Lambert told his wife the events of the day, and about Mr. Brown, and they discussed Mr. Brown's plan of extending the German settlements farther up the creek, over to the Black River--if possible to Oneida Lake--and that Mr. Brown, Nicolas Herkimer and himself were to buy the land, and that he was to be the leader and patron of the new settlers. He also told Catherine what the old man had said about the future of the Germans in America, and how the Englishman feared that this hardy, industrious race would yet surpass the English and take from them their dominion over the continent.
"Such language from the mouth of so intelligent a man might make us very proud," said Catherine.
"So I thought too," said Lambert. "And yet, when I reflect upon it more fully it makes me quite sad."
"How do you mean, Lambert?"
"I mean the industry, the pains, the labor, the strength, the courage, the energy, we must use to carry it so far here will be such that they might perhaps better remain in the old home. As you have painted your father to me, mild, generous, helpful, learned; such as was my father, quick, decided, looking far ahead; such as was Uncle Ditmar, unbending, stern and refractory; such as was our noble Conrad and Aunt Ursul. What precious blood this new land has already drunk and in the future will drink! And does it produce the right fruit from the costly seed. I know not. Granted that we attain all which our old friend promises us--though it sounds like a fable--but granted that we reach it, and that we should once have to divide the rich inheritance with the English, should we remain Germans? I doubt it, and you yourself, Catherine, have taught me to be doubtful. What would I be without you? And you had to come to me from the old home--could come only from the old home. In your soul there sounds a deeper, purer tone, just as in the beautiful songs that you brought over with you. Will a still deeper tone sound in the souls of our children? What will be their condition should it die out?"
Lambert was silent. Catherine leaned her head on his shoulder. She found no answer to a question that had already filled her breast with sad anxiety.
"And so," Lambert continued, "my heart is divided into two parts. To-morrow, when the old friend comes, I will go out with him into the woods and show him the way by which those who are to come must go, and point out the places where they must build their huts. But as for myself, I would rather tear down the huts and take you and the children--how goes the song, Catherine, with which you just now sung our boy to sleep, the dear, old song, out of the dear, old home--
"Were I a wild falcon,
I would soar aloft."
And he pointed toward the east where, in the holy mother-arms of the dark night, the glory of the coming day was slumbering.