There once reigned a king and queen, a long, long time ago, who had an only child, a son called Thorstein.

The lad was brave, strong, and handsome, and was greatly beloved by every one on account of his kind-heartedness and open-handed generosity.

But as years passed and he attained to man’s estate, his indiscriminating kindness was often taken advantage of. His father and mother tried to check him, pointing out that heedless generosity often did more harm than good; but Thorstein could not be brought to believe that kindness could ever be wrong or do harm, and continued to give to every one who asked him, as long as he had anything he could part with.

At length the king and queen died. On their death-bed they again endeavoured to impress upon [47]their son that a good and wise king must not only reign with kindness, but also with justice; but though Thorstein, who loved his parents dearly, and was terribly grieved at the idea of losing them, promised he would do his best and bear their wise counsel in mind, no sooner were the burial ceremonies concluded and he was crowned king, than all his good resolves to be firm and discriminating were scattered to the winds.

He kept open house for all who choose to come, gave gifts to all who asked, so that all the riches and treasure his wise father had so carefully collected began very speedily to disappear, without any one being really the better or happier for them.

So quickly indeed did all he had inherited vanish, that ere many months had passed he had nothing left but the kingdom itself; and then realizing the truth, that a penniless king has but small authority or power, he decided to part with his throne, and thus have some money wherewith to make a fresh start in life.

There was no difficulty in finding a purchaser, and Thorstein, in exchange for a horse and a sack filled with gold and silver, parted with his inheritance.

But when he had once sold his kingdom, his so-called friends, who had been so numerous before, now speedily began to drop off, and as the sack got emptier, so did his companions grow fewer in number.

“There will soon be nothing more to be got out [48]of him,” they said. “A fool and his money is soon parted.” So they gradually deserted him.

Then, when it was too late, Thorstein began to realize the sad plight he had brought himself to, and determined to quit the country, and leave his false friends behind him. He therefore put together the few things he had left, placed them on the horse he had bought, and mounting his own fine chestnut, which he could never bring himself to part with, he started off on his travels.

For a long time Thorstein wandered on over desolate moors and through dark sombre forests, not knowing or caring where he went or what became of him. He had no friends, not a single creature to care for, or who loved him, so he allowed the horses to roam where they listed, letting them graze whenever they came to any fresh grass, but beyond this never resting or pausing anywhere.

Once, when they had stopped to graze near a tiny stream on the banks of which the grass looked specially fresh, he got off his horse, and throwing himself down on the ground almost made up his mind to go no further. Why not rest there till death overtook him? But even as this thought flashed through him, he raised his eyes towards the west, where the sun was just setting in a bed of crimson and gold, flushing all the distant peaks of the great snow-capped mountains with magic rainbow hues.

Whilst still lost in wondering admiration at the [49]gorgeous spectacle, the rosy clouds suddenly parted, and a star of exquisite brilliancy shot down a ray of light that seemed to touch Thorstein’s face, and he heard a voice saying: “Fear not, Thorstein, but go forth on thy travels with a brave heart. Learn from the mistakes of thy youth, that indiscriminate open-handedness is neither just nor kind, but only does harm, and that a true sovereign must also be a father to his people.”

And even as the voice died away, the rosy light gradually faded from sky and mountain, and the pale golden moon rose and shed its soft silvery radiance over earth and sky.

Thorstein started to his feet. He felt the warm blood coursing quickly through his veins; and whistling to his horses, who came obedient to his call, he mounted his noble chestnut with a light heart, fully determined to seek his fortune. [50]

For some time he followed the rough track across the open plain, but presently he arrived at a small farm. Knocking at the door, he asked the old man who opened it if he might rest the night there.

“Oh yes,” replied the man; “if you don’t mind taking things as you find them, you are very welcome.”

Thorstein thanked him kindly, and after stabling his horses in the shed at the back, threw himself down on the rushes that were lying in one corner of the room, the farm servants occupying the opposite corner, and the old man sleeping in a third corner, the remaining one being filled by the huge stove.

Thorstein, tired out with his long day’s journey, slept soundly all night, but when he woke next morning he was surprised to find the farmer and his men had already gone out.

Fearing lest some treachery might be meditated, he sprang up from his bed and rushed out of the house. [51]

There, to his surprise, he saw the farmer and all his men busily at work with their pitchforks, digging and raking up the earth from a large tumulus, or grave, at some little distance from the farm.

Thorstein hurried up to the farmer, and asked him what he was doing, and why he was disturbing the grave.

“I have very good reason for doing so,” replied the man; “the man who lies buried there owes me two hundred dollars!”

“But,” said Thorstein, “no amount of digging will give you back the money he owed you! On the contrary, you are losing your own time as well as that of your men, and you will probably, in addition, get fined for disturbing the grave.”

But the farmer was obstinate. He said he did not care. Only he was quite determined that the dead man should not rest peacefully in his grave, while he owed him all that money, and that he and his men would continue to dig and stir up the ground day after day.

Then Thorstein asked him if he would be satisfied and let the man rest in his grave if some one else paid the dead man’s debt.

“Oh yes!” answered the farmer; “but I don’t see where that man is likely to come from, as he had no sons.”

Then Thorstein drew forth his purse, which contained the last of his money, and gave it to the [52]farmer in payment of the debt. The farmer thanked him warmly, and promised not to disturb the grave any more.

So Thorstein bade his host farewell; but ere he left he asked him which road he should take, so as to reach a populous neighbourhood, where he might chance to get some work to do.

“You must continue along this same road,” replied the farmer, “until you come to four cross-roads. Then don’t take the road that goes east, but take the one that goes west.”

Thorstein thanked him, and rode away. After some time he arrived at the cross-roads, and took the rode to the west, as the farmer had advised him. But he had not gone very far when he thought he would rather like to know why the man had said he should not go the other way.

“Perhaps there are giants or some other dangers one may meet,” thought Thorstein; so he promptly turned back till he arrived at the cross-roads, when he proceeded along the road leading east.

For some time he saw nothing new or strange. The road wound among many small fields and brushwood, with here and there some groups of tall, dark pine-trees; but after passing through a narrow defile, he suddenly came to a large, deep valley, in the centre of which rose a fine big house, standing quite by itself on a steep, rocky mound. At first he could see no way of getting up to it, but presently he [53]noticed a narrow path, almost hidden by trees and thicket; so, fastening his horses to a stake, he made his way up to the house.

As he approached he saw the door was wide open and no one anywhere about. Thorstein therefore went in and came into a big hall, in which stood two huge beds, one on each side, covered with rich silken hangings, while down the middle ran a table, ready laid with two plates, two knives and forks, two great goblets of rarely chased silver, and two large golden flagons of wine. But no one was visible here either.

After waiting a short time, to see if the owners would appear, Thorstein went down the hill again to look after his horses, for he thought he might as well stay the night in the house, even if there were a little danger in so doing. So he lifted the saddles off the horses, tethered them with sufficient length of rope that they could both graze and lie down comfortably, and then took all he needed out of his saddlebags, with his sword, which, after his favourite chestnut, was his most precious possession. Then, giving a last look to the horses to see they were all right, he returned to the house, and going to the kitchen, he brought thence some bread and the meat which was roasting before the fire.

Cutting this up carefully, he placed a good portion in each plate, together with a large slice of bread; he then went to the beds, shook up the pillows, and made them all ready for the night. After this, feeling [54]rather tired, he thought he would lie down and rest. He did not, however, venture to occupy either of the beds, but threw himself down on some mats that lay in a corner, carefully pulling one over him.

After lying awake for some time, Thorstein was just dropping off to sleep when he heard loud underground rumblings. Presently the door was thrown open, and he heard heavy steps crossing the floor.

Then a loud, gruff voice exclaimed: “Some one has been here! but whoever it is, we shall soon put an end to him.”

“No,” answered another voice, “that you shall not do! I take him, whoever it may be, under my protection; I have the right to do this, for it is my turn, and can dispose of him as I like. He came here of his own free will, and has shown himself both able and willing to be useful. He has made our beds, prepared our food, and all has been well done. Let him now show himself and no harm shall befall him.”

When Thorstein heard these words, he once again began to breathe freely, and throwing back the rug he had drawn over him, stood up before them.

The young men were regular giants, both in size and strength, especially the elder, who had taken his part, and who was quite a head taller than his brother.

Thorstein then went to fetch another plate and cup, and shared in the giants’ meal, after which the two brothers retired to their beds, Thorstein again [55]taking possession of his rugs, where he soon fell soundly asleep, never waking till long after the sun had risen.

Then, while they were at breakfast, the elder giant, whose name was Osric, asked Thorstein whether he would stay on with them; that all he would have to do would be to get their meals ready for them and make their beds. He might also keep his horses in their stables; and as to food and wine, Thorstein would only have to tell them what was needed, and they would always keep the larder and cellar filled, so that Thorstein need never leave the hill.

Thorstein said he would try it for a week. At the end of that time the giants were so well pleased with him, that they urged him to remain with them, for a year, at any rate; and though Thorstein found the life rather dull and stupid, he agreed to stop, Osric, the elder giant, promising him a rich reward at the end of his term. He then handed him the keys of all the rooms in the house, except one key, and this the giant always wore fastened to a string round his neck, only taking it off at night when he went to bed.

When the two brothers had gone off on their daily expeditions, Thorstein made a regular round of the house, looking into the storerooms, cellars, and every room except the one of which Osric kept the key. In vain he tried all the keys on his bunch, hoping one of them might open the lock; but in vain. He then tried to force open the door by throwing himself [56]against it with all his might; but in this also he failed.

Later on, Thorstein noticed that Osric always went into this room every night and morning, while Bifrou, the younger giant, waited for him outside. So one day he asked Osric why, when handing him the keys of all the other rooms, he had kept back this one.

“Surely,” he continued, “if you have found me faithful in all you have entrusted me with, you might also trust me with what is in that room.”

But Osric said there was really nothing particular in the room. Thorstein might be quite sure of that, for, having found him so faithful and honest respecting everything placed under his care, they would certainly also have trusted him if there had been anything valuable in that room.

But although Thorstein pretended that he was quite satisfied with the giant’s answer, he made up his mind to solve the mystery in some way.

At length the end of the year arrived, and the two giant brothers, well pleased to have secured so careful a servant, gave him as his wages two great sacks filled with gold. They had never been made so comfortable before, and again begged Thorstein to remain another year.

To this Thorstein would not agree, but said he would remain six months, as he was more than ever determined to find out the mystery of the locked room. [57]

He therefore carefully watched every opportunity, hoping Osric might perhaps by chance leave the key behind him. But the giant was much too careful to do so.

One morning, when Thorstein had risen particularly early, in order to bake the bread, the thought of the locked chamber came constantly before him, and while kneading the dough he kept puzzling his head as to how he could circumvent the giant. Suddenly a bright idea struck him. Creeping softly to the back door, which led into the stable yard, he gave a loud knock, and then ran back as quickly as he could to the room where the giants were sleeping, and asked them, with a scared face (holding the dough he had been kneading in his hands), whether they had not heard some one knocking.

“Oh yes,” they both replied; “we did hear something, but we thought it was you knocking down a chair while you were sweeping.”

Thorstein declared he had not knocked down anything, and added that he was afraid to open the door, for he was quite positive some one had knocked there.

The giants said he was quite right not to open it, for it might be some unfriendly giant; so they got up themselves, and ran to the door to see who had disturbed them at that early hour in the morning.

No sooner had they left the room than Thorstein drew forth the key of the mysterious chamber, which [58]the biggest giant always kept under his pillow at night, and quickly taking an impression of it in the dough he had in his hand, replaced the key in its former place.

When the brothers came back they were not a little put out, for of course they found no one at the door, and declared that Thorstein had only said it in order to make fun of them.

But this Thorstein denied stoutly, and maintained that he had heard some one knocking, and supposed, whoever it was, must have run away. [59]

As soon as the giants had gone forth that day to seek for treasure, as usual, Thorstein tried to make a key at the giants’ forge from the impression he had taken in the dough; but many and fruitless were the trials ere he succeeded. Then, watching his opportunity, when the brothers had gone on a long expedition, he unlocked the forbidden door, and entered the mysterious chamber.

At first he could see nothing, for it was almost dark, the single window being heavily barred and shuttered. But having struck a light, he glanced eagerly round. There, to his amazement and horror, he saw a young girl fastened to a nail in the wall by her long plaits of hair.

Mounting on a chair, he hastened to release her, and begged her to tell him who she was, and how and why she had come there.

At first the poor girl could scarcely believe that she had at last found a friend; but Thorstein looked so good and kind, that her fears quickly vanished.

“Alas!” she said, “I am a most unhappy maiden! [60]My name is Thekla, and my father is King Alfhelm. One day, as I was playing in a field near the palace with my maidens, a great giant suddenly rushed in among us from the neighbouring wood, and snatching me up in his arms, despite all my cries and struggles, carried me down to the shore, where his boat was waiting. Ere any help could reach us, we were well out of sight, till at length we arrived at this place. He then asked me to marry him, which I indignantly refused to do; and though he comes every day to try and persuade me to consent, I will never give in; no, not though they starve or kill me!” And she burst again into bitter sobs.

Thorstein tried to comfort her as best he could. He told her that, having now made a key, he would be able to come and see her every day while the giants were away. He then brought her some food, for the poor girl was half starved (as the giant only gave her just enough to keep her alive), and then, as evening drew near, Thorstein again fastened Thekla’s hair to the nail, ere he closed the door before the giants’ return.

From that day forward Thorstein visited the poor girl regularly every day, always bringing her some food, and then putting all straight again ere the brothers returned, so that they had no idea of what took place during their absence.

When the end of the six months drew near, Thorstein told the giants that he wished to leave. But [63]they had got so used to him, and he waited on them so carefully, that they did not want to part with him, and begged him to remain another year.

