but laugh and love and play,A little doctrine take on trust,And all the bitter burden thrustOn One who came, ye have been told,And from your shoulders took awayYour great transgressions manifold.He bore for you the cross, the lance—Ye therefore have full leave to dance;Dance then,—but where your dancing endsIs quite another thing, my friends!

No, sound and fresh

As juniper and mountain-pine!

It is our age whose pining flesh

Craves burial at these hands of mine.

Ye will but laugh and love and play,

A little doctrine take on trust,

And all the bitter burden thrust

On One who came, ye have been told,

And from your shoulders took away

Your great transgressions manifold.

He bore for you the cross, the lance—

Ye therefore have full leave to dance;

Dance then,—but where your dancing ends

Is quite another thing, my friends!

Einar.

Ah, I perceive, the latest cry,That folks are so much taken by.You come of the new brood, who holdThat life is only gilded mould,And with God’s penal fires and flashesHound all the world to sack and ashes.

Ah, I perceive, the latest cry,

That folks are so much taken by.

You come of the new brood, who hold

That life is only gilded mould,

And with God’s penal fires and flashes

Hound all the world to sack and ashes.

Brand.

No, I am no “Evangelist,”I speak not as the Church’s priest;That I’m a Christian, even, I doubt;That I’m a man, though, I know well,And that I see the cancer fellThat eats our country’s marrow out.

No, I am no “Evangelist,”

I speak not as the Church’s priest;

That I’m a Christian, even, I doubt;

That I’m a man, though, I know well,

And that I see the cancer fell

That eats our country’s marrow out.

Einar.[Smiling.]

Einar.

[Smiling.]

I never heard, I must confess,Our country taxed with being givenTo worldly pleasure in excess!

I never heard, I must confess,

Our country taxed with being given

To worldly pleasure in excess!

Brand.

No, by delight no breast is riven;—Were it but so, the ill were less!Be passion’s slave, be pleasure’s thrall,—But be it utterly, all in all!Be not to-day, to-morrow, one,Another when a year is gone;Be what you are with all your heart,And not by pieces and in part.The Bacchant’s clear, defined, complete,The sot, his sordid counterfeit;Silenus charms; but all his gracesThe drunkard’s parody debases.Traverse the land from beach to beach,Try every man in heart and soul,You’ll find he has no virtue whole,But just a little grain of each.A little pious in the pew,A little grave,—his fathers’ way,—Over the cup a little gay,—It was his father’s fashion too!A little warm when glasses clash,And stormy cheer and song go roundFor the small Folk, rock-will’d, rock-bound,That never stood the scourge and lash.A little free in promise-making;And then, when vows in liquor will’dMust be in mortal stress fulfill’d,A little fine in promise-breaking.Yet, as I say, all fragments stillHis faults, his merits, fragments all,Partial in good, partial in ill,Partial in great things and in small;—But here’s the grief—that, worst or best,Each fragment of him wrecks the rest!

No, by delight no breast is riven;—

Were it but so, the ill were less!

Be passion’s slave, be pleasure’s thrall,—

But be it utterly, all in all!

Be not to-day, to-morrow, one,

Another when a year is gone;

Be what you are with all your heart,

And not by pieces and in part.

The Bacchant’s clear, defined, complete,

The sot, his sordid counterfeit;

Silenus charms; but all his graces

The drunkard’s parody debases.

Traverse the land from beach to beach,

Try every man in heart and soul,

You’ll find he has no virtue whole,

But just a little grain of each.

A little pious in the pew,

A little grave,—his fathers’ way,—

Over the cup a little gay,—

It was his father’s fashion too!

A little warm when glasses clash,

And stormy cheer and song go round

For the small Folk, rock-will’d, rock-bound,

That never stood the scourge and lash.

A little free in promise-making;

And then, when vows in liquor will’d

Must be in mortal stress fulfill’d,

A little fine in promise-breaking.

Yet, as I say, all fragments still

His faults, his merits, fragments all,

Partial in good, partial in ill,

Partial in great things and in small;—

But here’s the grief—that, worst or best,

Each fragment of him wrecks the rest!

Einar.

Scoffing’s an easy task: it wereA nobler policy to spare——

Scoffing’s an easy task: it were

A nobler policy to spare——

Brand.

