THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER

THE storks tell their little ones very many stories，all of the swamp and the marsh．These stories are generally adapted to the age and capacity of the hearers．The youngest are content if they are told“Cribble-crabble，plurry-murry”as a story，and find it charming；but the older ones want something with a deeper meaning，or at any rate something relating to the family．Of the two oldest and longest stories that have been preserved among the storks we all know the one，namely，that of Moses，who was exposed by his mother on the banks of the Nile，and whom the king's daughter found，and who afterwards be－came a great man and the place of whose burial is unknown．That story is very well known．

The second is not known yet，perhaps because it is quite an inland story．It has been handed down from stork－mamma to stork－mamma，for thousands of years，and each of them has told it better and better；and now we'll tell it best of all．

The first Stork pair who told the story had their summer residence on the wooden house of the Viking，which lay by the wild moor in Wendsyssel：that is to say，if we are to speak out of the abundance of our knowledge，hard by the great moor in the circle of Hj rring，high up by Skagen，the most northern point of Jutland．The wilderness there is still a great wild moss，about which we can read in the official description of the district．It is said that in old times there was here a sea，whose bottom was upheaved；now the moss extends for miles on all sides，surrounded by damp meadows，and unsteady shaking swamp，and turfy moor，with blueberries and stunted trees．Mists are almost always hovering over this region，which seventy years ago was still inhabited by the wolves．It is certainly rightly called the“wild moss”；and one can easily think how dreary and lonely it must have been，and how much marsh and lake there was here a thousand years ago．Yes，in detail，exactly the same things were seen then that may yet be beheld．The reeds had the same height，and bore the same kind of long leaves and bluish－brown feathery plumes that they bear now；the birch stood there，with its white bark and its fine loosely-hanging leaves，just as now；and as regards the living creatures that dwelt here—why，the fly wore its gauzy dress of the same cut that it wears now，and the favourite colours of the stork were white picked out with black，and red stockings．The people certainly wore coats of a different cut from those they now wear；but whoever stepped out on the shaking moss，be he huntsman or follower，master or servant，met with the same fate a thousand years ago that he would meet with today．He sank and went down to the Marsh King，as they called him，who ruled below in the great empire of the moss．They also called him Quagmire King；but we like the name Marsh King better，and by that name the storks also called him．Very little is known of the Marsh King's rule；but perhaps that is a good thing．

In the neighbourhood of the moss，close by Limfjorden，lay the wooden house of the Viking，with its stone water-tight cellars，with its tower and its three projecting stories．On the roof the Stork had built his nest，and Stork-mamma there hatched the eggs，and felt sure that her hatching would come to something．

One evening Stork－papa stayed out very late，and when he came home he looked very bustling ［and important]．

“I've something very terrible to tell you，”he said to the Stork-marrima．

“Let that be，”she replied．“Remember that I'm hatching the eggs，and you might agitate me，and I might do them a mischief．”

“You must know it，”he continued．“She has arrived here—the daughter of our host in Egypt—she has dared to undertake the journey here—and she's gone！”

“She who came from the race of the fairies？Oh，tell me all about it！You know I can't bear to be kept long in suspense when I'm hatching eggs．”

“You see，mother，she believed in what the doctor said，and you told me true．She believed that the moss flowers would bring healing to her sick father，and she has flown here in swan's plumage，in company with the other Swan Princesses，who come to the North every year to re-new their youth．She has come here，and she is gone！”

“You are much too long－winded！”exclaimed the Stork－mamma，“and the eggs might catch cold．I can't bear being kept in such suspense！”

“I have kept watch，”said the Stork-papa；“and tonight，when I went into the reeds—there where the marsh ground will bear me—three swans came．Some－thing in their flight seemed to say to me，‘Look out！That's not altogether swan；It's only swan's feathers！’Yes，mother，you have a feeling of intuition just as I have；you can tell whether a thing is right or wrong．”

“Yes，certainly，”she replied；“but tell me about the Princess．I'm sick of hearing of the swan's feathers．”

“Well，you know that in the middle of the moss there is something like a lake，”continued Stork-papa．

“You can see one corner of it if you raise yourself a little．There，by the reeds and the green mud，lay a great elder stump，and on this the three swans sat，flapping their wings and looking about them．One of them threw off her plumage，and I immediately recognized her as our own Princess from Egypt！There she sat，with no covering but her long black hair．I heard her tell the others to pay good heed to the swan's plumage，while she dived down into the water to pluck the flowers which she fancied she saw growing there．The others nodded，and picked up the empty feather dress and took care of it．‘I wonder what they will do with it？'thought I；and perhaps she asked herself the same question．If so，she got an answer，for the two rose up and flew away with her swan's plumage．‘Do thou dive down！'they cried；‘thou shalt never fly more in swan's form，thou shalt never see Egypt again！Remain thou there in the moss！’And so saying，they tore the swan's plumage into a hundred pieces，so that the feathers whirled about like a snow－storm；and away they flew—the two faithless Princesses！”

“Why，that is terrible！”said Stork-mamma．“I can't bear to hear it．But now tell me what happened next．

“The Princess wept and lamented．Her tears fell fast on the elder stump，and the latter moved，for it was the Marsh King himself—he who lives in the moss！I myself saw it—how the stump of the tree turned round，and ceased to be a tree stump；long thin branches grew forth from it like arms．Then the poor child was terribly frightened，and sprang away on to the green slimy ground；but that cannot even carry me，much less her．She sank immediately，and the elder stump dived down too；and it was he who drew her down．Great black bubbles rose up，and there was no more trace of them．Now the Princess is buried in the wild moss，and never more will she bear away a flower to Egypt．Your heart would have burst，mother，if you had seen it．”

“You ought not to tell me anything of the kind at such a time as this，”said Stork-mamma；“the eggs might suffer by it．The Princess will find some way of escape；some one will come to help her．If it had been you or I，or one of our people，it would certainly have been all over with us．”