At first Thorstein refused, but after much persuasion, the brothers giving him again two more sacks of gold as wages, Thorstein said he would remain another six months, if at the end of that time they would give him as wages whatever was in the locked room—no matter whether it was valuable or not.

When Osric heard this he grew very angry, and told Thorstein not to be a fool; that what he was asking for was utterly worthless; and that he had much better accept the good wages they were quite willing to give him.

Thorstein, however, would not give in. He said he did not care whether the contents of the room were valuable or not. He had set his heart upon that, and nothing else, and would remain with them on no other condition.

Osric grew furious, and they argued and fought over this, till at last Bifrou, seeing that Thorstein was quite determined, advised his brother to give in, for they could keep him in no other way. So the big giant at last agreed to his terms.

During the six months that followed, Thorstein did his utmost to lighten Thekla’s imprisonment. Many a long and pleasant chat they had together, planning their future life, while Thekla described [64]her former home, and how delighted her father would be to see her safely back again.

At length the weary six months came to an end; and though the giant brothers again tried to persuade Thorstein to remain with them, he was firm, and would listen to no further promises of future wealth and greatness with which they tried to bribe him.

So, seeing that neither persuasions nor threats would prevail, Osric at last opened the door and brought out Thekla; very much surprised he was to see her looking so well when he saw her in the daylight, and half repented him of his promise.

But Thorstein led forth his two horses, which he had all this time carefully groomed and tended. Placing two sacks of gold on each, he lifted Thekla on one horse, and buckling on his sword, as well as a sharp dagger, mounted the other horse.

As he did so, Thekla noticed the giants whispering together, and heard the younger one mutter, with a laugh, “Yes, as soon as they get to the ravine.”

“Oh, Thorstein,” she said, when they had ridden on a short distance, “I know they mean to attack us. I heard them say so.”

“Never fear,” replied Thorstein. “My good sword has never failed me yet! But you ride on in front.”

As soon as they were out of sight, he placed the other sacks of gold on Thekla’s horse, and bidding her ride on ahead, he drew his sword and kept a keen look-out. [65]

They rode on thus for some little distance. The country was open, and though the road was rough, they were soon out of sight of the castle. At length they arrived at the narrow ravine which led down to the shore. They had not long entered it when they heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs behind them. Thorstein bade Thekla ride on. He then hid himself behind a projecting rock, and as Bifrou, who was in front, rode past, Thorstein rushed at him, and with one blow of his sword, severed his head from his [66]body. Osric, seeing what had befallen his brother and fearing the same fate, rode back to the castle for more help.

Thorstein then joined Thekla, who had anxiously watched the combat, and they rode on, hoping that all danger of pursuit was now over. But just as they emerged from the ravine, Thorstein, looking back, saw Osric, accompanied by a still bigger and fiercer-looking giant, hurrying after them.

Again sending Thekla on in front, he turned and faced his enemies. A terrible combat now ensued. They attacked Thorstein, one on each side, but he swung his great broadsword round his head and with one blow cut off Osric’s head. Then the big giant, seeing his friend fall to the ground, grew furious. He threw away his sword, and grasping Thorstein round the waist, flung him to the ground. But in an instant Thorstein was on his feet again, and now a desperate conflict ensued. They wrestled together fiercely; sometimes one, sometimes the other was uppermost, but at length the giant’s weight and size began to tell, and Thekla was horrified to see Thorstein grow pale and stagger.

Without a moment’s thought or hesitation she sprang from her horse, and, snatching up the dagger that had fallen from Thorstein’s girdle during the struggle, she thrust it through the heart of the giant, who rolled over on his side without a groan. [67]

Both the giant brothers and their friend being now dead, Thorstein said they had better return to their house and take possession of all the treasure they could find. This they did, and by making several journeys backwards and forwards, they had quite a large store of boxes on the shore, filled with gold and precious stones.

Then, to their joy, they one day saw a vessel nearing the land, which, as it came closer, proved to be a ship belonging to Thekla’s father, the captain, called Randur, being one of his chief ministers.

The latter was delighted when he saw Thekla, for her father had been so greatly distressed at her disappearance that he had fitted out several ships to go in search of her, promising that he would bestow her as a bride on whoever was fortunate enough to find her.

Randur therefore at once offered to take them home, and sent some of his men ashore to help and carry Thorstein’s treasure down to the ship. When everything was put on board, the sails were set, and the good vessel sped gallantly on her homeward way. [68]

Thekla and Thorstein now thought all their trials were surely over, and gave themselves up to the enjoyment of each other’s society. But Randur had no intention of letting the latter reach Thekla’s home. So he watched his opportunity, and one night, when they were well out at sea, he had one of the boats lowered. In this he placed Thorstein, who was fast asleep in the after-part of the ship, and, casting loose the boat, let it drift away. He then made the men take a solemn oath never to mention what had been done, but that if any one asked about Thorstein, they were to say they knew nothing about him.

Next morning, when Thekla, surprised at not seeing Thorstein, asked where he was, Randur pretended to be greatly surprised at his non-appearance, and instituted a search all over the vessel for him.

Thekla was very unhappy to think that Thorstein should have disappeared so unaccountably; then, [69]suddenly missing one of the boats, she said that perhaps he had gone fishing, and insisted upon the vessel being put about to search for him.

But though Randur pretended to obey her orders, shifting the sails and issuing various commands, he was in reality hurrying home as fast as he could, rejoicing at having so successfully rid himself of his rival.

The boat, meanwhile, in which Thorstein lay fast asleep, had drifted a long distance from the ship ere he awoke, and on first opening his eyes he could not imagine where he was. But when he once realized his position, he decided that Randur’s jealousy must have played him this trick, and he set himself to think what he had better do.

When Randur had sent him adrift, he had put neither food nor water in the boat, and as the sun rose higher and higher in the heavens, the heat grew intense. In vain he steeped his clothes in the water, hoping thus, at least, to assuage his thirst, which was causing him much suffering. He gradually grew more faint and weary, and a feeling of hopelessness was stealing over him, when suddenly he heard a voice saying, “Do not lose heart, Thorstein, though your plight is sad, drifting thus hopelessly about on the ocean. But as you once spent your all to give me rest, so now I will also aid you.”

And immediately the boat flew rapidly over the water, propelled by an unseen force. Thorstein’s [70]thirst and weariness vanished, and he reached the island where Thekla’s father lived at the same time as the ship in which she was returning, though he landed at a different point.

As Thorstein stepped on shore, he again heard the strange voice, saying, “I am only repaying what I owe you, for had you not given up all you possessed to the farmer to whom I was in debt, he would never have allowed my bones to rest in peace in the grave. And now I will help you further. This is King Alfhelm’s country. Go to the palace, and there offer to look after the king’s chestnut horses, of which he is very proud. His late groom was very careless, and has been dismissed, so he will engage you. But, remember, whatever is found beneath the horses’ mangers belongs to you, and you can keep it.”

So saying, the spirit of the dead man departed, and Thorstein, having thanked him gratefully, at once started off for the king’s palace.

King Alfhelm, who had been rather at a loss as to whom to entrust with his fine chestnut horses, of which he was very proud, was greatly pleased with Thorstein’s appearance, and at once put him in charge of the stable, where Thorstein, to his surprise, saw his own chestnut among the other horses—for Randur, on landing, had given it as a present to the king. But the horse would allow no strange hand to come near it; the moment it saw Thorstein, however, it became gentle as a lamb. [71]

The king, meanwhile, was greatly rejoiced at his daughter’s safe return, for he had almost given up all hope of ever seeing her again. So he ordered a great feast to be prepared to celebrate her arrival, and believing Randur’s tale, that he had rescued the princess from the giants, promised to give him his daughter in marriage.

To this, however, Thekla objected.

“Rather than wed Randur, I will remain single all my life,” she said.

This threat so frightened the king, for, having no son, he looked forward to seeing Thekla’s children growing up, that he did not urge her any further.

Thekla then begged her father to summon the new groom to the great hall that evening, for she had been told that he had travelled a great deal, and it would amuse them all to hear his adventures.

So the king, willing to please his daughter, and anxious himself to hear the tale of his adventures, summoned Thorstein to the big hall, where the whole court was assembled.

And then the whole truth came to light; and when King Alfhelm heard the wickedness and treachery of his minister, he grew so angry that he ordered Randur to be torn to pieces by wild horses.

But Thekla and Thorstein both interceded for him, so he was only banished for life from the kingdom.

Very soon after, the marriage of Thorstein and the fair princess was celebrated, amid general rejoicings. [72]In addition to the treasure they had brought back from the giant’s house, Thorstein, on looking under the horses’ mangers, found an immense pile of old golden coins, rare ornaments, and precious stones, which had been hidden there in ancient war times by some previous kings.

After King Alfhelm’s death, who lived long enough to see three little grandchildren running beside him, Thorstein and Thekla succeeded to the throne.

They were both greatly beloved by their people, whose lives they ever studied to make happy, so much so, that to this day that period is always spoken of as “the reign of the good king and queen.” [73]

In olden times there lived a king and queen who had an only son called Sigurd. All went happily until the boy was about ten years old, and then the queen became very ill and died. According to the custom of that land, her body was embalmed and placed on a funeral pile, and there it was watched by the king, who sat day after day beside it in inconsolable grief.

Time went on, but he refused to leave the funeral pile, and all the business of the kingdom came to a standstill, for the sovereign gave no heed to what went on around him, and the courtiers had one and all failed to influence him.

At last one day he raised his eyes from the ground and looked towards the great pine forest that stretched away as far as you could see round the palace, and there, under the trees, coming towards [74]him, he saw a most beautiful woman, her tall figure clothed in costly black robes.

“Who are you?” he asked, as she drew near.

“My name is Injibjörg,” she answered, in a low, sweet voice. “Why are you sitting here alone?”

“Because the queen is dead, and my heart is filled with sorrow.”

“Alas! I can sympathize with you in your grief,” she replied. “I, too, lost my husband only yesterday, and now I am alone in the world.”

The king for the first time began to be interested in something. Here was a person as sad as himself. They soon began talking like old friends, and in the end decided that, as they were both so lonely, it would be a wise thing for them to marry. The king invited her to return with him to the palace, and in a few days the wedding took place, amid the rejoicings of the people at the return of their sovereign once more to everyday life and work.

Under the wise influence of Injibjörg the king soon regained his usual health and spirits. He began to take up the neglected affairs of the kingdom, and rode out constantly hunting and fishing, attended by his court. And Sigurd? In his stepmother the boy found a true friend, who cared for him with a real mother’s love, and made his life full of sunshine. They were inseparable companions, and people would stop and watch them as they passed along the roads, or played together in the palace gardens, saying, “Ah, the good [75]stepmother! See how she loves the poor motherless boy.” They were a pretty picture—the fair-haired, handsome little prince, and the beautiful tall woman, with her gracious manners and winning smile.

And thus their lives went happily on until Sigurd was almost a youth and as tall as his stepmother.

One evening Sigurd and Injibjörg were returning to the palace from a long stroll. The sun was lighting up the stems of the pine trees as they walked along beneath them. He had noticed for some days that his mother, as he loved to call her, appeared sad and out of spirits, but to-day the deepest depression seemed to possess her. As they drew near home, she laid her hand lovingly on the boy’s arm.

“My son, your father goes hunting to-morrow. It is my wish that you go with him and leave me alone for a day.”

“But, mother, why? You are sad, I see; my place is surely with you. I love hunting, as you know, but I cannot leave you thus.”

And all her persuasions were in vain.

Next morning the king set out, but the young prince remained with his stepmother, in spite of all she could say.

“Alas! alas!” she said, when they were left alone, “why did you disobey my wishes? I fear me that you will repent it sorely.”

Then she led Sigurd to her own room, and told him to hide under her bed until she called him forth. [76]Directly he was safely hidden, the ground began to tremble, there was a terrific noise like thunder, and out of a great fissure appeared a huge giantess. Her feet were buried in the earth up to her ankles, for she was too tall to stand upright in the room. Through a small aperture in the hangings of the great bed, Sigurd watched to see what would happen.

“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg!” he heard the giantess say. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” replied Injibjörg. “He has gone hunting with his father.”

Then the queen spread the table for her terrible giant sister, with rich and dainty dishes. When the meal was at an end, the giantess said, “I thank you for the nicest food and the best drink of mead that I have yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

Again Injibjörg said no. So the giantess took leave of her and departed; the floor closed up, and all was quiet once more. Then the queen called Sigurd, embraced him with the greatest affection, and, after a short time, regained her usual cheerfulness.

When the king returned in the evening from the chase, neither the queen nor Sigurd told him what had happened during his absence.

The next morning he declared his intention of going out hunting in a still further part of the [77]kingdom, and once more Injibjörg tried to persuade the boy to go with his father. Her persuasions were useless. He was more than ever determined to stay with her, hoping, in some unforeseen way, that he might be of use; for that there was some dreadful mystery about the giantess, he was sure.

This time, directly the king left, Injibjörg put the prince into a large press, and as she turned away, he saw tears in her eyes, and guessed that she feared some terrible new visitor. And he was right. Hardly had she closed the door when the noises of yesterday were renewed; the ground quaked, and a still greater giantess appeared, her feet buried in the floor up to her knees to allow of her entering the room.

“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg,” she cried. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” said Injibjörg. “How should he be, when the king, his father, is hunting far from the palace?”

And, as yesterday, she immediately began to spread the table with delicacies. When the meal was over, the giantess took her leave, saying, “I thank thee for the best food and most refreshing draught of ale that I have yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

Again Injibjörg said no, and in a few moments she was alone, and all was quiet.

Then Sigurd came out of the press, and once more his mother clasped him in her arms, and he heard her [78]say to herself, “My son, my son! if I can but save him once more, all may yet be well.”