Perhaps, if it were wholesome too.

Einar.

Well, well, the indictment I endorseWith all my heart; but can’t divineWhat in the world it has to doWith Him, the God you count a corse,Whom yet I still acknowledge mine.

Well, well, the indictment I endorse

With all my heart; but can’t divine

What in the world it has to do

With Him, the God you count a corse,

Whom yet I still acknowledge mine.

Brand.

My genial friend, your gift is Art;—Show me the God you have averr’d.Him you have painted, I have heard,And touch’d the honest people’s heart.Old is he haply; am I right?

My genial friend, your gift is Art;—

Show me the God you have averr’d.

Him you have painted, I have heard,

And touch’d the honest people’s heart.

Old is he haply; am I right?

Einar.

Well, yes——

Brand.

Of course; and, doubtless, white?Hairs straggling on a reverend head,A beard of ice or silver-thread;Kindly, yet stern enough to frightA pack of children in the night.I will not ask you, if your GodWith fireside slippers you have shod;But ’twere a pity, without doubt,To leave skull-cap and glasses out.

Of course; and, doubtless, white?

Hairs straggling on a reverend head,

A beard of ice or silver-thread;

Kindly, yet stern enough to fright

A pack of children in the night.

I will not ask you, if your God

With fireside slippers you have shod;

But ’twere a pity, without doubt,

To leave skull-cap and glasses out.

Einar.[Angrily.]

Einar.

[Angrily.]

What do you mean?

Brand.

I do not flout;Just so he looks in form and face,The household idol of our race.As Catholics make of the RedeemerA baby at the breast, so yeMake God a dotard and a dreamer,Verging on second infancy.And as the Pope on Peter’s throneCalls little but his keys his own,So to the Church you would confineThe world-wide realm of the Divine;’Twixt Life and Doctrine set a sea,Nowise concern yourselves to be;Bliss for your souls ye would receive,Not utterly and whollylive.Ye need, such feebleness to brook,A God who’ll through his fingers look,Who, like yourselves, is hoary grown,And keeps a cap for his bald crown.Mine is another kind of God!Mine is a storm, where thine’s a lull,Implacable where thine’s a clod,All-loving there, where thine is dull;And He is young like Hercules,No hoary sipper of life’s lees!His voice rang through the dazzled nightWhen He, within the burning wood,By Moses upon Horeb’s heightAs by a pigmy’s pigmy stood.In Gibeon’s vale He stay’d the sun,And wonders without end has done,And wonders without end would do,Were not the age grown sick,—like you!

I do not flout;

Just so he looks in form and face,

The household idol of our race.

As Catholics make of the Redeemer

A baby at the breast, so ye

Make God a dotard and a dreamer,

Verging on second infancy.

And as the Pope on Peter’s throne

Calls little but his keys his own,

So to the Church you would confine

The world-wide realm of the Divine;

’Twixt Life and Doctrine set a sea,

Nowise concern yourselves to be;

Bliss for your souls ye would receive,

Not utterly and whollylive.

Ye need, such feebleness to brook,

A God who’ll through his fingers look,

Who, like yourselves, is hoary grown,

And keeps a cap for his bald crown.

Mine is another kind of God!

Mine is a storm, where thine’s a lull,

Implacable where thine’s a clod,

All-loving there, where thine is dull;

And He is young like Hercules,

No hoary sipper of life’s lees!

His voice rang through the dazzled night

When He, within the burning wood,

By Moses upon Horeb’s height

As by a pigmy’s pigmy stood.

In Gibeon’s vale He stay’d the sun,

And wonders without end has done,

And wonders without end would do,

Were not the age grown sick,—like you!

Einar.[Smiling faintly.]

Einar.

[Smiling faintly.]

And now the age shall be made whole?

Brand.

It shall, I say, and that as sureAs that I came to earth to cureThe sapping fester of its soul.

It shall, I say, and that as sure

As that I came to earth to cure

The sapping fester of its soul.

Einar.[Shaking his head.]

Einar.

[Shaking his head.]

Ere yet the radiant torchlight blazes,Throw not the taper to the ground!Nor blot the antiquated phrasesBefore the great new words be found!

Ere yet the radiant torchlight blazes,

Throw not the taper to the ground!