“But I shall go and look every day to see if anything happens，”said Stork-papa．

And he was as good as his word．

A long time had passed，when at last he saw a green stalk shooting up out of the deep moss．When it reached the surface a leaf spread out and unfolded itself broader and broader；close by it，a bud came out．And one morn－in，when the Stork flew over the stalk，the bud opened through the power of the strong sunbeams，and in the cup of the flower lay a beautiful child—a little girl—looking just as if she had risen out of the bath．The little one so closely resembled the Princess from Egypt，that at the first moment the Stork thought it must be the Princess herself；but，on second thoughts，it appeared more probable that it must be the daughter of the Princess and of the Marsh King；and that also explained her being placed in the cup of the water-lily．

“But she cannot possibly be left lying there，”thought the Stork；“and in my nest there are so many already．But stay，I have a thought．The wife of the Viking has no children，and how often has she not wished for a little one！People always say，‘The stork has brought a little one；’and I will do so in earnest this time．I shall fly with the child to the Viking's wife．What rejoicing the there will be there！”

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And the Stork lifted the little girl，flew to the wood－en house，picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered window，laid the child on the bosom of the Viking's wife，and then hurried up to the Stork－mamma，and told her what he had seen and done；and the little Storks listened to the story，for they were big enough to do so now．

“So you see，”he concluded，“the Princess is not dead，for she must have sent the little one up here；and now that is provided for too．”

“Ah，I said it would be so from the very beginning！”said the Stork－mamma；“but now think a little of your own family．Our travelling time is drawing on；some－times I feel quite restless in my wings already．The cuckoo and the nightingale have started，and I heard the quails saying that they were going too，as soon as the wind was favourable．Our young ones will behave well at the exercising，or I am much deceived in them．”

The Viking's wife was extremely glad when she woke next morning and found the charming infant lying in her arms．She kissed and caressed it，but it cried violently，and struggled with its arms and legs，and did not seem rejoiced at all．At length it cried itself to sleep，and as it lay there it looked exceedingly beautiful．The Viking's wife was in high glee：she felt light in body and soul；her heart leapt within her；and it seemed to her as if her husband and his warriors，who were absent，must return guite as suddenly and unexpectedly as the little one had come．

Therefore she and the whole household had enough to do in preparing everything for the reception of her lord．The long coloured curtains of tapestry，which she and her maids had worked，and on which they had woven pictures of their idols，Odin，Thor，and Freia，were hung up；the slaves polished the old shields that served as ornaments；and cushions were placed on the benches，and dry wood laid on the fireplace in the midst of the hall，so that the fire could be lighted at a moment's notice．The Viking's wife herself assisted in the work，so that towards evening she was very tired，and slept well．

When she awoke towards morning，she was violently alarmed，for the infant had vanished！She sprang from her couch，lighted a pine torch，and searched all round about；and，behold，in the part of the bed where she had stretched her feet，lay，not the child，but a great ugly frog！She was horror-struck at the sight，and seized a heavy stick to kill the frog；but the creature looked at her with such strange mournful eyes，that she was not able to strike the blow．Once more she looked round the room—the frog uttered a low，wailing croak，and she started，sprang from the couch，and ran to the window and opened it．At that moment the sun shone forth，and flung its beams through the windo on the couch and on the great frog；and suddenly it appeared as though the frog's great mouth contracted and became small and red，and its limbs moved and stretched and became beautifully symmetrical，and it was no longer an ugly frog which lay there，but her pretty child！

“What is this？”she said．“Have I had a bad dream？Is it not my own lovely cherub lying there？”

And she kissed and hugged it；but the child struggled and fought like a little wild cat．

Not on this day nor on the morrow did the Viking re－turn，although he was on his way home；but the wind was against him，for it blew towards the south，favourably for the storks．A good wind for one is a contrary wind for another．

When one or tow more days and nights had gone，the Viking's wife clearly understood how the case was with her child，that a terrible power of sorcery was upon it．By day it was charming as an angel of light，though it had a wild，savage temper；but at night it became an ugly frog，quiet and mournful，with sorrowful eyes．Here were two natures changing inwardly as well as outwardly with the sunlight．The reason of this was that by day the child had the form of its mother，but the disposition of its father；while，on the contrary，at night the paternal descent became manifest in its bodily appearance，though the mind and heart of the mother then beeame dominant in the child．Who might be able to loosen this charm that wicked sorcery had worked？

The wife of the Viking lived in care and sorrow about it；and yet her heart yearned towards the little creature，of whose condition she felt she should not dare tell her husband on his return，for he would probably，according to the custom which then prevailed，expose the child on the public highway，and let whoever listed take it away．The good Viking woman could not find it in her heart to allow this，and she therefore determined that the Viking should never see the child except by daylight．

One morning the wings of storks were heard rushing over the roof；more than a hundred pairs of those birds had rested from their exercise during the previous night，and now they soared aloft，to travel southwards．

“All males here，and ready，”they cried；“and the wives and children too．”

“How light we feel！”screamed the young Storks in chorus：“it seems to be creeping all over us，down into our very toes，as if were filled with living frogs．Ah，how charming it is，travelling to foreign lands！”

“Mind you keep close to us during your flight，”said papa and mamma．“Don't use your beaks too much， for that tires the chest．”

And the Storks flew away．

At the same time the sound of the trumpets rolled across the heath，for the Viking had landed with his warriors；they were returning home，richly laden with spoil，from the Gallic coast，where the people，as in the land of the Britons，sang in their terror：

“Deliver us from the wild Northmen！”

And life and tumultuous joy came with them into the Viking's castle on the moorland．The great mead-tub was brought into the hall， the pile of wood，was set ablaze，horses were killed， and a great feast was to begin．The officiating priest sprinkled the slaves with the warm blood；the fire crackled，the smoke rolled along beneath the roof， soot dropped from the beams，but they were accustomed to that．Guests were invited，and received handsome gifts：all feuds and all malice were forgotten．And the company drank deep，and threw the bones of the feast in each other's faces， and this was considered a sign of good humour．The bard，a kind of minstrel，who was also a warrior and had been on the expedition with the rest，sang them a song in which they heard all their warlike deeds praised，and everything remarkable was specially noticed．Every verse ended with the burden：

Goods and gold，friends and foes will die；every man must one day die；But a famous name will never die！