With tears she entreated him, for her sake, to go away with his father the next day.

“Twice I have hidden you successfully, but my third sister comes to-morrow, and she is sharper and fiercer than either of the others. If I can save you this time, they will never come again. My son, leave me this once. Even if they do me harm I shall know that you are safe.”

“Mother,” Sigurd answered, “I am no longer a little child. If you are in danger at all, my place is with you. And I am sure that your sister cannot do me any real harm.” [79]

All that evening she tried her utmost to alter his decision, and also the next morning, for now the day had come, and brought with it a presage of evil. But nothing would move Sigurd.

Directly the king had ridden forth, Injibjörg concealed the prince behind some thick hangings on the wall. The earth quaked, terrible noises were heard, and a gigantic woman appeared, fiercer and stronger than either of the others, and so huge that only half her body rose out of the floor.

“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg,” she cried, in a harsh, terrible voice. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” replied Injibjörg, in a faltering voice. “He is hunting with his father in the woods.”

“I see you lie!” roared the giantess. “The boy is here;” and she seized the queen, and began to shake her violently. But, as Injibjörg continued to protest that the prince was not at home, she relaxed her hold, and the table was spread as usual with beautiful dishes. When the meal was ended, the giantess rose. [80]“I thank you for the best meal I have ever tasted,” she said. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”

“No,” replied Injibjörg. “Have I not already answered you?”

“Aha!” cried the giantess, her wicked, malicious laugh making the rafters ring. “Then if he be so far away, my words can do him no harm. But should he be within hearing, I decree that half of his body shall wither up, and he shall never recover until he has sought and found me. And you, my sister, be thankful if a worse fate does not overtake you.”

And, with another peal of mocking laughter, she disappeared. [81]

Trembling from head to foot, the queen went to find her son; but, alas! when she led him forth from his hiding-place, the curse had fallen upon him, and his left side was shrunk and withered.

“Sigurd, Sigurd,” she cried, holding him close, and weeping bitterly. “See what has happened because you would not leave me. Better far that I should have suffered than that this should have fallen upon you. Alas! alas! what shall we do?”

“Mother,” he answered bravely, “there is but one thing—I must seek your sister, as she said, and perhaps, in doing that, I may chance to free you also from their dread visits for ever. Tell me what I must do to find her, and let me depart at once, before my father returns, lest he see me like this, and be angry with you. I grieve to leave you; but it is best, I know. Watch for my return day by day, dear mother, and give me your blessing before I go. Your love will make me strong to bear all that may lie before me.”

Then Injibjörg took a large ball of wool out of a chest and gave it to her son, with three golden rings.

“As soon as you let this ball fall to the ground,” she said, “it will go on rolling till it reaches some rocks. Follow it till it stops, and one of the giantesses will come forth. Do not lose heart. Do whatever she wishes you to. She will draw you up on to the rock where she stands, and you must salute her, and present her with the smallest ring. When she sees the gold she will be delighted, and will challenge you [82]to wrestle with her. When you get exhausted she will offer you a drink out of a horn; and I have prayed that the strength of that magic draught will make you the victor in the wrestling match, so that she will allow you to depart next day. My other two sisters will behave in the same manner; but be brave and fearless, and remember what I tell you. One thing, dear son, keep ever in your mind, as you love me. If at any time my dog comes suddenly to you, puts his paws on your knees, and looks up at you, while tears run down his face, hasten home, let nothing stay you, for my life will be in danger. Do not forget your step-mother Injibjörg.”

Many times Sigurd embraced the queen before he at length left her on his dangerous journey. And as he looked back for a last farewell, he saw her tall, graceful figure still standing watching him at the entrance of the palace. He knew she was wondering if she should ever see her beloved son again. And his heart was very heavy at leaving her in such grief.

Directly he was out of sight of the palace, he threw the ball on the ground, and eagerly followed its winding course.

Towards sunset he found himself in a wild and rocky region, and at length the ball led him to the foot of a precipitous rock, on the summit of which sat the first giantess.

“Aha!” she cried, “this is splendid! Here is Sigurd, the king’s son. He shall be my meal to-night. [83]Come up, comrade! Come hither! Thou art not afraid of a woman, I feel sure.”

With these mocking words she reached down a long boat-hook, and drew him up beside her. Sigurd greeted her bravely, and presented her with the smallest of the golden rings. When she saw the gold, the giantess was delighted. “Ah! now thou shalt wrestle with me,” she cried.

And they began. Sigurd fought bravely, and when she saw him getting tired she gave him a draught of mead, which made him so strong that he came off victor in the end, and she let him go.

The next day, bidding her farewell, he again followed the ball till it reached another high rock. There sat the second giantess.

She greeted the youth in the same fashion as her sister, pulled him up beside her, and was so delighted at the gift of the ring, that she, too, offered to wrestle with Sigurd for the victory before making her meal off him.

Again, as he got exhausted, he was offered a drink of mead from a huge horn, and was able to throw his opponent to the ground with one hand.

On the third day Sigurd rose with a lighter heart—only one more foe to meet, and then the victory would be won: his mother freed from the hateful dominion of her sisters, and he himself restored to his usual appearance. As he looked at his withered arm and leg, he vowed to use every effort to become victor. [84]

It was early morning when Sigurd left the home of the second giantess, but night had nearly fallen before his ball stopped at the foot of the highest rock he had yet come to. On the summit stood the huge figure he had last seen on that fatal day at the palace; her head seemed to touch the clouds, and a terrible smile played on her lips as she looked down at the prince.

“Aha! So you have followed me, as I said. Up, comrade, up! You shall have your wish, and see how you like a contest with me in person.”

But Sigurd’s heart did not fail him. “Draw me up,” he said; “I have a message for you from my stepmother, Queen Injibjörg.”

Then the giantess drew him up, as her sisters had done, and he presented the last and largest of the golden rings. This pleased her immensely, and she proposed that they should at once wrestle for the victory, without waiting any longer. Sigurd exerted his utmost strength, feeling that on this combat all his future happiness depended; and just when he [85]thought he could hold out no longer, the giantess reached him a horn of mead, which, as before, gave him supernatural strength, and he forced her to her knees.

In a moment he felt that his withered side was healed. The glow of perfect health came over him, and he could have sung aloud and danced for joy.

“Thou hast conquered, Sigurd, the king’s son,” the giantess said—“conquered in fair fight. I am no longer thine enemy; my power over thee is gone for ever. Now, go forth. Not far from here is a lake. There thou wilt see a maiden rocking herself in a boat. Give her this small ring, and it will be of use to thee. Thou art a brave youth, and I have done that for thee which I would not do for any one else. Thy strength is now fully restored to thee, and thou shalt succeed in all thine undertakings.”

With grateful thanks, Sigurd bade her farewell, and took his way to the lake she had told him of. All through the night he went on, and when the morning sun arose he saw the glitter of its rays on the water. As he reached the shore he beheld a lovely girl in a tiny green-and-gold boat, gently rocking herself to and fro on the waves, close to the edge of the water.

Sigurd approached, doffed his cap, and ventured to ask her name.

“My name is Helga,” she said, “and I live yonder with my father,”—pointing to a castle in the distance. [86]

Then Sigurd showed her the ring he had received from the giantess.

“I have come all this way to give it to you,” he said; “fate has decreed that we are to be great friends. Will you accept it, and wear it always?”

“I have no friends,” Helga answered. “I will gladly have you for one, and wear your ring.”

So he placed it on her finger, and they rowed in the little boat, and wandered about the woods on the shores of the lake, until the sun began to sink behind the hills.

“Alas!” cried Helga, as she saw the slanting rays, “it is getting late; I must away home.”

“I will come too,” Sigurd answered.

“No, no,” she cried, in a terrified voice. “My father allows no stranger to enter our home. He would certainly kill you if he found you. No, you must not come.” And she set off running.

Sigurd ran too, and came up with her just as they reached the door. Helga put out her hand, the one which bore the ring he had given her, to stop him. In a moment, the young prince had disappeared, and where he had stood there was now only a huge bundle of wool. Helga then realized that the ring he had given her was a magic one, which she must use for his protection. She at once lifted up the bundle of wool in her arms, carried it into the castle hall, and threw it up on a high shelf.

At that instant her father came striding in—he [87]was a giant of great size. Taking no notice of his daughter, he began searching in all the corners, and finding nothing, cried out in an angry voice: “Where has he gone? What was that I saw you carrying, child?”

“Only a bundle of wool, father,” Helga answered, as fearlessly as she could.

“Ah, it must have been that; but I thought I saw some one with you,” he muttered, and soon after retired to his room. The next morning, when Helga went out as usual, she carried the bundle of wool with her, and when she reached the boat, she touched it with her ring, and Sigurd regained his natural form. They rowed to a more distant part of the lake, and spent another happy day together.

Sigurd told Helga all about his stepmother, and his love for her.

“I owe everything to her kindness,” he said, “and I shall never be really happy till I have finished this journey and returned to her. Even when I am with you I dread lest evil may have overtaken her in my absence. But the giantess sent me here for some end, which I must wait to perform. My mother is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, except you.”

Helga, in her turn, told him of her lonely life with her fierce old father, and of how she had always longed to have some one of her own age as a companion. [88]

“But what shall I do when I am left alone again?” she asked, with tears in her eyes.

“Be comforted,” Sigurd said, as he took her hand in his. “I must return to my stepmother, but I will come again, and take you away with me to my own home.”

As they returned, Helga said: “To-morrow we shall have more freedom, for my father goes to a great gathering of giants, and I will show you over the castle in his absence.” When they reached the house, Helga touched him with her ring, and once again Sigurd became a bundle of wool, and passed the night on a shelf in the hall.

Next morning, almost at break of day, Helga’s father departed, and Sigurd was enabled to resume his natural form at once. They walked and talked for some time, and then Sigurd reminded Helga of her promise to show him over the castle. She produced a huge bunch of keys, and together they passed through room after room, each one more beautiful than the last.

“And what is that key for?” asked the prince, pointing to a very strange one, which Helga had not yet used.

“That is my father’s secret room. The key is of a different pattern to all the others.”

“It is, indeed. But surely you will not refuse to let me see that room also?” And as he spoke, they passed to a door strongly studded with great iron [89]nails. He entreated Helga not to refuse his request. “This, I am sure, is the door.”

“Yes, you are right. But if I open the door you must only just peep in, for I myself am terrified to go inside.”

“Nothing can hurt you while you are with me,” Sigurd said, placing his arm round her; and, with trembling fingers, Helga fitted the key into the massive lock, and opened the door a couple of inches. But Sigurd pushed it wide open and boldly stood in the doorway. There he saw a magnificent horse, richly caparisoned, eating golden hay, while, suspended to the rafters above its head, hung a sword sheathed in gold, with these words engraved on the hilt—

Whoever mounts this horse, and is armed with this sword, good luck will ride with him.

Sigurd entreated Helga to let him ride the horse once round the castle, and to carry the sword in his hand. At first Helga would not hear of it. Something terrible would happen, she felt sure. But the young prince pleaded so irresistibly, that at last he won her reluctant consent. The horse, she told him, was called Gullfaxi, “the golden mane;” the sword, Gunnfjöden, “fighting blade.” [90]

Sigurd led the beautiful steed outside the castle, took down the sword, and had just mounted, when Helga came running to him with something in her hand.

“Here, I give you a green branch, a stone, and a stick,” she said, “else I fear that you may get into trouble. Listen carefully to what I tell you. If, when you are mounted on the horse, an enemy should follow you and threaten to take your life, you have only to throw down the green branch as you ride along, and immediately a dense forest will grow up behind you. Should the enemy still attempt to follow, you have only to strike the stick on the white stone, and a terrible hailstorm will kill all who come after you.”

As she finished speaking, and Sigurd gathered up the reins to start off, Helga gave a cry of terror. Striding over the brow of the hill, she saw the huge form of her father.

“Fly! fly!” she said. “Use the steed for your [91]own protection; it is your only chance of life. Save yourself, for my sake.”

Raising his cap in farewell to his young hostess, Sigurd set spurs to Gullfaxi, and as the noble animal put forth his full speed, the prince turned in the saddle and shook his fist at the angry giant.

Without staying to question his daughter, the giant strode after his horse, breathing out threats of vengeance. At first he could only just keep them in sight; but, with his gigantic strides, he soon began to gain upon them when the ground grew rocky and [92]hilly. Then Sigurd threw down Helga’s green branch, and immediately a thick forest rose between him and his enemy.

But the giant seized his axe, and began with mighty strokes to hew his way through the wood. Crash went trees and bushes; crash, crash, to right and to left, and when Sigurd looked back a second time, the giant was through the forest, and close behind him. Then Sigurd touched the white stone with his stick, and immediately such a terrible hailstorm broke loose behind him that the giant was killed on the spot, while Sigurd rode on in bright sunshine.

The giant dead, Sigurd thought he would return and fetch Helga; but while he was debating which road to take, he saw his stepmother’s dog running towards him. The dog was dusty and footsore, and whined piteously as he drew near. Sigurd dismounted, and went to meet him; the dog put his paws upon the prince’s knee, and looked up at him with tears running down his face. Then Sigurd’s heart was very heavy, for he knew misfortune was threatening his beloved stepmother. He leapt on to his horse, and rode at full speed, taking no rest, either by day or night, till at length he came out of the thick pinewoods, and saw the palace before him. In the courtyard a great crowd was assembled, and there, fastened to a stake, and surrounded by huge faggots, he saw the graceful figure of his stepmother. [93]

“Here is Sigurd—Sigurd, the king’s lost son,” he heard voices say, as if in a dream, as he galloped furiously on.