Nor blot the antiquated phrases

Before the great new words be found!

Brand.

Nothing that’s new do I demand;For Everlasting Right I stand.It is not for a Church I cry,It is not dogmas I defend;Day dawn’d on both, and, possibly,Day may on both of them descend.What’s made has “finis” for its brand;Of moth and worm it feels the flaw,And then, by nature and by law,Is for an embryo thrust aside.But there is one that shall abide;—The Spirit, that was never born,That in the world’s fresh gladsome MornWas rescued when it seem’d forlorn,That built with valiant faith a roadWhereby from Flesh it climb’d to God.Now but in shreds and scraps is dealtThe Spirit we have faintly felt;But from these scraps and from these shreds,These headless hands and handless heads,These torso-stumps of soul and thought,A Man complete and whole shall grow,And God His glorious child shall know,His heir, the Adam that He wrought!

Nothing that’s new do I demand;

For Everlasting Right I stand.

It is not for a Church I cry,

It is not dogmas I defend;

Day dawn’d on both, and, possibly,

Day may on both of them descend.

What’s made has “finis” for its brand;

Of moth and worm it feels the flaw,

And then, by nature and by law,

Is for an embryo thrust aside.

But there is one that shall abide;—

The Spirit, that was never born,

That in the world’s fresh gladsome Morn

Was rescued when it seem’d forlorn,

That built with valiant faith a road

Whereby from Flesh it climb’d to God.

Now but in shreds and scraps is dealt

The Spirit we have faintly felt;

But from these scraps and from these shreds,

These headless hands and handless heads,

These torso-stumps of soul and thought,

A Man complete and whole shall grow,

And God His glorious child shall know,

His heir, the Adam that He wrought!

Einar.[Breaking off.]

Einar.

[Breaking off.]

Farewell. I judge that it were bestWe parted.

Farewell. I judge that it were best

We parted.

Brand.

You are going west,I northward. To the fjord from hereTwo pathways lead,—both alike near.Farewell!

You are going west,

I northward. To the fjord from here

Two pathways lead,—both alike near.

Farewell!

Einar.

Farewell.

Brand.[Turning round again.]

Brand.

[Turning round again.]

Light learn to partFrom vapour.—Know that Life’s an art!

Light learn to part

From vapour.—Know that Life’s an art!

Einar.[Waving him off.]

Einar.

[Waving him off.]

Go, turn the universe upside down;Still in my ancient God I trust!

Go, turn the universe upside down;

Still in my ancient God I trust!

Brand.

Good; paint his crutches and his crown,—I go to lay him in the dust!

Good; paint his crutches and his crown,—

I go to lay him in the dust!

[Disappears over the pass.

[Einar goes silently to the edge and looks after him.]

Agnes.[Stands a moment lost in thought; then starts, looks about her uneasily, and asks:]

Agnes.

[Stands a moment lost in thought; then starts, looks about her uneasily, and asks:]

Is the sun set already?

Einar.

Nay,A shadowing cloud; and now ’tis past.

Nay,

A shadowing cloud; and now ’tis past.

Agnes.

The wind is cold!

Einar.

Only a blastThat hurried by. Here lies our way.

Only a blast

That hurried by. Here lies our way.

Agnes.

Yon mountain southward, sure, till now,Wore not that black and beetling brow.

Yon mountain southward, sure, till now,

Wore not that black and beetling brow.

Einar.

Thou saw’st it not for game and gleeEre with his cry he startled thee.Let him pursue his toilsome track,And we will to our gambols back!

Thou saw’st it not for game and glee

Ere with his cry he startled thee.

Let him pursue his toilsome track,

And we will to our gambols back!

Agnes.

No, now I’m weary.

Einar.

And indeedI’m weary too, to tell the truth,—And here our footing asks more heedThan on yon upland broad and smooth.But once we’re on the level plainWe’ll dance defiantly once more,Ay, in a tenfold wilder veinAnd tenfold swifter than before.See Agnes, yon blue line that sparkles,Fresh from the young sun’s morning kiss,And now it dimples and now darkles,Silver one moment, amber this;It is the ocean glad and freeThat in the distance thou dost see.And seest thou the smoky trackIn endless line to leeward spread?And seest thou the point of blackJust rounding now the furthest head?It is the steamer—thine and mine—And now it speeds into the fjord,Then out into the foaming brineTo-night with thee and me on board!—The mists have veil’d the mountain brow—Saw’st thou how vividly, but now,Heaven’s image in the water woke!