And with that they beat upon their shields，and hammered the table with bones and knives．

The Viking's wife sat upon the crossbench in the open hall．She wore a silken dress and golden armlets，and great amber beads：she was in her costliest garb．And the bard mentioned her in his song，and sang of the rich treasure she had brought her rich husband．The latter was delighted with the beautiful child， which he had seen in the daytime in all its loveliness；and the savage ways of the little creature pleased him especially．He declared that the girl might grow up to be a stately heroine， strong and determined as a man．She would not wink her eyes when a practised hand cut off her eyebrows with a sword by way of a jest．

The full mead-barrel was emptied， and a fresh one brought in，for these were people who liked to enjoy all things plentifully．The old proverb was indeed well known，which says，“The cattle know when they should quit the pasture，but a foolish man knoweth not the measure of his own appetite．”Yes，they knew it well enough； but one knows one thing，and one does another．They also knew that“even the welcome guest becomes weariscome when he sitteth long in the house”；but for all that they sat still， for pork and mead are good things；and there was high carousing，and at night the bondmen slept among the warm ash-Es， and dipped their fingers in the far grease and licked them．Those were glorious times！

Once more in the year the Viking sallied forth，though the storms of autumn already began to roar：he went with his warriors to the shores of Britain，for he declared that was but an excursion across the water；and his wife stayed at home with the little girl．And thus much is certain，that the foster-mother soon got to love the frog with its gentle eyes and its sorrowful sighs，almost better than the pretty child that bit and beat all around her．

The rough damp mist of autumn， which devours the leaves of the forest，had already descended upon thicket and heath．“Birds featherless，”as they called the snow，flew in thick masses，and the winter was coming on fast．The sparrows took possession of the storks’ nests， and talked about the absent proprietors according to their fashion；but these—the Stork-pair， with all the young ones—what had become of them？

The Storks were now in the land of Egypt，where the sun sent forth warm rays，as it does here on a fine mid-summer day．Tamarind and acacias bloomed in the country all around；the crescent of Mohammed glittered from the cupolas of the temples，and on the slender towers sat many a stork-pair resting after the long journey． Great troops divided the nests，built close together on venerable pillars and in fallen temple arches of forgotten cities． The date-palm lifted up its screen as if it would be a sun-shade； the greyishwhite pyramids stood like masses of shadow in the clear air of the far desert，where the ostrich ran his swift careet，and the lion gazed with his great grave eyes at the marble Sphinx which lay half buried in the sand．The waters of the Nile had fallen， and the whole river bed was crowded with frogs；and that was， for the Stork family，the finest spectacle in the country．The young Storks thought it was optical illusion， they found everything so glorious．

“Yes， it's delightful here；and it's always like this in our warm country，”said the Stork－mamma．

And the young ones felt quite frisky on the strength of it．

“Is there anything more to be seen？”they asked．“Are we to go much farther into the country？”

“There's nothing further to be seen，”answered Stork-mamma．“Behind this delightful region there are only wild forests， whose branches are interlaced with one another， while prickly climbing plants close up the paths—only the elephant can force a way for himself with his great feet； and the snakes are too big and the lizards too quick fof us．If you go into the desert，you'll get your eyes full of sand when there's a light breeze， but when it blows great guns you may get into the middle of a pillar of sand．It is best to stay here，where there are frogs and locusts．I shall stay here，and you shall stay too．”

And there they remained．The parents sat in the nest on the slender minaret， and rested， and yet were busily employed smoothing their feathers， and whetting their beaks against their red stockings．

Now and then they stretched out their necks， and bowed gravely，and lifted their heads，with their high foreheads and fine smooth feathers， and looked very clever with their brown eyes．The female young ones strutted about in the juicy reeds，looked slyly at the other young storks，made acquaintances，and swallowed a frog at every third step，or rolled a little snake to and fro in their bills，which they thought became them well， and，moreover， tasted nice．The male young ones began a quarrel，beat each other with their wings， struck with their beaks，and even pricked each other till the blood came．And in this way sometimes one couple was betrothed，and sometimes another， of the young ladies and gentlemen，and that was just what they lived for： then they took to a new nest，and began new quarrels， for in hot countries people are generally hot tempered and passionate．But it was pleasant for all that， and the old people especially were much rejoiced，for all that young people do seems to suit them well．There was sunshine every day，and every day plenty to eat， and nothing to think of but pleasure． But in the rich castle at the Egyptian host's，as they called him，there was no pleasure to be found．

The rich mighty lord reclined on his divan，in the midst of the great hall of the many-coloured walls， looking as if he were sitting in a tulip；but he was stiff and powerless in all his limbs，and lay stretched out like a mummy．His family and servants surrounded him，for he was not dead，though one could not exactly say that he was alive．The healing moss flower from the North，which was to have been found and brought home by her who loved him best，never appeared．His beauteous young daughter，who had flown in the swan's plumage over sea and land to the far North，was never to come back．“She is dead！ ”the two returning Swan－maidens had said， and they had made up a complete story， which ran as follows：

“We three together flew high in the air： a hunter saw us，and shot his arrow at us；it struck our young companion and friend， and slowly， singing her farewell song，she sank down， a dying swan，into the woodland lake．

By the shore of the lake，under a weeping birch tree， we buried her．But we had our revenge．We bound fire under the wings of the swallow who had her nest beneath the huntsman's thatch；the house burst into flames，the huntsman burned in the house，and the glare shone over the sea as far as the hanging birch beneath which she sleeps．Never will she return to the land of Egypt．”

And then the two wept．And when Stork-papa heard the story，he clapped with his beak so that it could be heard a long way off．

“Falsehood and lies！” he cried．“I should like to run my beak deep into their chests．”

“And perhaps break it off，”interposed the Stork－mamma：“and then you would look well．Think first of yourself，and then of your family，and all the rest does not concern you．”

“But tomorrow I shall seat myself at the edge of the open cupola，when the wise and learned men assemble to consult on the sick man's state：perhaps they may come a little nearer the truth．”

And the learned and wise men came together and spoke a great deal，out of which the Stork could make no sense—and it had no result， either for the sick man or for the daughter in the swampy waste．But for all that we may listen to what the people said， for we have to listen to a great deal of talk in the world．