He, however, saw nothing but the beautiful pale face of the queen as he leaped from his horse, and pushed his way through the crowd, sword in hand. He cut the bands with which Injibjörg was fastened, scattered the guards, and carried her into the palace, to his father’s room.

There he found the king lying on his couch, sick unto death for grief at the loss of his son.

“My father,” Sigurd cried, as he stood before him with his arm round his stepmother, “what is this that has been done? Why has my mother been treated thus in my absence?”

“My son,” his father cried, hardly believing that he saw him alive and well before him, “where hast thou been? The people declared the queen had taken thy life, and she was therefore condemned to death, while I was too ill to save her from their vengeance. Forgive me, Sigurd, and beg the queen also to pardon me;” and he embraced them both with the utmost affection.

Then Sigurd related all his adventures, and how he had freed Injibjörg for ever from the hateful power of her sisters. His love for his stepmother was greater than ever, as he heard of all that she had suffered in his absence. He was not happy now when she was out of his sight, and he tried in every way to make [94]up to her for what had passed. He told her, too, of Helga in the castle by the lake; and when she was quite restored to health, he set out, with her blessing and that of his father, to fetch the maiden to his home, as he had promised.

Helga was rejoiced to see Sigurd again, for she had watched for him day by day. They brought away all the treasures of the castle, and in a short time there was a magnificent wedding between Helga and Sigurd, the marriage feast lasting a whole month.

When the king died, Sigurd and Helga came to the throne, and, guided by the wise counsels of Injibjörg, the kingdom became renowned far and near for its good rule and the happiness of its people. [95]

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, there was an old man and his wife who lived in a little cottage beside a big wood. They had three sons, called Kurt, Conrad, and Hans.

The father was very proud of his two elder boys, who were great tall fellows, but he never troubled about Hans, the youngest son, who, poor boy, often fared rather badly, as he only got whatever his brothers did not care to keep. He was never allowed to join in their games, or trials of skill, in which the father trained his elder boys, but had to stop at home, doing the housework and helping his mother in the kitchen. She was, indeed, the only one who ever showed him any love or kindness.

Thus poor Hans was often very sad and lonely, and so, in order to while away the time and have some kind of companionship, he got a kitten from a neighbour, teaching it all kinds of tricks, and as the [158]animal grew older it became so attached to Hans that it followed him about wherever he went.

So matters went on till all three brothers were grown up. Kurt and Conrad gave themselves great airs, for, being tall and robust and well skilled in all games of strength, they laid down the law whenever they appeared on the village green, and bragged so loudly that most people were afraid to contradict them, more especially as their father backed them up in everything. He thought they could do no wrong, whereas Hans was always wrong and of no use at all; he ought, in fact, to have been a girl, always pinned to his mother’s apron-string.

And thus ignored by his father, and set aside by his brothers, there was only his mother to stand up for Hans, but she only loved him all the more, and he in return was devoted to her.

One day Kurt and Conrad came home from the village, where they had come off victors in every trial of strength on the green, and so proud were they of this success, that they begged their father to let them start on their travels, and go and visit the king whose kingdom lay on the opposite side of the great arm of the sea near which stood their hut.

At first the father did not like the idea of parting with his sons; but when he looked at them, and saw what great strong fellows they were, he felt convinced that they would certainly win riches and renown; [159]so he agreed to let them go, fully convinced they would return both famous and wealthy.

Not long after this, the father heard in the village that a big ship lay in the offing, so he told his wife she must get new shoes for Kurt and Conrad, as well as money for the journey, for he meant them to go to the great kingdom across the water, where they would be sure to win both fame and riches.

The old woman did her best to obey her husband’s behests. She took the great hanks of flax she had spun during the winter, and having sold these in the village, she bought new shoes for Kurt and Conrad with some of the money, keeping the rest for their journey.

But when Hans saw all these preparations going on, he had no rest or peace, and a great longing came over him to be allowed to go with his brothers.

Plucking up his courage, he went to his father, and begged and entreated to be allowed to accompany Kurt and Conrad.

At first the old man was very irate at what he considered Han’s impertinence, and angrily refused. But when he came to think over it, he decided that he would rather not have him at home alone, when the others were away, so he told him he might go, but only on condition that he did not join his brothers. He must keep quite apart from them, so that they need not be ashamed before strangers of its being known that such a small, useless fellow was their brother. [160]

Although this was not a very gracious permission, Hans was only too pleased to get leave of any sort, so he hastened to his mother and begged her to try and fit him out also, like his brothers.

Kurt and Conrad, hearing that Hans had likewise got permission to go, hastened their own preparations and started at once, as they did not want him to go with them; but he was so anxious to get away and helped his mother so effectually, that he was ready almost as soon as they were.

When he came to bid her farewell, she gave him a small purse with her savings in it, and then handed him her oven crutch.1

“Take this also, Hans,” she said; “you will find it very useful, for you can use it either as a walking-stick or a weapon of defence, if you are in danger, and you will never lose your way, so long as you have it in your possession.”

Hans thanked her warmly, bade his father good-bye, and with another loving farewell to his mother, went forth on his travels, his cat sitting gravely on his shoulder.

He hurried along as quickly as he could, hoping he would yet be in time to overtake his brothers, but when he got down to the shore there was no sign either of them or the ship, which had evidently sailed some time before. [161]

Unwilling to lose any chance, Hans kept along the shore for some time, thinking that perhaps the vessel had gone into some of the “fiords” that surrounded the coast; but, seeing no sign of a sail, he at last left the beach as the sun was setting, and took a path leading up towards the hills.

His cat, who had sat on his shoulder all this time, now jumped to the ground, purring and arching his back as he trotted beside Hans. Suddenly, a huge bird came flying rapidly towards them. Hans at once saw that it was a dragon, so he took a firm grasp of his iron crutch, waited till the creature was within reach, then, throwing it, hit him so cleverly that he fell to the ground; whereupon the cat, making a spring, speedily put an end to the monster.

When Hans ran up, he saw that the bird held something white between its talons, and, stooping down, perceived it was a little girl, who cried most piteously.

Hans tenderly lifted the little thing in his arms, and tried his best to quiet her. But it was not till the big cat came up purring and rubbing itself against the wee creature, that she ceased her sobbing and was comforted.

Hans was now somewhat at a loss as to what he had best do. Night was coming on; there was no house in sight, and no food at hand. But just as he was driven to his wits’ ends, he saw a little old man [162]running towards him, puffing and panting. As soon as he came up to Hans, he thanked him warmly for having rescued his child from the dragon.

He was a quaint-looking little man, almost a dwarf, but when he took the child in his arms and began to soothe and quiet it, his face was so kind and gentle, [163]that Hans, who had expected to pass the night out-of-doors, gladly accepted his offer to go home with him and stay the night.

They walked on a long way, pussy always trotting by her young master’s side, till at length they came to a big stone or rock.

Here the dwarf paused, and, knocking three times, the stone opened. Then the dwarf bade Hans enter, and, giving three taps, the stone again closed.

When Hans looked round, he was surprised to find himself in a fine large room, fitted up with every comfort; great couches, spread with soft rugs, ran along two sides; in one corner was the hearth, on which a bright fire was burning; and on the other side was a table with some chairs beside it, and covered with various papers and quaint instruments.

The old man put the child into a pretty little cot, and after he and Hans had partaken of some food, he invited the latter to rest.

Hans, nothing loath, threw himself on one of the couches, with his cat beside him, and, thoroughly tired out with all the excitement of his departure and the long distance he had walked, fell asleep almost as soon as his head rested on the pillow. But even in his sleep he heard the dwarf working at his papers during the greater part of the night

Next morning, after they had breakfasted and Hans was ready to start forth on his travels, the dwarf again thanked him for his timely rescue. [164]

“I can never be grateful enough to you for saving my child,” he continued. “And now I am going to give you three things, which I hope will be useful to you, though nothing can ever cancel my debt to you.”

“Indeed you owe me but small thanks,” replied Hans, laughing; “it was really my cat who saved your child, by killing the dragon ere I came up to him.”

But though Hans declared he wanted no payment, the dwarf would take no denial.

“You see this small stone,” he said; “it possesses the power of making whoever holds it in his hand invisible. This sword,” he continued, drawing forth a tiny but exquisitely damascened sword, “is both sharp and strong, and though small enough to carry in your pocket, you have but to express the wish when you need to use it, and it will at once attain its full size and strength. And here,” he added, “is my third gift. It is, as you see, but a tiny little ship, like a child’s toy, so small that you can easily carry it also in your pocket, and yet, whenever you desire, it will become as large as you may need it either to go on a river or across the sea, and it further possesses the property of being able to sail, no matter whether there is any wind or not.”

It was in vain that Hans protested he had in no way earned such valuable gifts. The dwarf insisted; so Hans was fain to take the precious treasures, [165]thanking him most warmly for his great kindness. He then bade him farewell, kissed the pretty child, who clung round his neck, and, taking up his iron crutch, shouldered his cat and departed. [166]

When Hans got down to the shore again, he drew forth the little ship from his pocket, and, putting it in the water, said—

“Ship, ship, grow larger.”

Immediately the tiny boat expanded, and behold a beautiful vessel lay there at anchor.

Hans got on board, and then, having said where he wished to go, the vessel sailed merrily along towards the kingdom on the opposite side of the big sea.

When they were halfway across, a violent thunderstorm came on; but though he noticed that the other vessels near him were tossed about by the great waves, his ship sailed straight on towards its destination, and never lay-to or swerved aside till it was safely anchored in its destined port.

As soon as Hans landed, he said, “Ship, ship, grow smaller!” and immediately the great vessel grew smaller and smaller, till it was like a tiny little model which he could easily put into his pocket.

Making sure that he had both his other treasures [167]safely stowed away, Hans, with his faithful cat mounted on his shoulder, made his way inland.

Presently he came to a small wood, and here, sitting down beneath a fine, big oak tree, near which ran a bright sparkling stream, he decided to remain for a short time, studying the people and their habits, ere he went on to the king’s palace.

Thanks to his faithful cat, he never lacked food, for puss went out night and morning, always returning with a rabbit or a bird for her master’s dinner and supper.

Meanwhile, Kurt and Conrad on their arrival had gone straight to the palace, and had asked the king’s permission to remain the winter with him. Although he did not really require their services, the king, seeing what fine strong fellows they were, gladly consented. So they joined the royal household, and were soon known as the merriest among the party, often boasting of their great feats of strength and the valiant deeds they had done.

After some weeks, Hans too arrived at the palace. At first he kept somewhat in the background, where no one noticed him, but whence he was able to observe everything that went on.

Now, the king had no son, but an only daughter named Gerda, who was both beautiful and wise. The king, who was getting old, was anxious to see her happily married; but, although he had received numerous offers for her hand from neighbouring [168]princes and other strangers who had heard of the princess’s beauty and wit, she had refused them all, for Gerda was difficult to please.

At length one day, just at the commencement of winter, and when all the foreign princes and courtiers were assembled in the big hall of the palace, the king announced that he had quite made up his mind to give his daughter, together with the half of his kingdom during his lifetime, to whosoever would bring him by Christmas Eve, the three most precious treasures in his kingdom.

These were, a chess-board and men, made of pure gold and silver; a gold-handled sword, set with precious stones, in a golden scabbard, and with an unbreakable blade, and which always killed your enemy; and a wonderful bird with golden plumage, which, when it sang, could be heard in every part of the kingdom, yet its wondrous melodies were so sweet and soft, that they were not too loud even when quite near.

These marvellous treasures, said the king, had originally belonged to his ancestors; but, during a great war with the giants, many years ago, they had been carried off, and were now in possession of a terrible ogress, who lived on a rocky and almost inaccessible island, and always kept these treasures in a cave, on a shelf above her head, and they could only be taken away while the giantess was asleep.

The courtiers did not pay much attention to the [169]king’s words. They had heard them before, and they also knew that all those who had ventured on this quest, had either never been heard of again, or, if they returned, were maimed both in body and mind.

Some of the foreign princes, however, started off, hoping they might succeed. But when days elapsed and they did not return, Kurt and Conrad thought they would like to try. Knowing how big and strong they were, the task did not seem an impossible one to them, and they were eager to make the venture.

Kurt, therefore, as the eldest, came first before the king, and said that if he could have a ship and crew, he would gladly start in search of the treasures.

The king at once acceded to his request, a vessel was fitted out, and Kurt sailed away.

After many days, he at length reached the island, but, being still daylight when they arrived, they kept well out of sight, and did not attempt to land till it was dusk, when Kurt hoped the giantess might be asleep.

Then, making his way cautiously to the cave where she lived, he peeped in, and there, sure enough, lay the great ogress, fast asleep on her bed.

Creeping cautiously along the floor, Kurt looked up for the shelf, and there he saw the three golden treasures.

He hardly knew which to take first, so he decided to begin with the most difficult one, and, cautiously [170]stretching forth his hand, laid hold of the bird, which sat on its perch with its head tucked under its wing, thinking to put it in his pocket. But, unfortunately, he grasped it too roughly, and immediately the bird began to screech so loudly, that the whole cave shook and trembled.

In an instant the giantess sprang from her bed, caught hold of Kurt, threw him down on the ground, and tied his hands and feet firmly with ropes.

“Ha! ha!” she laughed. “Here is another one! What fools they all are, to think they could outwit me! But this one will do nicely for my Christmas dinner when I have fed him up a little.” And with these words, and despite his loud cries and remonstrances, she trundled him into a small cave at the back. “And you need not fear that I shall starve you,” she grinned maliciously, “for I want you to get nice and fat; at present you are so thin, you are not worth eating.” So saying, she ran out of the cave and hurried down to the shore, hoping to catch some of the crew, and so fill her larder still further.