And indeed

I’m weary too, to tell the truth,—

And here our footing asks more heed

Than on yon upland broad and smooth.

But once we’re on the level plain

We’ll dance defiantly once more,

Ay, in a tenfold wilder vein

And tenfold swifter than before.

See Agnes, yon blue line that sparkles,

Fresh from the young sun’s morning kiss,

And now it dimples and now darkles,

Silver one moment, amber this;

It is the ocean glad and free

That in the distance thou dost see.

And seest thou the smoky track

In endless line to leeward spread?

And seest thou the point of black

Just rounding now the furthest head?

It is the steamer—thine and mine—

And now it speeds into the fjord,

Then out into the foaming brine

To-night with thee and me on board!—

The mists have veil’d the mountain brow—

Saw’st thou how vividly, but now,

Heaven’s image in the water woke!

Agnes.[Looking absently about her.]

Agnes.

[Looking absently about her.]

Oh, yes. But tell me—sawest thou——?

Einar.

What?

Agnes.[In a hushed voice, without looking at him.]

Agnes.

[In a hushed voice, without looking at him.]

How he tower’d as he spoke?[She goes down over the pass,Einarfollows.

How he tower’d as he spoke?

[She goes down over the pass,Einarfollows.

[A path along the crags, with a wild valley beyond to the right. Above, and beyond the mountain, are glimpses of greater heights, with peaks and snow.]

Brand.[Comes up along the path, descends, stops half-way upon a jutting crag, and gazes into the valley.]

Brand.

[Comes up along the path, descends, stops half-way upon a jutting crag, and gazes into the valley.]

Yes, I know myself once more!Every boat-house by the shore,Every home; the landslip-fall,And the inlet’s fringe of birch,And the ancient moulder’d church,And the river alders, allFrom my boyhood I recall.But methinks it all has grownGrayer, smaller than I knew;Yon snow-cornice hangs more proneThan of old it used to do,From that scanty heaven enclosesYet another strip of blue,Beetles, looms, immures, imposes—Steals of light a larger due.[Sits down and gazes into the distance.]And the fjord too. Crouch’d it thenIn so drear and deep a den?’Tis a squall. A square-rigg’d skiffScuds before it to the land.Southward, shadow’d by the cliff,I descry a wharf, a shed,Then, a farm house, painted red.—’Tis the farm beside the strand!’Tis the widow’s farm. The homeOf my childhood. Thronging comeMemories born of memories dead.I, where yonder breakers roll,Grew, a lonely infant-soul.Like a nightmare on my heartWeighs the burden of my birth,Knit to one, who walks apartWith her spirit set to earth.All the high emprise that stirr’dIn me, now is veil’d and blurr’d.Force and valour from me fail,Heart and soul grow faint and frailAs I near my home, I change,To my very self grow strange—Wake, as baffled Samson woke,Shorn and fetter’d, tamed and broke.[Looks again down into the valley.]What is stirring down below?Out of every garth they flow,Troops of children, wives and men,And in long lines meet and mingle,Now among the rocks and shingleVanish, now emerge again;—To the ancient Church they go.[Rises.]Oh, I know you, through and through!Sluggard spirits, souls of lead!All the Lord’s Prayer, said by you,Is not with such anguish sped,By such passion borne on high,That one tittle thrills the skyAs a ringing human cry,Save the prayer for daily bread!That’s this people’s battle-call,That’s the blazon of them all!From its context pluck’d apart,Branded deep in every heart—There it lies, the tempest-tostWreckage of the Faith you’ve lost.Forth! out of this stifling pit!Vault-like is the air of it!Not a Flag may float unfurl’dIn this dead and windless world!

Yes, I know myself once more!

Every boat-house by the shore,

Every home; the landslip-fall,

And the inlet’s fringe of birch,

And the ancient moulder’d church,

And the river alders, all

From my boyhood I recall.