But then it will be an advantage to hear what went before，and in this case we are well informed， for we know just as much about it as Stork-papa．

“Love gives life！ The highest love gives the highest life！Only through love can his life be preserved．”

That is what they all said， and the learned men said it was very cleverly and beautifully spoken．

“That is a beautiful thought！”Stork-papa said immediately．

“I don't quite understand it，”Stork-mamma replied；“and that's not my fault，but the fault of the thought．But let it be as it will， I've something else to think of．”

And now the learned men had spoken of the love to this one and that one，and of the difference between the love of one's neighbour and love between parents and children，of the love of plants for the light，when the sun－beam kisses the ground and the germ springs forth from it，—everything was so fully and elaborately explained that it was quite impossible for Stork-papa to take it in，much less to repeat it．He felt quite weighed down with thought，and half shut his eyes，and the whole of the following day he stood thoughtfully upon one leg：it was quite heavy for him to carry，all that learning．

But one thing，Stork-papa understood．All，high and low，had spoken out of their inmost hearts，and said that it was a great misfortune for thousands of people，yes， for the whole country，that this man was lying sick， and could not get well，and that it would spread joy and pleasure abroad if he should recover．But where grew the flower that could restore him to health？They had all searched for it，consulted learned books，the twinkling stars， the weather and the wind；they had made inquiries in every by-way of which they could think；and at length the wise men and the learned men had said，as we have already told，that“Love begets life—will restore a father's life”； and on this occasion they said more than they understood．They repeated it，and wrote down as a recipe，“Love begets life．”But how was the thing to be prepared according to the recipe？ That was a difficulty they could not get over．At last they were decided upon the point that help must come by means of the Princess，who loved her father with her whole soul；and at last a method had been devised whereby help could be procured． Yes， it was already more than a year ago since the Princess was to go forth by night， when the brief rays of the new moon were waning： she was to go out to the marble Sphinx， to shake the dust from her sandals， and to go onward through the long passage which leads into the midst of one of the great pyramids， where one of the mighty Kings of antiquity，surrounded by pomp and treasure，lay swathed in mummy cloths．There she was to incline her ear to the dead king，and then it would be revealed to her where she might find life and health for her father．She had fulfilled all this，and had seen in a vision that she was to bring home from the deep moss up in the Danish land—the very place had been accurately described to her—the lotus flower which grows in the depths of the waters，and then her father would regain health and strength．

And therefore she had gone forth in the swan's plumage out of the land of Egypt up to the wild moss．And the Stork－papa and Stork－mamma knew all this；and now we also know it more accurately than we knew it be-fore．We know that the Marsh king had drawn her down to himself，and know that to those at home she is dead for ever．Only the wisest of them said，as the Stork－mamma said too，“She will manage to help herself：”and they re－solved to wait and see what would happen，for they knew of nothing better that they could do． “I should like to take away the swans’ feathers from the two faithless Princesses，”said the Stork-papa；“then at any rate，they will not be able to fly up again to the wild moss and do mischief． I'll hide the two swan－feather suits up there，till somebody has occasion for them．”

“But where do you intend to hide them？”asked Stork－mamma．

“Up in our nest in the moss，”answered he．“I and our young ones will take turns in carrying them up yonder on our return，and if that should prove too difficult for us，there are places enough on the way where we can conceal them till our next journey．Certainly，one suit of swan's feathers would be enough for the Princess，but two are always better．In those northern countries no one can have too many wraps．”

“No one will thank you for it，”quoth Stork－mamma；“but you're the master．Except at breeding-time， I have nothing to say．”

In the Viking’ s castle by the wild moss， whither the Storks bent their flight when the spring approached，they had given the little girl the name of Helga； but this name was too soft for a temper like that which went with her beauteous form． Month by month this temper showed itself more and more；and in the course of years—during which the Storks made the same journey over and over again，in autumn to the Nile， in spring back to the moorland lake—the child grew to be a big girl；and be-fore people were aware of it，she was a beautiful maiden in her sixteenth year．The shell was splendid，but the kernel was harsh and hard；harder even than most in those dark，gloomy times．It was a pleasure to her to splash about with her white hands in the blood of the horse that had been slain in sacrifice．In her wild mood she bit off the neck of the black cook the priest was about to offer up；and to her foster－father she said in perfect se－riousness，

“If thy enemy should pull down the roof of they house，while thou wert sleeping， I would not wake the even if I had the power．I should never hear it，for my ears still tingle with the blow that thou gavest me years ago—thou！ I have never forgotten it．”

But the Viking took her words in jest；for，like all others，he was bewitched with her beauty，and he knew not how temper and form changed in Helga．Without a saddle she sat upon a horse，as if she were part of it，while it rushed along in full career； nor would she spring from the horse when it quarrelled and fought with other horses．Often she would throw herself，in her clothes，from the high shore into the sea，and swim to meet the Viking when his boat steered near home； and she cut her longest lock of hair，and twisted it into a string for her bow．

“Self－made is well－made，”she said．

The Viking's wife was strong of character and of will，according to the custom of the times；but，comma－pared to her daughter，she appeared as a feeble，timid woman；moreover，she knew that an evil charm weighed heavily upon the unfortunate child．

It seemed as if， out of mere malice， when her mother stood on the threshold or came out into the yard，Helga would often seat herself on the margin of the well，and wave her arms in the air；then suddenly she would dive into the deep well，where her frog nature enabled her to dive and rise，down and up， until she climbed forth a-gain like a cat， and came back into the hall dripping with water，so that the green leaves strewn upon the ground turned about in the stream．

But there was one thing that imposed a check upon Helga，and that was the evening twilight．When that came she was quiet and thoughtful， and would listen to reproof and advice；and then a secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother．And when the sun sank，and the usual transformation of body and spirit took place in her，she would sit quiet and mournful，shrunk to the shape of the frog，her body indeed much larger than that of the animal，and for that reason much more hideous to behold，for she looked like a wretched dwarf with a frog's head and webbed fingers．Her eyes then had a very melancholy expression．She had no voice，and could only utter a hollow croaking that sounded like the stifled sob of a dreaming child．Then the Viking's wife took her on her lap， and forgot the ugly form as she looked into the mournful eyes，and said，