But no sooner did the men see the monster running down to the shore, than they rowed back to the ship with all their might, and, lifting the anchor, set sail at once, and were soon out of sight

When the men returned home and described the awful ogress who had raced down to the shore to catch them, the king feared there was but little hope that Kurt would ever be heard of again. [171]But after a few days, Conrad began to think that if he had gone, he would have managed more cleverly than Kurt, so he asked the king if he would fit out a ship for him and let him try his luck.

The king, anxious to recover his treasures, at once agreed; and full of hope, feeling quite sure his skill and cleverness would not fail him, Conrad started on his journey.

But, alas! he was no more lucky than his elder brother. When he got to the cave, he also found the giantess asleep, and, after considering which of the three treasures he should take first, he decided for the sword.

“The bird may make a noise if it sees me,” he thought, “whereas if I have the sword, should the giantess awake, I will kill her, and then secure all three treasures.”

So he watched for a few minutes to make quite sure that both the giantess and the bird were asleep, then stealing cautiously on tiptoe across the floor of the cave, he reached up to the shelf and stretched his hand out to take the sword. But, alas! in his eagerness he only grasped the handle of the weapon, and with a loud crash the scabbard fell down.

The bird began to scream, and in an instant the giantess sprang from her bed and had Conrad down on the floor, where she at once tied him up with ropes, as she had his brother.

“Ha, ha!” she croaked. “Here is another one! [172]Oh, these fools, these fools! But if they will only come on fast enough, I need not stint myself, for I shall have a well-stocked larder by Christmas-time!”

And ere he knew what was to happen to him, Conrad found himself inside the small cave beside his brother Kurt.

“Don’t be afraid that I shall starve you,” laughed the ogress; “you shall have plenty of food, and you must eat all you can, and get fat as quickly as possible, and then I shall release you;” and she grinned and laughed so loudly, that the whole cave shook and trembled as if there had been an earthquake.

Soon after the second vessel had returned to the court, the men giving the same account of what had occurred as those in the first vessel, Hans suddenly disappeared. He had become such a great favourite at court, that every one was very sorry when he thus suddenly vanished.

But he too was determined to try his luck, and see if he could not carry off the treasures, and so win the beautiful Princess Gerda, who had been most kind to him during his stay at her father’s court.

So one evening, just as the sun was setting, he walked quietly down to the shore, Puss as usual sitting on his shoulder, and, having placed his little ship in the water, and pronounced the magic words, he arrived at the giantess’s island about the middle of the day. [173]

Having landed, Hans took his stone out of his pocket, and thus at once becoming invisible, started off for the ogress’s cave.

Looking in, he saw it was empty, so, although he was invisible, he thought it better to hide behind a projecting bit of rock, in case she might knock up against him.

As evening closed in, the giantess returned. But no sooner had she entered the cave, than she sniffed about in all directions—

“Phew! it smells of humans here!” she muttered. Not seeing any one, however, she concluded it must be the two men she was fattening up in the inner cave. So, after a little time, she lay down on her bed. For some time she could not sleep, and kept on muttering, “Phew! It is very strange that I should smell those humans so strongly to-night! I could have sworn there was a fresh human here!”

At last, after tossing about restlessly, she dropped off asleep.

Hans crept forth softly, but the fire on the hearth had died so low, he could not well see his way, and stumbled over a small stone. In an instant the golden bird raised its head, but just as it was going to give a shrill scream, Hans’s big cat pounced on it and silenced it.

Then the giantess started up, and, jumping out of bed, began feeling all round the walls, swearing angrily. [174]

Hans knew that he must kill her, for, though he was invisible, if she caught hold of him she would certainly kill him. He therefore drew the sword which the dwarf had given him, out of his pocket and wished it to grow bigger. Then, when the giantess came near him, and stretched out her huge arms to throw him down, Hans, with one blow of his sword, cut off her head, which rolled away into a corner.

Hans then blew up the fire, and began searching round the cave; in addition to the king’s three treasures, he found several great chests filled with gold and precious stones. Then he noticed that there was a smaller cave at the back, and, lighting a pine knot, he entered and found his brothers. He immediately loosened their bands, and they were both so grateful to be freed from the terrible fate in store for them that they ever after treated him as true brothers should.

They all three then set to work and carried the treasures from the cave to the ship, and when everything had been taken on board they quickly returned to the king’s country, where they arrived on Christmas Eve, greatly to the astonishment of the whole court, who had quite given them up as lost.

But greater still was the surprise of every one, when Hans presented the king with the three treasures which had been so long lost, and were now once again restored to the kingdom.

The king was so delighted at having at last gained [175]his wish, and recovered the long-lost treasures, that he told Hans he should always look upon him as a dear son, and that he should certainly marry his daughter.

So Hans was dressed in royal robes, and very shortly after married the fair Princess Gerda, who had long secretly admired him. The wedding was held with all possible magnificence. No expense was spared, and gifts were given to all the poor in the land.

The king then divided his kingdom in half, putting Hans in charge of one; whereupon, he sent for his father and mother, and gave them a good house and sufficient money to live in comfort for the rest of their days. And the two elder brothers were also provided for.

Hans and Gerda reigned long and happily. Puss always had a place of honour beside his beloved master, and lived long enough to see Hans’s children and even grandchildren. [176]

Once upon a time, there lived a king and queen in a magnificent palace, surrounded by lovely gardens. Beyond them there stretched out great fields and meadows, in which grazed large flocks of sheep and herds of cattle, all of which belonged to the king, and beyond these again there was a beautiful big forest. But in addition to all this, they had an only child called Sigrid, who was known as the fairest princess in all the land.

Now, the king of one of the neighbouring kingdoms wanted to marry the princess, and as he was very rich, her father and mother thought they could not do better than give him their daughter.

But Sigrid much preferred her young cousin Olaf, who, having lost his parents when a child, had been brought up with her, and who was as brave and handsome as the king (her suitor) was old and ugly. [190]

When her father and the queen found that the princess would have nothing to say to the old king, they determined to send Olaf away.

“But we must be careful how we do it, and pretend it is for his good,” said the queen; “for remember, he has a fairy god-mother.”

So the king sent for Olaf his nephew, and told him he wished him to travel for a year and see something of the world.

“For it is not a good thing,” said he, “for a young man always to stay at home. Go, therefore, to all the neighbouring kingdoms, and see what is done in other lands.”

The parting between Olaf and Sigrid was very sad, for he feared that the king and queen would force her to marry the rich old king during his absence, and Sigrid dreaded the dangers that might befall Olaf during his travels. But they promised to remain true to one another, and that nothing but death should part them. And then Olaf started on his journey.

Now, on the borders of the king’s forest there lived an old man and his wife. The old man was called Geir, and his wife Trude. The old couple were very, very poor; their little hut contained only the barest necessaries, but they had one cow, and having no children, the old man and his wife managed to live on the milk from their cow, and on the roots they gathered in the king’s forest. [191]

One Sunday, Trude, feeling very tired, said she would stay at home and rest, while her husband went alone to the village church. The pastor’s sermon that Sunday was on charity, and Geir returned home greatly delighted with what he had heard. In the evening, as they were sitting beside the hearth, his wife asked him what the sermon had been about.

“Oh,” said Geir, “it was the best sermon I have ever heard. The pastor said that, whoever gave away what he possessed, it would be returned to him an hundredfold, and I mean to try it.”

“Ah,” said his wife, shaking her head, “I don’t think he can quite have meant that. You must have misunderstood him.”

But Geir maintained that he was right, and so they went on disputing for more than an hour without either convincing the other.

The next morning, the old man hastened into the forest, and getting together a lot of woodcutters, he persuaded them to help him to build a hundred stalls. His wife grew very angry, and scolded him well for his folly, as she called it; but he turned a deaf ear to all her remonstrance, and continued his work. When the stalls were ready, Geir sat down and began to think who would be the best person to give his cow to, and so get a hundred cows in return.

“Surely, there is no one so rich as the king,” soliloquized Geir; “he could easily give me a hundred cows for my one cow.” And thus thinking, [192]he led forth his cow, despite all the angry protestations of his wife.

When he had gone about halfway, a tremendous storm arose. Heavy black clouds rolled up from the north, the lightning flashed, and he could hardly stand up under the drenching showers of rain and hail, whilst the cow, terrified at the noise and darkness, struggled frantically to get away.

“Alas,” sighed the old man, “I fear I shall have to let her go, for I cannot hold on much longer. It is so dark, I cannot see a step before me, nor do I know in which direction to travel! Alas, alas! it will be a wonder if I ever reach home alive!”

While he was thus wandering helplessly about in the dark, bewailing himself, and not knowing which way to turn, he suddenly saw an old woman standing before him, with a large sack on her shoulders.

“What are you doing out in such weather with your cow?” she asked.

Then Geir told her why he had set forth with his cow, and what a rich return he hoped to get.

“You will certainly lose your own cow, in place of getting a hundred new ones, and probably lose your own life too,” said the old woman. “You had much better give me your cow, which is leading you a fine dance, and take this sack in exchange. See, you can easily carry it on your back, and I promise you, you will find it contains good flesh and bones.”

At first Geir would not hear of the exchange; but [193]finding the animal grow more and more restive and wild, he at last consented, and no sooner had the old woman got the cow, than both she and it disappeared.

After some difficulty, the old man managed to lift the sack on to his shoulders, and, the storm having exhausted itself, made the best of his way home, groaning and panting under his burden, which seemed to grow heavier and heavier as he went on.

At length he reached his hut, and told his wife what had happened to him, making a great to do over the sack he had carried, and all the good food it contained.

“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Trude, wringing her hands. “I do think you grow more stupid every day! It was bad enough to take away our only cow, and now you come back bringing an old sack!”

But Geir told her not to scold. She had better fill the big pot with water and put it on the fire, for had not the old woman told him the sack contained good flesh and bones?

Trude did as she was told, though grumbling the while, and when the pot began to boil, Geir went to the sack to untie it. But, behold, no sooner did he touch the string than the sack began to move and twist and turn about.

“There is something alive inside,” cried Trude, terrified; “open it quickly.” And when Geir had untied the string, out stepped a little man dressed [194]from head to foot in grey; even his hair and beard were grey.

“If you want to cook anything for your supper,” he cried laughingly, “I hope you will try your hand on something else than me.”

Poor Geir was struck dumb with amazement; but his wife made up for his silence, and jeered and laughed at him for his folly and stupidity.

“First you get rid of our only means of support, and now, when we know not how or where to get food for ourselves, you bring home another mouth to feed, and so add to our burden. You surely must have lost the little wit you ever had!”

And thus the war of words raged till the man in grey said—

“Your wrangling will do none of us any good. Rather let me go out and see if I cannot bring back some food for supper. We shall certainly not grow fat on your quarrels.”

So saying, and without awaiting a reply, he opened the door and sallied forth in the darkness, and ere the old couple could come to any decision as to who or what he was, good geni or wicked sprite, the grey man returned, bringing back with him a nice fat sheep ready killed.

“There,” he said, throwing it down, “now you can prepare some food, so that we may eat.”

Geir scratched his head, and looked at Trude. She returned the glance, and then they both looked at the [195]grey man. Surely he must have stolen the sheep! They did not know what to do.

But at length hunger got the better of their scruples, and, following the directions of Greybeard, as they called him, they cut up the sheep, cooked a portion of it for their supper, and lived in comfort on the remainder for several days. When that sheep was finished, Greybeard brought in another, then a third, then a fourth, and also a fifth.

By this time Greybeard had become a very welcome guest, and the old people wondered how they could ever have lived without him. [196]

And now we must take a peep at the king’s palace.

It was just a year since Prince Olaf had started on his travels, and as nothing had been heard of him from any of the knights or wandering minstrels who travelled about from one country to another, the king and queen told Sigrid that it was no use waiting any longer, and that she must marry the rich old king.

In vain she protested that she would rather not marry at all if she could not wed Olaf. But the king said that was all nonsense; princesses must marry. And so the preparations for the wedding were begun, for both the king and queen determined that the marriage feast should be on a most magnificent scale. All the neighbouring kings and queens, and princes and princesses were invited, and as the feasting was to continue for a whole week, all the royal cooks and bakers were busy from morning till night.

Now, the royal shepherd had noticed that, for some time past, one of the sheep from his flocks disappeared every few days. He puzzled his head to try and find out the cause, but so far he had not succeeded, and [197]when the fifth sheep disappeared he went to the king and told him what had happened.

“There surely must be a thief about the court,” he added. “That is the only way I can account for the loss of the sheep.”

On hearing this the king got very angry, and immediately made inquiries if any strangers had been seen in the neighbourhood lately. At first he could learn nothing; but at last one of the servants said he had heard there was a little man dressed in grey whom no one knew, and who lived in the hut of old Geir and his wife.

Then the king sent messengers to the hut, commanding the immediate presence of the stranger in the great audience hall of the palace.

The old couple were greatly terrified when they heard this message. They made sure that their kind guest, through whose means they had been preserved from starvation, would be hanged as a thief. But Greybeard did not seem the least frightened, and prepared cheerfully to return with the king’s messenger.

When he entered the great hall, the king asked him if he was the man who had stolen the five sheep.

“Yes, sire,” replied Greybeard; “I do not deny it.”

“And pray, may I ask why you did it?” demanded the king.

“I did not go very far beyond my rights,” replied [198]Greybeard. “Besides, the old people who live in the hut yonder, are no longer able to support themselves,” he continued; “they had no food, while you, oh king, have plenty, and more than you can possibly use. It seemed only fair to me, therefore, that they should have as much as they needed, of that which you did not require, and could not use.”

The king was at first inclined to be angry at this cool rejoinder; but he then became amused at Greybeard’s coolness—it just reminded him of what Prince Olaf used to do. So he laughed, and asked him if the art of thieving was the only thing he had ever learned.

“No, sire,” replied Greybeard, smiling; “I took no more than I had a fair right to, neither did I take it for myself, nor did I deprive you of anything you really needed.”