But methinks it all has grown

Grayer, smaller than I knew;

Yon snow-cornice hangs more prone

Than of old it used to do,

From that scanty heaven encloses

Yet another strip of blue,

Beetles, looms, immures, imposes—

Steals of light a larger due.

[Sits down and gazes into the distance.]

And the fjord too. Crouch’d it then

In so drear and deep a den?

’Tis a squall. A square-rigg’d skiff

Scuds before it to the land.

Southward, shadow’d by the cliff,

I descry a wharf, a shed,

Then, a farm house, painted red.—

’Tis the farm beside the strand!

’Tis the widow’s farm. The home

Of my childhood. Thronging come

Memories born of memories dead.

I, where yonder breakers roll,

Grew, a lonely infant-soul.

Like a nightmare on my heart

Weighs the burden of my birth,

Knit to one, who walks apart

With her spirit set to earth.

All the high emprise that stirr’d

In me, now is veil’d and blurr’d.

Force and valour from me fail,

Heart and soul grow faint and frail

As I near my home, I change,

To my very self grow strange—

Wake, as baffled Samson woke,

Shorn and fetter’d, tamed and broke.

[Looks again down into the valley.]

What is stirring down below?

Out of every garth they flow,

Troops of children, wives and men,

And in long lines meet and mingle,

Now among the rocks and shingle

Vanish, now emerge again;—

To the ancient Church they go.

[Rises.]

Oh, I know you, through and through!

Sluggard spirits, souls of lead!

All the Lord’s Prayer, said by you,

Is not with such anguish sped,

By such passion borne on high,

That one tittle thrills the sky

As a ringing human cry,

Save the prayer for daily bread!

That’s this people’s battle-call,

That’s the blazon of them all!

From its context pluck’d apart,

Branded deep in every heart—

There it lies, the tempest-tost

Wreckage of the Faith you’ve lost.

Forth! out of this stifling pit!

Vault-like is the air of it!

Not a Flag may float unfurl’d

In this dead and windless world!

[He is going; a stone is thrown from above and rolls down the slope close by him.

Brand.[Calling upward.]

Brand.

[Calling upward.]

Ha! who throws stones there?

Gerd.[A girl of fifteen, running along the crest with stones in her apron.]

Gerd.

[A girl of fifteen, running along the crest with stones in her apron.]

Ho! Good aim!He screams![She throws again.]

Ho! Good aim!

He screams!

[She throws again.]

Brand.

Hullo, child, stop that game!

Gerd.

Without a hurt he’s sitting now,And swinging on a wind-swept bough![She throws again and screams.]Now fierce as ever he’s making for me.Help! Hoo! With claws he’ll rend and gore me!

Without a hurt he’s sitting now,

And swinging on a wind-swept bough!

[She throws again and screams.]

Now fierce as ever he’s making for me.

Help! Hoo! With claws he’ll rend and gore me!

Brand.

In the Lord’s name——

Gerd.

Whist! who are you?Hold still, hold still; he’s flying.

Whist! who are you?

Hold still, hold still; he’s flying.

Brand.

Who?

Gerd.

Didn’t you see the falcon fly?

Brand.

Here? no.

Gerd.

The laidly fowl with crestThwart on its sloping brow depress’d,And red-and-yellow circledeye.eye.

The laidly fowl with crest

Thwart on its sloping brow depress’d,

And red-and-yellow circledeye.eye.

Brand.

Which is your way?

Gerd.

To church I go.

Brand.

Then we can go along together.

Gerd.[Pointing upward.]

Gerd.

[Pointing upward.]

We? But the way I’m bound is thither.

Brand.[Pointing downward.]

Brand.

[Pointing downward.]

But yonder is the church, you know!

Gerd.[Pointing downward with a scornful smile.]

Gerd.

[Pointing downward with a scornful smile.]

That yonder?

Brand.

Truly; come with me.

Gerd.

No; yon is ugly.

Brand.

Ugly? Why?

Gerd.

Because it’s small.

Brand.

Where did you seeA greater?

Where did you see

A greater?

Gerd.

I could tell you, I.Farewell.[She turns away upwards.

I could tell you, I.

Farewell.

[She turns away upwards.

Brand.

Liestherethat church of yours?Why, that way leads but to the moors.

Liestherethat church of yours?

Why, that way leads but to the moors.

Gerd.

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