“I could almost with that thou wert always my poor dumb frog-child；for thou art only the more terrible to look at when they beauty is on the outside．”

And she wrote Runes against sorcery and sickness，and threw them over the wretched child；but she could not see that they worked any good．

“One can scarcely believe that she was ever so small that she could lie in the cup of a water-lily，”said Stork-papa，now she's grown up the image of her Egyptian mother．Her we shall never see again！”She did not know how to help herself，as you and the learned physicians said． Year after year I have flown to and fro， across and across the great moss，and she has never once given a sign that she was still alive． Yes，I may as well tell you，that every year， when I came here a few days before you，to repair the nest and attend to various matters， I spent a whole night in flying to and fro over the lake，as if I had been an owl or a bat， but every time in vain．The two suits of swan feathers which I and the young ones dragged up here out of the land of the Nile have consequently not been used：we had trouble enough with them to bring them hither in three journeys； and now they have lain for many years at the bottom of the nest，and if it should happen that a fire broke out， and the wooden house were burned，they would be destroyed．”

“And our good nest would be destroyed too，”said Stork－mamma；“but you think less of that than of your plumage stuff and of your Moor Princess．You'd best go down into the mud and stay there with her． You're a bad father to your own children，as I told you when I hatched our first brood．I only hope neither we nor our children will get an arrow in our wings through that wild girl．Helga doesn't know in the least what she does． I wish she would only remember that we have lived here longer than she，and that we have never forgotten our duty，and have given our toll every year，a feather，an egg，and a young one，as it was right we should do．Do you think I can now wander about in the courtyard and everywhere， as I used to in former days，and as I still do in Egypt， where I am almost the playfellow of the people，and that I can press into pot and kettle as I can yonder？No，I sit up here and am angry at her， the stupid chit！ And I am angry at you too．You should have just left her lying in the water－lily，and she would have been dead long ago．”

“You are much better than your words，” said Stork-papa．“I know you better than you know yourself．”

And with that he gave a hop， and flapped his wings heavily twice，stretched out his legs behind him， and flew away， or rather sailed away，without moving his wings．He had already gone some distance when he gave a great flap！The sun shone upon the white feathers， and his head and neck were stretched forth proudly． There was power in it，and dash！

“After all，he's handsomer than any of them，”said Stork-mamma to herself；“but I don't tell him so．”

Early in that autumn the Viking came home，laden with booty，and bringing prisoners with him．Among these was a young Christian priest， one of those who contemned the gods of the North．

Often in those later times there had been a talk，in hall and chamber，of the new faith that was spreading far and wide in the South，and which，by means of Saint Ansgar，had penetrated as far as Hedeby on the Slie．

Even Helga had heard of this belief in the White Christ who， from love to men and for their redemption，had sacrificed His life；but with her all this had， as the saying is，gone in at one ear and come out at the other．It seemed as if she only understood the meaning of the word “love”when she crouched in a corner of the chamber in the form of a miserable frog；but the Viking's wife had listened，and had felt strangely moved by the stories and tales which were told in the South about the one only true Word．

On their return from their last voyage，the men told of the splendid temples built of hewn stones，raised for the worship of Him whose mesage is love．Some massive vessels of gold，made with cunning art，had been brought home among the booty， and each one had a peculiar fragrance；for they were incense vessels，which had been swung by Christian priests before the altar．

In the deep cellars of the Viking's house the young priest had been immured， his hands and feet bound with strips of bark．The Viking's wife declared that he was beautiful as Balder to behold， and his misfortune touched her heart；but Helga declared that it would be right to tie ropes to his heels and fasten him to the tails of wild oxen．And she exclaimed，

“Then I would let loose the dogs—Hurrah！Over the moor and across the swamp！That would be a spectacle！And yet finer would it be to follow him in his career．”

But the Viking would not suffer him to die such a death：he purposed to sacrifice the priest on the morrow，on the death－stone in the grove，as a despiser and foe of the high gods．

For the first time a man was to be sacrificed here．

Helga begged，as a boon，that she might sprinkle the image of the god and the assembled multitude with the blood of the victim．She sharpened her glittering knife，and when one of the great savage dogs， of whom a number were running about near the Viking's abode，ran by her，she thrust the knife into his side，“merely to try its sharpness，as she said．And the Viking's wife looked mourn-fully at the wild， evil－disposed girl；and when night 65came on and the maiden exchanged beauty of form for gentleness of soul，she spoke in eloquent words to Helga of the sorrow that was deep in her heart．

The ugly frog， in its monstrous form， stood before her，and fixed its brown eyes upon her face，listening to her words， and seeming to comprehend them with human intelligence．

“Never，not even to my husband，have I allowed my lips to utter a word concerning the sufferings I have to undergo through the，”said the Viking's wife；“my heart is full of more compassion for the than I myself believed：great is the love of a mother！But love never entered into they heart—they heart that is like the wet， cold moorland plants．From whence have you come into my house？”

Then the miserable form trembled， and it was as though these words touched an invisible bond between body and soul，and great tears came into her eyes．

“They hard time will come．”said the Viking's wife；“and it will be terrible to me too．It had been better if thou hadst been set out by the high road， and the night wind had lulled the to sleep．”

And the Viking's wife wept bitter tears， and went away full of wrath and bitterness of spirit，disappearing be-hind the curtain of furs that hung over the beam and divided the hall．

The wrinkled frog crouched in the corner alone．A deep silence reigned all around， but at intervals a half-stifled sigh escaped from its breast［，from the breast of Helga］． It seemed as though a painful new life were arising in her inmost heart． She came forward and listened；and，stepping forward again， grasped with her clumsy hands the heavy pole that was laid across before the door．Silently she pushed back the pole， silently drew back the bolt， and took up the flickering Iamp which stood in the antechamber of the hall．It seemed as if a strong will gave her strength．She drew back the iron bolt from the closed cellar door，and crept in to the captive． He was asleep； she touched him with her cold， clammy hand， and when he awoke and saw the hideous form，he shuddered as though he had beheld a wicked apparition．She drew her knife，cut his bonds，and beckoned him to follow her．