“Well,” said the king, “you certainly are a funny fellow, and always ready with an answer. But though I won’t hang you for stealing my sheep, I must give you a lesson. To-morrow I will send my servants into the forest with my young red bull. If you succeed in stealing him, you shall be pardoned, but if you fail, you shall be hanged.”

“I do not think I could steal the bull,” replied Greybeard, “for, of course, you will have him carefully guarded.”

“That is your affair,” answered the king; “see that you do not fail.” [199]

When Greybeard returned to the hut, the old people received him with great joy, for they feared they should never see him again. He asked them if they had a stout rope, as he would need it next morning. Trude searched in her cupboards, and luckily found a nice bit of strong rope. This she gave Greybeard, and then all three retired to rest.

At break of day, Greybeard got up very quietly, dressed himself, and, taking the rope, left the hut.

He went to that part of the forest where he knew the king’s servants must pass with the young bull. Climbing up into a big oak tree that stood close to the side of the road, he wound the rope round his body, and, crawling along a thick branch, he dropped gently from it, the rope under his arms, and his head hanging on his breast.

Presently he heard the king’s servants coming along with the young bull. As they came near the tree, they looked up, and saw, as they thought, the grey man, hanging apparently lifeless from the branch.

“Aha!” said one, “no doubt he has been robbing others beside our king, and so they have hanged him! Serve him right, the rascal; he will not trouble us again, or try to steal the bull!” So they passed on, quite satisfied that their enemy was dead.

But no sooner were they out of sight, than Greybeard climbed down, and taking a short cut through the brushwood, known only to himself, he was soon [200]well in advance of the men. Quickly climbing up another big oak that stood near the road by which the king’s servants had to pass, he again twisted the rope round his body and hung down from the branch.

When the men arrived with the bull, they were greatly surprised to see another grey man hanging from the tree.

“Could there possibly be two Greybeards?” they asked each other, “or was there some magic at work?”

“Listen,” said the chief servant, “we will leave [201]the bull here, run back to the other tree, and find out whether there are two Greybeards, or whether the same man hangs from both trees.”

So saying, they fastened the bull to the tree with a stout rope, and ran back the way they had come.

No sooner were they out of sight, than Greybeard quickly dropped to the ground, untied the bull, and led him away to the hut.

“Here, friends,” he called out to the old people, “here is food in plenty. Kill the bull; we will have a good roast of beef. You can then salt down the rest, and make candles out of the fat; but his skin you must keep for me!”

The delight of the old people at the prospect of such a supply of good food, can well be imagined.

The king’s servants meanwhile, having gone back to the first oak tree and finding no one there, had returned to the second tree, but when they found that both the bull and Greybeard had disappeared, they began to realize that a trick had been played upon them. So there was nothing to be done but to return to the palace and tell the king what had happened.

After hearing their tale, the king at once sent a messenger to Greybeard, telling him to come with all possible speed to the palace.

The old couple greatly feared, when they heard his message, that some evil was intended towards [202]Greybeard, and quite expected the king would hang him.

But Greybeard told them to keep up a good heart and not to weep; and, whistling cheerfully, he appeared before the king without any sign of fear or dread.

“Was it you who stole my bull?” asked the king.

“I did not steal it, sire; I had to take it, in order to save my life,” replied Greybeard.

“Well,” said the king, “I suppose that is true, I will therefore pardon you again, if you can this night manage to take away the sceptre from under my pillow without waking either the queen or me.”

“That is beyond the power of any man to do,” replied Greybeard; “for how can I get at night into your palace, which is always guarded? much less into your bedchamber!”

“Nay, that is your affair; you must see to that,” replied the king. “And remember that, if you fail, it means losing your life.” And with these words he dismissed him.

Then Greybeard returned to the old couple, who welcomed him as if he had indeed returned to them from the dead. Trude had roasted the finest joint, gathered a big bowl of whortleberries, and baked some nice crisp girdle cakes, so they had a great feast, after which Greybeard asked her to give him one of her nice sleeping-potions which she made for Geir when his rheumatism was very bad. [203]

“That I will gladly, my son,” said Trude, heartily. She quickly hung her pot over the glowing embers, putting in henbane and many other herbs, and when the potion was ready she poured it into a little bottle and gave it to Greybeard.

The sun had by this time set like a golden ball, tinting the great brown stems of the tall pines with a rich crimson glow, as Greybeard, with the bottle carefully placed in his coat pocket, made his way back to the castle.

Watching his opportunity when the sentry at the little postern gate had turned his back, he slipped through the gate and hid himself in a dark corner behind one of the great buttresses. Presently he heard the gates close for the night, so that there should be no possibility of a thief getting in.

When Greybeard thought he had allowed a sufficiently long time to pass to admit of every one, including the king and queen, being soundly asleep, he stole quietly and cautiously out of his hiding-place and along the great passages, till he reached the royal bedchamber. Carefully opening the door, he crept softly up to the big couch on which reposed the king and queen. Making sure that they were sound asleep, he drew forth his little bottle, poured some of the contents on his handkerchief, and dropped it lightly over the faces of the royal couple.

He waited for a few minutes to see that the sleeping-drops had taken effect, and then, slipping his hand [204]under the king’s pillow, he slowly and cautiously drew forth the great golden sceptre, buttoned it safely inside his coat, and, removing the handkerchief, he hastened back to his hiding-place behind the buttress, and as soon as the gate was opened at daybreak, he ran back to old Geir’s hut.

The next morning, when the king and queen awoke, the former put his hand under the pillow, and behold the sceptre was gone!

“Ah, that rascal has been too clever for us again!” cried the king, and immediately sent another messenger to Greybeard to summon him to the castle at once.

This time Geir and Trude made sure the king would hang Greybeard, and were almost heart-broken as they bade him farewell.

“Did you yourself steal the sceptre from under my pillow last night while we were asleep?” asked the king.

“Yes, oh king,” replied Greybeard. “I did not steal it, however; but took it, as you told me. I had to do it to save my life.”

“Well,” said the king, “you certainly are a clever fellow. I will therefore pardon you all you have done if this night you can carry off both the queen and me, out of our bed. If, however, you fail to do so, you shall certainly be hanged without hope of forgiveness.”

“That is not possible for any one to do unassisted,” said Greybeard. [205]

“Oh, that is your affair; see you to that,” answered the king, and dismissed him.

Greybeard returned to his hut. The old people were greatly rejoiced to see him, for they quite expected the king would have hung him; but he was more silent than usual, and after they had finished their evening meal, and the old people had gone to bed, Greybeard went out and walked in the moonlight under the tall trees, planning how to carry out the fresh task given him.

Presently he returned to the hut and took down the old man’s wide-brimmed felt hat that hung on a nail at the back of the door. Boring holes in the brim, he stuck in them some of the candles which Trude had made from the fat of the bull, and also fastened candles in his belt, and then, taking the great leather sack which Geir had made out of the bull’s skin, he returned to the palace and stood in front of the chapel steps which faced the king’s bedroom. Laying down the sack, he lighted all the candles he had brought, sticking them on his shoulders and wherever he could fasten them, and then rang the chapel bell.

This unusual sound in the middle of the night wakened the king and queen. Jumping hurriedly out of bed, they hastened to the window, and there, standing outside the chapel door, they saw a figure, all blazing with light. Greatly startled, they thought it must be a spirit. [206]

“Such a visitor must be received with all honour,” said the queen. “Let us go out and ask his protection and goodwill.”

So they put on their very grandest clothes and went out to meet the supposed spirit. Falling on their [207]knees, they begged him to tell them why he had come, and hoped he would not be too severe with them, or want them to give away too large a portion of their treasure. Greybeard, looking very stern beneath the light of the blazing candles, said he did not want any of their money, but they must both get inside the sack which he placed on the steps.

“Is that all?” cried the king, quite relieved. “Why, that is very easily done!” And, helping the queen in first, he crept in after her.

But no sooner were they both inside than Greybeard pulled to the string. In vain the king kicked and threatened, the queen adding her cries and tears. Greybeard quietly blew out all the lights, and dragging the sack rapidly across the yard, said—

“I am no spirit, oh king, but your old friend Greybeard. You see, I have got you and your queen out of your beds as you commanded me to do, and now it is for me to make my conditions. I will not let you out of the sack unless you promise me your forgiveness for what I have done, and also give me your royal word that you will grant the request I will presently make you.”

The king was so frightened and helpless, fearing that he might die ere Greybeard opened the sack, that he willingly gave his royal word to grant his request, whatever it might be. Whereupon Greybeard untied the sack, and when the king and queen had crept forth, looking very crestfallen, Greybeard [208]said that, as next day was the princess’s wedding-day, he had now to demand the hand of the fair Sigrid in marriage, as well as the half of the kingdom during the king’s lifetime; and, further, that old Geir and his wife, who had befriended him in his poverty, should also live at the palace, and be amply provided for.

The king, having given his royal word, could not of course retract, so he and his queen returned to the palace very sad and sorrowful, for now, instead of having the rich old king for a son-in-law, they had to accept this terrible stranger and lose the half of their kingdom as well.

Greybeard meanwhile returned to the cottage, and when he told Geir and his wife that instead of losing his life he was going to marry the princess the next morning, and that they also were to be provided for, they could hardly believe his words.

“And now you must put on these smart clothes I have brought you, and go back with me,” added Greybeard; and as soon as the old couple were ready, they returned with him to the palace.

The morning of the wedding rose bright and sunny, and the old king, who had arrived, was lodged in the palace. Leaving Geir and Trude among the assembled guests, Greybeard went down into the beautiful gardens, and there, seated on the stone bench near the fountain, he saw Sigrid, looking sad and pale. She had heard of the grey stranger and all his wonderful doings, and though glad that she was [209]not to marry this ugly old king, she could not forget Olaf.

Hearing a step approaching, she looked up and saw Greybeard coming towards her.

“Fair princess,” he said, kneeling down before her. “Do not fear me, but lay your hand in mine and trust me; believe me, I only wish to make you happy.”

His voice was so soft, and he spoke so gently, that Sigrid, despite his ugly grey beard, after a moment’s hesitation, placed her hand in his. No sooner, however, had she done so, than the quaint grey figure disappeared, behold! Olaf himself stood before her, and with a glad cry she threw herself into his outstretched arms.

Together they then hastened to the king and queen, and Olaf told them how, by the aid of his fairy godmother, he had been able to help the old couple who had fed and sheltered him, and also to claim his cousin’s hand, when his year of travel was ended.

The king having given his word, there was nothing further to be said, and the old king had to return to his own country.

The wedding was one of the grandest that had ever been seen, and the feasting lasted a whole month. Olaf and Sigrid lived long and happily together, and after the king’s death Olaf succeeded to the kingdom, which he ruled with such wisdom and goodness, that his reign has ever since been known as “The reign of King Olaf the Good.” [210]

Long ago, when giants and ogres still walked about the earth, in a far distant country, there once lived a king and queen. They had two children, called Thorwald and Ingibjörg; but before the children were grown up, the good queen died.

The king, who was very fond of his wife, was quite inconsolable at her death. He lost interest in everything, shut himself up in his own rooms, only coming out to sit and weep beside her grave.

This went on for so long, that at last his ministers came to him, and told him that everything was going wrong in his kingdom, and that there was a rumour abroad, that a neighbouring prince, hearing that the king no longer took any interest in his affairs, meant to cross the water and take possession of the king’s throne and lands. They therefore begged him to rouse himself and look out for another wife, and either go forth and seek her himself, or else send [225]his ambassadors to try and bring back a suitable princess.

At first the king would not listen to a word they said, but after a time he saw that his ministers were right, so he agreed to fit out some ships and send an embassy to several other countries in order to find some fair princess worthy to share his throne.

Soon after the ambassadors had started and were once fairly on the high seas, a great storm arose. The sky grew black as night, the thunder roared and the lightning flashed, and the wind blew so strongly, driving the ships in all directions, that the sailors quite lost their reckoning; their rudders were broken, and they drifted about at the mercy of the winds and waves. At length, after many days, they sighted land; but when they came near, they saw it was quite an unknown shore.

The chief men of the expedition now disembarked, in order to make some inquiries, leaving the sailors in charge of the ships.

For some time they could see no sign of any human habitation, and thought they must have landed on some uninhabited island, but at length they arrived at a small farm, consisting of a few wretched huts.

Not hearing a sound, and seeing no one about, they at first concluded the place was deserted; but when they reached the last hovel, an old woman came [226]forth, who, despite her great age, was both tall and stately, and at once asked them who they were and whence they had come.

“We have been driven here by the storm,” replied the leader, and he then proceeded to tell her the object of their search.

“You certainly have been very unfortunate so far,” answered the old woman, “and I fear there is but little chance of your finding what you seek here.”

While they were talking, the sun had set, and as the weather showed signs of again turning stormy, the ambassadors asked the old woman whether she could give them shelter.

At first she absolutely refused, saying her miserable hut was not fitted to receive people accustomed to live in royal castles; but, as the storm increased, they continued to urge her to let them stay, till at length she consented and bade them enter.

What was their surprise and astonishment to find the inside of this apparently miserable hut richly fitted up like some kingly apartment

Handsome skins covered the floor, soft couches ran round the walls, which were ornamented with richly chased shields and arms, and a bright fire burnt cheerily on the hearth.

As soon as the men were seated, the old woman laid the great oaken table which stood in the centre, and served the strangers with such dainty dishes as might well befit a royal table. [227]

“And do you mean to say that you live here all alone?” asked the chief ambassador, during the meal.

“I might almost say that I do,” replied the woman, “for besides myself there is no one here but my only child Guda.”

“And, pray, may we not see the maiden?” asked the ambassador; for they were all wondering what the girl, living alone with her mother in these strange surroundings, would be like.