He uttered some holy names and made the sign of the cross；and when the form remained unchanged，he said，

“Who art thou？Whence this animal shape that thou bearest，while yet thou art full of gentle mercy？”

The frog-woman beckoned him to follow，and led him through passages shrouded with curtains，into the stables，and there pointed to a horse．He mounted on its back，and she also sprang up before him， holding fast by the horse's mane．The prisoner understood her meaning，and in a rapid trot they rode on a way which he would never have found， out on to the open heath．

He thought not of her hideous form， but felt how the mercy and loving－kindness of the Almighty were working by means of this monster apparition； he prayed plous prayers and sang songs of praise．Then she trembled． Was it the power of song and of prayer that worked in her， or was she shuddering at the cold morn-in twilight that was approaching？What were her feel-in twilight that was approaching？What were her feelings？ She raised herself up， and wanted to stop the horse and to alight；but the Christian priest held her back with all his strength， and sang a psalm，as if that would have the power to loosen the charm that tumed her into the hideous semblance of a frog．And the horse galloped on more wildly than ever；the sky turned red，the first sunbeam pierced through the clouds， and as the flood of light came streaming down，the frog changed its nature． Helga was again the beautiful maiden with the wicked， demoniac spirit．He held a beautiful maiden in his arms，but was horrified at the sight：he swung him－self from the horse， and compelled it to stand． This seemed to him a new and terrible sorcery； but Helga likewise leaped from the saddle， and stood on the ground．The child's short garment reached only to her knee． She plucked the sharp knife from her girdie， and rushed in upon the astonished priest．

“Le me get at the！”she screamed；“Let me get at the， and plunge this knife in they body！The art pale as straw， thou beardless slave！

She pressed in upon him．They struggled together in a hard strife， but an invisible power seemed given to the Christian captive． He held her fast； and the old oak tree beneath which they stood came to his assistance； for its roots，which projected over the ground，held fast the maid-en's feet that had become entangled in it．Quite close to them gushed a spring； and he sprinkled Helga's face and neck with the fresh water， and commanded the unclean spirit to come forth ， and blessed her in the Christian fashion；but the water of faith has no power when the well-spring of faith flows not from within．

And yet the Christian showed his power even now，and opposed more than the mere might of a man against the evil that struggled within the girl．His holy action seemed to overpower her：she dropped her hands，and gazed with astonished eyes and pale cheeks upon him who appeared to her a mighty magician learned in secret arts；he seemed to her to speak in a dark Runic tongue，and to be making magic signs in the air． She would not have winked had he swung a sharp knife or a glittering axe against her； but she trembled when he signed her with the sign of the cross on her brow and her bosom，and she sat there like a tame bird with bowed head．

Then he spoke to her in gentle words of the kindly deed she had done for him in the past night， when shecame to him in the form of the hideous frog， to loosen his bonds and to lead him out to life and light， and he told her that she too was bound in closer bonds than those that had confined him，and that she should be released by his means．He would take her to Hedeby， to the holy Ansgar，and there in the Christian city the spell that bound her would be loosed．But he would not let her sit before him on the horse， though of her own accord she offered to do so．

“The must sit behind me， not before me，”he said．“They magic beauty hath a power that comes of evil，and I fear it；and yet I feel that the victory is sure to him who hath faith．”And he knelt down and prayed fervently．

It seemed as though the woodland scenes were consecrated as a holy church by his prayer．The birds sang as though they belonged to the new congregation， the wild flowers smelt sweet as incense；and while he spoke the horse that had carried them both in headlong career stood still before the tall bramble bushes， and plucked at them，so that the ripe juicy berries fell down upon Helga's hands，offering themselves for her refreshment．

Patiently she suffered the priest to lift her on the horse， and sat like a somnambulist，neither completely asleep nor wholly awake．The Christian bound two branches together with bark， in the form of a cross， which he held up high as they rode through the forest．The wood became thicker as they went on， and at last became a trackless wilderness．

The wild sloe grew across the way， so that they had to ride round the bushes．The spring became not a stream but a standing marsh，round which likewise they were obliged to ride． There was strength and refreshment in the cool forest breeze；and no small power lay in the gentle words which were spoken in faith and in Christian love，from a strong inward yearning to lead the poor lost one into the way of light and life．

They say the rain－drops can hollow the hard stone，and the waves of the sea can smooth and round the sharp edges of the rocks． Thus did the dew of mercy， that dropped upon helga，smooth what was rough and penetrate what was hard in her．The effects did not yet ap-pear，nor was she aware of them herself； but doth the seed in the bosom of earth know， when the refreshing dew and the quickening sunbeams fall upon it，that it hath within itself the power of growth and blossoming？ As the song of the motherr penetrates into the heart of the child，and it babbles the words after her， without understanding their import，until they afterwards engender thought， and come forward in due time clealer and more clearly， so here also did the Word take effect， that is powerful to create．

They rode forth from the dense forest， across the heath， and then again through pathless woods ；and towards evening they encountered a band of robbers．

“Where hast thou stolen that beauteous maiden？”cried the robbers； and they seized the horse's bridle and dragged the two riders from its back． The priest had no weapon save the knife he had taken from Helga，and with this he tried to defend himself．One of the robbers lifted his axe，but the young priest sprang aside，otherwise he would have been struck，and now the edge of the axe went deep into the horse's neck，so that the blood spurted forth，and the creature sank down on the ground．Then Helga seemed suddenly to wake up from her long revenie， and threw herself hastily upon the gasping animal．The priest stood before her to protect and defend her，but one of the robbers swung his iron hammer over the Christian's head，and brought it down with such a crash that blood and brains were scattered around，and the priest sank to the earth，dead．

Then the robbers seized little Helga by her white arms；but the sun went down， and its last ray disappeared at that moment， and she was changed into the form of a frog．A white-green mouth spread over half her face，her arms became thin and slimy， and broad hands with webbed fingers spread out upon them like fans．Then the robbers were seized with terron， and let her go． She stood， a hideous monster， among them； and as it is the nature of the frog to do，she hopped up high， and disappeared in the thicket．Then the robbers saw that this must be a bad prank of the spirit Loke，or the evil power of magic， and in great affright they hurried away from the spot．

The full moon was already rising． Presently it shone with splendid radiance over the earth，and poor Helga crept forth from the thicket in the wretched frog's shape．She stood still beside the corpse of the priest and the carcass of the slain horse． She looked at them with eyes that appeared to weep，and from the frog－mouth came forth a croaking like the voice of a child bursting into tears．She leaned first over the one， then over the other， brought water in her hand， which had become larger and more hollow by the webbed skin，and poured it over them；but dead they were，and dead they would remain，she at last understood．Soon the wild beasts would come and tear their dead bodies；but no，that must not be！ So she dug up the earth as well as she could， in the endeavour to prepare a grgve for them．She had nothing to work with but a stake and her two hands encumbered with the webbed skin that grew between the fingers，and which was torn by the labour，so that the blood flowed．At last she saw that her endeavours would not succeed． Then she brought water and washed the dead man’ s face， and covered it with fresh green leaves；she brought large boughs and laid them upon him， scattering dead leaves in the spaces between． Then she brought the heaviest stones she could carry and laid them over the dead body， stopping up the openings with moss． And now she thought the grave－hill would be strong and secure． The night had passed away in this difficult work—the sun broke through the clouds， and beautiful Helga stood there in all her loveliness， with bleeding hands， and for the first time with tears on her blushing maiden cheeks． Then in this sransformation it seemed as if two natures were striving within her．Her whole frame trembled， and she looked around，as if she had just awoke from a troubled dream． Then she ran towards the slender tree， clung to it for support， and in another moment she had climbed to the summit of the tree， and held fast．There she sat like a startled squirrel，and remained the whole day long in the silent solitude of the wood， where everything is quiet，and，as they say，dead．Butterflies fluttered around in sport， and in the neighbourhood were several ant－hills， each with its hundreds of busy little occupants moving briskly to and fro． In the air danced innumerable gnats， swarm upon swarm， and hosts of buzzing flies，ladybirds，gold beetles，and other little winged creatures； the worm crept forth from the damp ground，the moles came out； but except these all wassilent around—silent， and， as people say， dead． No one noticed Helga， but some flocks of jays， that flew screaming about the top of the tree on which she sat：the birds hopped close up to her on the twigs with pert curiosity； but when the glance of her eye fell upon them， it was a signal for their flight． But they could not understand her—nor， indeed，could she understand herself．

When the evening twilight came on，and the sun was sinking，the time of her transformation roused her to fresh activity．She glided down from the tree，and as the last sunbeam vanished she stood in the wrinkled form of the frog，with the torn webbed skin on her hands；but her eyes now gleamed with a splendour of beauty that had scarcely been theirs when she wore her garb of loveliness， for they were a pair of pure，pious，maidenly eyes that shone out of the frog－face．They bore witness of depth of feeling， of the gentle human heart；and the beauteous eyes overflowed in tears，weeping precious drops that lightened the heart．

On the sepulchral mound she had raised there yet lay the cross of boughs，the last work of him who slept beneath．Helga lifted up the cross，in pursuance of a sudden thought that came upon her．She planted it between the stones， over the priest and the dead horse． The sorrowful remembrance of him called fresh tears into her eyes； and in this tender frame of mind she marked the same sign in the earth around the grave；and as she wrote the sign with both her hands，the webbed skin fell from them like a torn glove；and when she washed her hands in the woodland spring，and gazed in wonder at her fine white hands，she again made the holy sign in the air between herself and the dead man； then her lips trembled， the holy name that had been preached to her during the ride from the forest came to her mouth， and she pronounced it audibly．

Then the frog－skin fell from her， and she was once more the beauteous maiden． But her head sank wearily，her tired limbs required rest，and she slept．

Her sleep， however，was short． Towards midnight she awoke．Before her stood the dead horse， beaming and full of life，which gleamed forth from his eyes and from his wounded neck； close beside the creature stood the murdered Christian priest，“more beautiful than Balder，”the Viking woman would have said；and yet he seemed to stand in a flame of fire．

Such gravity， such an air of justice， such a piercing look shone out of his great mild eyes， that their glance seemed to penetrate every comer of her heart． Little Helga trembled at the look，and her remembrance awoke as though she stood before the tribunal of judgment． Every good deed that had been done for her， every loving word that had been spoken，seemed endowed with life：she under－stood that it had been love that kept her here during the days of trial， during which the creature formed of dust and spirit，soul and earth， combats and struggles； she acknowledged that she had only followed the leading of temper，and had done nothing for herself；everything had benn given her， everything had been guided by Providence．She bowed herself humbly，confessing her own deep imperfection in the presence of the Power that can read every thought of the heart—and then the priest spoke．

“The daughter of the moss，”he said，“out of the earth，out of the moor，thou camest；but from the earth thou shalt arise．The sunbeam in you，which comes not from the sun， but from God， will go back to its origin，conscious of the body it has inhabited． No soul shall be lost， but time is long；it is the course of life through eternity．I come from the land of the dead． The， too， shalt pass through the deep valleys into the beaming mountain region， where dwell mercy and completeness． I cannot lead the to Hedeby， to receive Christian baptism；for，first， thou must burst the veil of waters over the deep moss， and draw forth the living source of they being and of they birth； thou must exercise they faculties in deeds before the consecration can be given the．”

And he lifted her upon the horse， and gave her a golden censer similar to the one she had seen in the Viking's castle．The open wound in the forehead of the slain Christian shone like a diadem．He took the cross from the grave and held it aloft． And now they rode the air，over the rustling wood，over the mounds where the old heroes lay buried， each on his dead war－horse；and the mighty figures rose up and galloped forth，and stationed themselves on the summits of the mounds．The golden hoop on the forehead of each gleamed in the moonlight and their mantles floated in the night breeze．The dragon that guards buried treasures likewise lifted up his head and gazed after the riders．