Again the old woman demurred; but the more she pretended to hesitate, the more the ambassadors urged her, till at last she consented, and said she would bring her daughter.

When at last she entered by her mother’s side, the ambassadors were almost startled by her marvellous beauty. Tall and fair, like a stately lily, with a perfect wealth of golden hair, falling in shining masses to the ground, Guda appeared before them like the goddess Freya. Surely, they thought, nowhere could they find a lovelier maiden to fill the vacant seat beside the king’s throne.

So, without further hesitation, they at once solicited her hand in marriage, in the king’s name.

The old woman pretended to think they were only joking, and laughed at the idea of the king seeking a wife in a peasant’s cottage, adding that poor girls like her daughter had better remain at home, for such grandeur was not for them, and their ignorance of the [228]ways of the world only brought them to shame instead of honour.

The king’s ambassadors, however, would not be put off, and the more the old woman declared she could not part with her daughter, the more determined they were to take her away with them. At last, seeing the men would take no refusal, she consented to let the girl go, on condition that they would bring her back again, if, on seeing her, the king did not wish to marry her.

To this the ambassadors agreed, and then they all retired for the night.

Next morning the men prepared to return to the ships, and the old woman said her daughter would be ready to accompany them when she had got her things together. Then, to their surprise, they found she had so many packages that it needed all the ships’ crews to carry them to the shore and put them on board.

The mother and daughter now went down to the beach together, talking earnestly, but in such low tones that no one could make out what they were saying; but one man heard the old woman say, “Remember, you must send me back the big stone; I will manage the rest.”

And then they reached the shore, where the old mother kissed her daughter, and, bidding her good-bye, wished her all good luck and prosperity.

Then the anchors were weighed, the sails were [229]hoisted, and the vessels put out to sea, reaching their destination without any mishaps.

When the king heard that his ambassadors had returned, he went down to the shore, accompanied by all the chief officers of his court, to bid the travellers welcome, and when he saw the young girl whom the ambassadors had chosen for his queen, he was greatly delighted, for she was more beautiful than any maiden he had ever seen, and seemed as sweet and good as she was lovely.

He conducted her back to the palace in great state. There a magnificent banquet had been prepared, and soon after the wedding was celebrated, amid the rejoicings of the whole island. The feast lasted three days, and every one who saw the fair Queen Guda in her rich and costly robes, seated on the throne beside her husband, declared no more beautiful queen could possibly have been found, and though the king had loved his first wife, he soon became so completely wrapped up in Guda, that her word was law in everything.

Some months after the wedding, a war broke out in a neighbouring kingdom, belonging to a cousin of the king, who had, therefore, to start off and help him, as his enemies were too strong for him to fight them alone.

The king, therefore, ordered out his war-galleys, and, as he expected to be away some time, he, at the queen’s request, handed her his royal signet ring, [230]begging her to rule the kingdom during his absence, and be a kind and loving mother to his two children, Thorwald and Ingibjörg.

This Guda promised she would do. So the king took a tender farewell of his wife and children, and getting on board his ship, followed by his men, a strong wind rapidly carried the vessels out of sight.

For some little time after the king had left, Queen Guda was very kind to the children. She had them to dine at her own table, gave them fruit and sweets and toys, and often took them for drives in her beautiful chariot, with the cream-coloured horses.

Then one day she asked them to go down to the shore with her and play some games.

It was a beautiful morning; the sun shone warm and bright, the blue sea was smooth and glistening like a great sheet of glass, and as the tiny wavelets receded, the golden sands were strewn with lovely pink and violet shells and glistening feathery weeds of every hue and shade.

“Oh, Thorwald!” cried Ingibjörg, running up to her brother and laughing merrily, her arms filled with long trails of crimson and green seaweed. “Look how beautiful they are! Let us play at being king and queen, and I will make two lovely crowns.”

“No; come here, children,” said the queen. She had walked some little distance along the shore, and now stood beside a big square stone. Then, as Thorwald and Ingibjörg came near her, she muttered, [231]“Open, oh stone!” And at these words the great square stone parted asunder, showing a large cavity inside, and before the children knew what had happened, Queen Guda had pushed them both in; the stone closed with a snap, and, giving it a strong shove, she rolled the stone into the sea.

She then returned to the castle weeping, telling her attendants that the children had run away, that she had called them to come back, but all in vain, they would not obey; so she now sent out messengers in all directions, pretending terrible grief at their supposed loss. [232]

The two children meanwhile, when they felt the stone closing, tried their utmost to force it open. But all their efforts proved fruitless; the stone remained shut, and the children soon felt, by the rapid motion, that they were fairly out at sea, for, being a magic stone, it floated on the surface of the water instead of sinking to the bottom. The waves tossed it about for many hours, but at length the children felt the motion getting less and less, until at last the stone lay perfectly still.

“I think we must be near land now,” said Thorwald. “There is no motion at all.”

“If you think that, why should not you say the same words the queen did?” replied Ingibjörg.

So Thorwald waited a little longer in order to make sure it was not merely a temporary lull, and then he called out loudly—

“Open, oh stone!” [233]

And immediately the great stone parted asunder, and Thorwald saw they were close to the shore.

The two children then slipped out, and paddled through the shallow water to the land. But though they wandered along the fine dry sand for some distance, they could see no sign of any habitation. They therefore determined to try and build a little hut for themselves.

Now, Thorwald, although but a young lad, had always gone out hunting with his father, who had given him a small gun and hunting-knife. These and his flute, on which he played wonderfully well, the boy never parted with, and he therefore had them with him when he and his sister had gone out with the queen in the morning.

Fashioning a rough wooden spade out of some driftwood for Ingibjörg, he used his knife to such purpose that a large hole was soon dug in the dry sand. This he then covered over with branches cut from the brushwood on the rocks, and leaving his sister to collect dry wood for a fire, he went in search of some birds for their supper. But although successful in shooting a couple, there was, alas! no fire to cook them, and poor Ingibjörg, who was getting very hungry, looked sadly at the food they could not eat.

“You pluck and prepare the birds,” said Thorwald, “and I will go further inland and see if I cannot get some fire.” [234]

So saying, he went up a narrow valley instead of, as heretofore, keeping along the shore, and after he had gone some little distance, he came to a small miserable-looking farm. He could see no one about, so he climbed up the steep slanting roof of the centre hut and peeped down the hole which served as a chimney.

There he saw an old, very ugly, and dirty woman, busily engaged raking out the ashes from the hearth. But he noticed that half the cinders tumbled down among her feet, instead of into the ashpan she held in her left hand. So Thorwald made certain that the old woman must be blind.

He determined, therefore, to enter quietly into the house, and carry off a few live coals. First slipping down the roof, he crept slowly in at the low door, and then, watching his opportunity, he crawled along the wall till he reached the hearth. Then, seeing a small iron cup, he carefully pushed some glowing coals into it, and seeing no one else about, he made sure the old woman was alone, and while she was still busy raking, he crept out of the hut, and, much pleased with his success, hastened back to his sister.

Ingibjörg was delighted when she saw him arrive, and, the fire being all ready laid, a bright flame soon shot up; the birds were roasted, and the two children made a hearty supper, Ingibjörg’s merry laugh sounding again as gay as ever. [235]

Thorwald, somewhat tired with his day’s work, asked his sister to make up a good fire ere they went to sleep, so that it might last all night. But, alas! when they woke next morning the fire was out, so he had to go again to the old woman’s farm to fetch more coals.

This time he begged Ingibjörg earnestly not to let the fire out; but, alack! the little princess, though very willing and anxious to please her brother, had not been accustomed to attend to fires, so, though doing her best by making up a huge fire ere she went to sleep, it was out in the morning.

Ingibjörg even tried to wake up very early in order to put on fresh wood; but, despite all her efforts, each morning the fire was out, and Thorwald had to go every day to fetch fresh fire. [236]

Thus the brother and sister lived for some time on the birds and game that Thorwald killed; and Ingibjörg having made a net out of the long tough shore grasses, they also managed to catch some fish and crabs, and their days passed pleasantly enough, while every morning Thorwald went up the valley and brought away some live coals, without the old woman ever finding it out.

Once, after he had taken away the coals, he heard her mutter—

“Ah! those devil’s children! they are a long time in coming, but arrive here at last they must, for I made Guda promise to send them in the stone, and she dare not disobey me. Ah! only let me once get hold of them, and I will very soon put them out of the way.”

Thorwald thought these words must surely refer to himself and his sister, who had arrived there in such a strange manner. He was, therefore, very careful whenever he came to the hut for the fire coals, to make as little noise as possible. He sometimes [237]scarcely dared to breathe for fear the old woman might discover him.

Meanwhile Ingibjörg, who had been very good about staying alone in their little hut, at last became very curious about the old woman, and begged and entreated Thorwald to let her go with him some day. Thorwald, though willing to please his sister, was afraid to trust her, for he knew that the sight of the queer old woman would make her laugh; but he found it very difficult to deny her anything within his power to grant, and when, therefore, she continued to beg him to take her, he at last consented on condition that, no matter what she saw or heard, she must promise him she would not laugh, as, if she did, it might cost them their lives.

Ingibjörg promised she would keep quite still; so the next day the brother and sister started off together for the old farm.

When they got there they climbed up the sloping roof, and, with another warning to keep silent, Thorwald let his sister peep down through the chimney hole. But, alas! what Thorwald had dreaded actually took place.

The old woman, who stood near the hearth, was raking out the ashes so vigorously, that not only did she send them all over the floor instead of into the ashpan, but she made such a cloud of dust that she was soon completely covered from head to foot with a coating of grey ashes, and began to cough violently. [238]

When Ingibjörg saw this, she could not repress her laughter, and a merry peal rang out in the clear air.

No sooner did the old woman hear this, than she chuckled gleefully.

“Ha! ha! ha! So those devil’s children have come at last, have they? Ho! ho! ho! what a joke! Now I shall have them! Ha! ha! ha!”

And with these words she rushed out of the house. She was so quick, that she came up to the children just as they were sliding down the roof, and they might even then have got away, but that Ingibjörg, at sight of the old woman, could not stop laughing; she thought her still more comical-looking when she began to run.

But the laugh now turned to grief, for the old witch pulled some strong leather straps out of her pocket, and, fastening them round the brother and sister, she drove them back into the house. There she shut them up in a lean-to, and secured them firmly with another strap to two strong wooden posts.

The children at first were terribly frightened when they found they could not get away, and Ingibjörg blamed herself greatly for having, through her foolish laughter, brought about this terrible pass.

But the old woman evidently did not mean to starve them, for presently she placed a big bowl of bread and milk before each of them, saying—

“Now eat all you can, and don’t waste anything.” [239]

In the evening she again brought them food in plenty; and this went on for some days.

But, though they were not harshly treated, except that they were never untied, the children grew very weary and tired; the room was almost dark, the only light coming through the hole in the roof, which also served as a chimney. On the third day, the old woman took one of each of their hands, and mumbling and gently biting their fingers, she muttered—

“No, no! Not fat enough yet!”

Thorwald, therefore, determined to make every effort in order to free themselves; but this was no easy matter. At length, after many attempts, he succeeded in biting through the strap that fastened his hands. He was thus able to get at his hunting-knife, which he fortunately always wore beneath his tunic, so the old woman had not seen it, else she would certainly have taken it away. Then, waiting till night closed in and the old witch was asleep, he cut through the rest of the straps that bound him and his sister.

“But the old woman will run after us and catch us if she sees us,” whispered Ingibjörg.

“I have thought of that too,” replied Thorwald; “we must, therefore, make sure she is asleep.” And, creeping cautiously along the floor, he bent over the old hag, who lay snoring in one corner on a great heap of skins.

“She is sound,” he then whispered, turning to [240]Ingibjörg, having first carefully placed another thick skin over the old woman. “We must get away ere she wakens. Come, sister; don’t delay!” And, taking Ingibjörg by the hand, he hurried her out of the house.

“Now you wait behind that great stone,” said he, “while I cut and widen this ditch which runs across the road.” Then Thorwald set energetically to work with his hunting-knife, and ere long had cut a deep wide ditch, throwing up the loose earth to form a bank, which rose up between them and the hut.

By this time the old ogress had wakened up, and, not hearing a sound, began feeling about for the children. When she had tapped all round and could not find them, she began to scream and swear with rage, and ran out, calling loudly after them.

As soon as Ingibjörg saw her rushing along, her hair streaming wildly behind her, she could not help laughing out aloud.

“Ha! so you are there, you bad wicked children!” cried the ogress. “But only wait, just let me catch you, and I will teach you to run away! You shall be put into the oven at once, for you are quite fat enough now, and then I shall have a good meal!” So saying she ran along the path to where she heard Ingibjörg’s voice, but, unable to see the ditch, she fell in headlong and broke her neck.

Thorwald did not wait to learn what happened, [241]but as soon as he saw the ogress run after them and fall into the ditch, he took hold of Ingibjörg’s hand, and together they raced back to the shore, very thankful that they were now safe from the old witch’s clutches. [242]

Several weeks now passed. Each morning Thorwald first gave a look across the sea in hopes of seeing a ship or boat, and would then start off in search of birds and game, while, strangely enough, after the old witch’s death their fire never went out, and Ingibjörg, by carefully attending to it, was able to keep it burning both day and night.

Sometimes, when no food was needed, the children having laid in a sufficient supply of game and fish, Thorwald would take his flute and play, while his sister plaited mats and baskets out of the long rushes that grew near the shore.

Thus it happened that one day, while the two children sat on the shore, they saw several ships sailing slowly past the island.

Thorwald, who had just put down his flute, now took it up again, and began playing as loud as he could.

The ships came gradually nearer.