The gnomes and wood spirits peeped forth from beneath the hills， and from between the furrows of the fields， and flitted to and fro with red， blue， and green torches，like the sparks in the ashes of a burned paper．

Over woodland and heath，over river and marsh they fled away， up to the wild moss； and over this they hovered in wide circles． The Christian priest held the cross aloft：it gleamed like gold；and from his lips dropped pi-us prayers．Beautiful Helga joined in the hymns he sang， like a child joining in its mother's song． She swung the censer， and a wondrous fragrance of incense streamed forth thence，so that the reeds and grass of the moss burst forth into blossom． Every germ came forth from the deep ground． All that had life lifted itself up． A veil of water－lilies spread itself forth like a carpet of wrought flowers，and upon this carpet lay a sleeping woman， young and beautiful．Helga thought it was her own likeness she saw upon the mirror of the calm waters．But it was her mother whom she beheld， the Marsh King's wife， the Princess from the banks of the Nile．

The dead priest commanded that the slumbering woman should be lifted upon the horse；but the horse sank under the burden，as though its body had been a cloth fluttering in the wind． But the holy sign gave strength to the airy phantom， and then the three rode from the moss to the firm land．

Then the cock crowed in the Viking's castle，and the phantom shapes dissolved and floated away in air； but mother and daughter stood opposite each other．

“Is it myself that I see in the deep waters？”asked the mother．

“Is it myself that I see reflected on the clear mirror？”exclaimed the daughter．

And they approached one another and embraced．The heart of the mother beat quickest， and she under－stood it．

“My child！ The flower of my own heart！My lotos flower of the deep waters！”

And she embraced her child anew，and wept；and the tears were as a new baptism of life and love to Helga．

“In the swan's plumage came I hither，”said the mother，“and threw it off．I sank through the shaking mud，far down into the black slime， which closed like a wal around me．But soon I felt a fresher stream；a power drew me down，deeper and ever deeper．I felt the weight of sleep upon my eyelids；I slumbered， and dreams hovered round me．It seemed to me that I was again in the pyramid in Egypt， and yet the waving alder trunk that had frightened me up in the moss was ever before me． I looked at the clefts and wrinkles in the stem，and they shone forth in colours and took the form of hieroglyphics：it was the case of the mummy at which I was gazing； the case burst， and forth stepped the thousand－year old King，the mummied form， black as pitch， shining black as the wood snail or the fat mud of the swamp：whether it was the Marsh King or the mummy of the pyramids I knew not．He seized me in his arms，and I felt as if I must die． When I returned to consciousness a little bird was sitting on my bosom，beating with its wings，and twitter－in and singing．The bird flew away from me up towards the heavy，dark covering，but a long green band still fastened him to me． I heard and understood his longing tones：‘Freedom！Sunlight！To my father！'then I thought of my father and the sunny land of my birth，my life，and my love；and I loosened the band and let the bird soar away home to the father． Since that hour I have dreamed no more．I have slept a sleep， a long and heavy sleep， till in this hour harmony and incense awoke me and set me free．”

The green band from the heart of the mother to the bird's wings，where did it flutter now？ Whither had it been wafted？ Only the Stork had seen it． The band was the green stalk，the bow at the end， the beauteous flower，the cradle of the child that had now bloomed into beauty and was once more resting on its mother's heart．

And while the two were locked in each other's em－brace，the old Stork flew around them in circles， and at length shot away towards his nest， whence he brought out the swan－feather suits he had preserved there for years，throwing one to each of them，and the feathers closed around them，so that they soared up from the earth in the semblance of two white swans．

“And now we will speak with one another，”quoth Stork-papa，“now we understand each other， though the beak of one bird is differently shaped from that of another．It happens more than fortunately that you came tonight．Tomorrow we should have been gone—mother，myself， and the young ones， for we are flying southward．Yes，only look at me！I am an old friend from the land of the Nile， and mother has a heart larger than her beak．She always declared the Princes would find a way to help herself； and I and the young ones carried the swans’ feathers up here But how glad I am！ And how fortunate that I'm here still！ At dawn of day we shall move hence，a great company of storks．We'll fly first，and do you follow us； thus you cannot miss your way； moreover， I and the youngsters will keep a sharp eye upon you．”

“And the lotus flower which I was to bring with me，”said the Egyptian Princess，“she is flying by my side in the swans plumage！ I bring with me the flower of my heart； and thus the riddle has been read． Homeward！homeward！”

But Helga declared she could not quit the Danish land before she had once more seen her foster－mother，the affectionate Viking woman．Every beautiful recollection， every kind word， every tear that her foster－mother had wept for her， rose up in her memory， and in that moment she almost felt as if she loved the Viking woman best of all．

“Yes， we must go to the Viking's castle，” said Stork-papa；“mother and the youngsters are waiting for us there．How they will turn up their eyes and flap their wings！Yes，you see，mother doesn't speak much—she's short and dry， but she means all the better． I'll begin clapping at once， that they may know we're coming．”

And Stork-papa clapped in first－rate style，and they all flew away towards the Viking's castle．

In the castle every one was sunk in deep sleep． The Viking’ s wife had not retired to rest until it was late． She was anxious about Helga，who had vanished with the Christian priest three days before：she must have assisted him in his flight， for it was the girl's horse that had been missed from the stables；but how all this had been effected was a mystery to her．The Viking woman had heard of the miracles told of the White Christ，and by those who believed in His words and followed Him． Her passing thoughts formed themselves into a dream，and it seemed to her that she was still lying awake on her couch， and that deep darkness reigned without．The storm drew near：she heard the sea roaring and rolling to the east and to the west， like the waves of the North Sea and the Cattegat．The immense snake which was believed to surround the span of the earth in the depths of the ocean was trembling in convulsions；she dreamed that night of the fall of the gods had come—Ragnarok， as the heathen called the last day， when everything was to pass away， even the great gods themselves．The war-trumpet sounded，and the gods rode over the rainbow， clad in steel，to fight the last battle． The winged valkyries rode before them，and the dead warriors closed the train． The whole firmament was ablaze with Northern Lights，and yet the darkness seemed to predominate． It was a terrible hour．

And， clo