“Oh, Thorwald!” cried Ingibjörg, clapping her hands, “see, they are coming nearer! Oh, play louder, louder!” and she joined her voice to his flute. [243]

And sure enough, ere long, the largest of the vessels cast anchor close to the shore, the other ships still keeping out to sea at some distance.

And then, to the children’s great joy, they saw their father standing on the deck. A boat was lowered, the king and one of his followers were quickly rowed to shore, and in a few more moments Thorwald and Ingibjörg were clasped in their father’s arms.

Great was his surprise to find them on this lonely island, for he had heard nothing of what had happened in his own country during his absence, and it was only by chance that he had sailed close to the island, none of his people caring to come near it, as it was supposed to be the home of evil spirits; and when they heard the sound of the flute they thought it must surely be the song of some mermaids, wiling the king’s fleet to destruction by their soft sweet melodies.

But the king for some reason felt he must find out what it was, so had ventured near the land, the rest of his fleet keeping out to sea.

The king then asked his children how it was they were there, and when he heard what had happened during his absence, he grew very wroth.

He at once took the children on board his own ship, and commanded his people under pain of instant death not to breathe a word to any one of what had occurred.

The fleet was then ordered to set sail and return home with all possible speed. Arrived near his own [244]island, the king chose a quiet and retired part of the shore, and there he landed the children in charge of his own attendant, telling him to keep them hidden till he sent him word to appear with them at court.

The fleet then departed and cast anchor at the usual landing-place. Here the queen, arrayed in her richest garments and attended by all her maidens, came down to welcome the king, expressing great joy at his return.

The king appeared well pleased to be at home again.

“But where are the children?” he asked; “and why have they not come to meet me, as they always do?”

“Alas, alas!” cried the queen, putting her handkerchief to her eyes as if to hide her tears, but really because she was afraid to look at the king. “Poor, poor children! Pray do not speak of them! Soon after you went away, they suddenly got very ill, and though I watched and nursed them myself, the poor little things both died!” and Guda began to sob and cry in reality, for she greatly feared what the king might do if he ever heard the truth.

And no one dared say a word; for during the king’s absence Guda, urged on by fear of her mother if she did not get rid of her stepchildren, and also thinking that she could only govern by making herself feared, had ruled the kingdom with great severity, so no one dared say a word against her, believing that the king was still devoted to her. [245]

The king, wishing to get at the truth of the strange tale, pretended great sorrow at the news of the children’s death.

“And where are the poor little things buried?” he asked. “I should like to see their tomb.”

The queen tried to persuade him not to go. She said she was sure it would only increase his sorrow, and entreated him to desist.

But the more she urged him not to go, the more determined he was to see their tomb.

So at length Guda yielded, and herself accompanied him to the wood at the back of the palace, where, in a pretty open glade, she had caused a handsome mausoleum to be erected.

He greatly admired the beautiful carving on the stone, but he never shed a tear, which somewhat surprised the queen. Soon after they both returned to the palace, where the queen had had a banquet prepared to welcome home the travellers.

All during the feast the king still remained very silent and preoccupied, and next morning he again went to the mausoleum, and then said he meant to have the children’s coffins taken out.

When the queen heard this, she threw herself on her knees before the king, and begged and entreated him not to thus further increase his pain and grief. But the king remained firm. The door of the great mausoleum was thrown back, and two small coffins, handsomely ornamented with gold and silver, were [246]brought forth. But, behold, when at the king’s order these were opened, instead of containing the bodies of the two children, they were filled up with stones!

The queen gave a great cry when she saw her wickedness had come to light. She fell down at the king’s feet, and, sobbing and praying for mercy, she confessed what she had done, adding that her mother, the old witch, had forced her to do it.

But the king was so angry that he would not listen to her words, and ordered her to be shut up in the castle donjon till the Volkthing decided what her punishment should be.

Meanwhile Thorwald and Ingibjörg arrived at the palace, the king having sent a messenger for them, and great was the rejoicing among the people when they learnt their young prince and princess, whom they thought dead, were alive and once again among them all.

The children then told their story before the assembled nobles and vikings, and when Ingibjörg related how Thorwald had killed the old ogress, who had only been fattening them up in order to eat them, there was a flash of lightning, and a loud crash of thunder resounded through the great hall. The door at the lower end opened, and, to the surprise of every one, the queen, draped in a long glistening white robe, walked up the hall, and falling down at the king’s feet, she raised her clasped hands towards him.

“Pardon and forgiveness, oh king!” she cried. [247]“The spell that has nearly cost me my life, is at length broken! That terrible old ogress was not my mother, but a wicked fairy who, because she thought my mother had not treated her as well as the other fairies at my christening, condemned me as soon as my mother died, to serve her and obey all her behests as long as she lived. Now that your brave boy has killed her, I am freed from her wicked spells. And now, oh my king, punish me for the harm I have so unwillingly done; but, oh, let me live to prove my gratitude to you and yours!”

Great was the surprise of every one at the queen’s story, and the ambassadors then recalled to mind how silent and grave the young queen had been when they first saw her, even while she did all the old witch ordered her to do.

Thorwald also added his entreaties to those of the queen, and when Ingibjörg with a merry laugh threw one arm round her father and the other round the queen, the king relented. And thereupon the interrupted feast was renewed amid general rejoicing, the queen seated at the king’s right hand with Thorwald beside her, and Ingibjörg on his left hand.

There was no happier family in all the land. Queen Guda, having no children of her own, lavished all her affection on Thorwald and Ingibjörg, whose entreaties had restored her to her husband, and the reign of the king and Queen Guda was ever after cited as one of the longest and happiest ever known. [248]

In a distant island, long, long ago, there lived a wealthy peasant, who had three daughters called Alitea, Truda, and Hertha. Alitea and Truda were both fine handsome girls, but Hertha, the youngest, was by far the loveliest of the three.

Their house was not far from the king’s palace, and one day, when the three sisters were out walking, they met the king, attended by his secretary and his valet.

“Ah,” sighed Alitea, the eldest sister, “how happy I should be if I could only marry the king’s valet! I should then be able to see all the grand feasts that are held at the palace!”

“And I should like to marry his secretary,” murmured Truda, the second sister, “for then I should both hear and see all that was going on.” [249]

“Oh, if I had to marry any one,” cried Hertha, the youngest sister, “I should like to marry King Leofric himself! See how young and handsome he is!”

The king, who had noticed the whispers and eager glances of the girls, said to his attendants—

“I wonder what those pretty maidens want? Let us go to them and find out what they are talking about; I thought I heard them mention my name.”

The secretary tried to dissuade the young king from speaking to the girls, saying he was sure their chatter was not worth listening to, and that his Majesty had better not attend to them. But King Leofric would not be put off, and it ended in their all three going up to the young maidens. Then the king asked them what they had been talking about when he and his attendants came in sight.

Now when the girls saw the king come up to them, they were rather frightened, but he spoke so kindly and pleasantly that their fears soon vanished, and when he insisted on hearing what they had said, they at last confessed the truth.

King Leofric was mightily amused when he heard their tale. He thought the girls very handsome, especially the youngest one, and after chatting with them for some little time, he found them so bright and clever, that he told them their wishes should be fulfilled.

The sisters were so surprised to think their idle [250]words should speedily become real facts, that they were speechless with wonder and delight.

So the king and his two attendants escorted the girls back to their home, where the father’s pride may be imagined when he heard who the suitors were. Of course he threw no difficulties in the way, and as the king’s wishes were law, all three maidens were shortly married each to the man of her choice.

Now, although Alitea and Truda would have been quite satisfied with their choice had Hertha not become queen, no sooner did they realize how much grander was her lot than theirs, than they became very jealous of her, and though she did her best to be friends with them, giving them handsome presents, and taking them everywhere with her, their envy only grew stronger, till at last they determined that, no matter at what cost, she must be brought down from her high estate. So they plotted and planned for many a long hour, how they could best get her out of the way.

At the end of a year the queen had a little son. Then her sisters took away the baby in the night, and arranged that it should be cast into the deep ditch outside the city walls, where all the rubbish was thrown. But the old woman who had undertaken to do this, thought she would give the poor babe a chance for its life; so, instead of throwing it in the ditch, she placed it on the bank, hoping that some kind person passing might see it and take it away. [251]

And this actually did happen, for Osric, a poor old woodcutter, on his way home, seeing the pretty babe lying there crying helplessly, took it up in his arms.

“This is a strange thing,” he said. “Some one surely must have put it here purposely. But I cannot leave the poor bairn crying here.”

So saying, he carefully wrapped it in his old coat and took it home, where he fed it as best he could.

When next morning it was found that the baby had disappeared, the sisters told the king they were sure that the queen must have put away or killed the child; but, though King Leofric was greatly grieved at the loss of his little son, he loved his wife too dearly to blame her for the child’s disappearance.

The next year the queen again had a baby boy, and the news caused great rejoicings all through the kingdom. But that same night this child also disappeared, and the two sisters again told the king that they were sure the queen had caused it to be killed.

But King Leofric, though startled and grieved at these strange disappearances of his children, still trusted his wife and would not hear a word against her.

The following year, greatly to the king’s delight, the queen had a baby girl.

“Surely,” she thought, “this time nothing shall come between me and my baby.” So she would not let the little creature out of her arms day or night.

But she was weak and ill, and the second night, [252]seeing she would not lay down the child, the wicked sisters gave her a sleeping-draught, and as soon as her eyelids closed, they again took away the babe and gave it to the old woman to throw into the ditch.

When next morning the king heard that his little daughter, at whose birth he had so rejoiced, had also disappeared, his grief and anger knew no bounds. They quite overcame his former love for his wife. He would listen to no excuses, and ordered her to be thrown into the den of the big lion.

When the wicked sisters heard this, they thought they had now got rid of Queen Hertha. They were quite pleased to think they had at last succeeded in the wicked plot they had planned, without the king or any one else ever suspecting the part they had taken in it. [253]

But Queen Hertha was not dead; for the lion, so far from hurting her, laid himself quietly down at her feet, and when his food was brought to him, he would never touch it till the queen had taken her share.

So, while every one thought she was dead, Queen Hertha lived beside her powerful friend. At first she had been terribly frightened, but she speedily grew almost to love the huge beast, who, when the king and her sisters had been so cruel, had befriended her in her hour of need. Still it was at best but a dreary existence, and many times and often she wished she could but know what was happening outside the lion’s den.

As for the children, the same old man, Osric, who had picked up the first baby, had fortunately also found the other boy and the baby girl, and had taken them home to his own little cot, near the woods, where he brought them up as well as he could. He called the elder boy Wilhelm, the second one Sigurd, and the little baby girl Olga. [254]

He had tried at first to find out whose children they could possibly be, but one night he dreamed that a beautiful fairy came to his bedside, and said—

“Osric, if you love the children, don’t ask any questions about them, but bring them up as your own—their enemies will else destroy them. Let them wait till they are grown up.”

So he had kept his own counsel, and did the best he could for them. Strangely enough, too, he found that his barrel of meal never ran short, and with his cow and his little patch of garden ground they always had a sufficiency of food.

So the children grew up strong and healthy, the boys helping the old man in his forest work, and fetching the wood and water that was wanted; and as for Olga, she soon became quite an expert little housekeeper. But, though they wore rough, home-spun garments, they were good to look at, for they all three inherited the marvellous beauty of their father and mother.

At last, when the young people were grown up, the old man, feeling his end draw near, called Olga and her brothers to his bedside. He then told them how and where he had found them, and also mentioned the strange vision he had had.

“But now that you are grown up,” he added, “I should advise you to make all inquiries, and not to rest till you have found out who and what [255]you are, for I feel sure you are no ordinary children.” Thereupon he gave them his blessing and died.

Wilhelm, Sigurd, and Olga sorrowed deeply over the death of their kind foster-father, for they had loved him dearly. When they had buried him in the forest, they returned sadly to the empty hut and consulted together as to what they had best do in order to carry out his instructions.

While they were thus sitting and talking, the door of the hut opened, and an old man entered. He was dressed entirely in green; his hair was long and white, so also was his beard, and in his hand he carried a thick oaken staff.

“Good morrow, father,” said Wilhelm; “you are welcome, though we have not much to offer you. Pray take a seat and rest, for you look weary.”

“I have come a long way, my son,” answered the old man; “but though I am still hale and hearty, I shall not be sorry for a short rest. But you seem in sorrow or trouble,” he added, looking from one to the other. “Perhaps I might be able to help you, for I have travelled far, and seen many strange and wonderful things.”

“We shall indeed be glad of some advice,” said Sigurd, while Olga hastened to place a bowl of new milk and some oatcakes before the traveller. “Sir, we are sadly perplexed as to what we ought to do.” And the brothers then proceeded to tell the stranger [256]their story, and the advice their foster-father had given them.

When he had heard their strange tale, the old man said—

“I fear I cannot help you myself, but I think I know some one who may be able to advise you. You must know that about three days’ journey from here, there lies a valley full of strangely shaped stones. In the middle of this valley there is a rock, on which a large bird sits, who is very wise, and understands and speaks the human language. Now, I think you should go and see this bird, though I will not conceal from you that there is very great danger attending such a visit. Many people have gone to consult him, but so far no one has ever returned. He is, however, so wise that he can both foretell the future, and also reveal the past. Many princes and others have gone for advice to this wonderful bird, but one and all have failed in carrying out the conditions, which can alone insure success. You must know that whoever mounts the rock on which the bird sits, must be so brave, and have such strength of will, that, no matter what he may see or hear, he must not turn round or look back; for if he does, even for only a second, he will at once be turned into stone. So far, no one yet has possessed the required purpose and unswerving staunchness,” continued the old man; “but it is not difficult to mount the rock, provided you have the [257]necessary determination. Then, when you have mounted, you will have the power to restore to life all those who, through lack of will and strength of purpose, were turned into stone, for on the summit of the rock there is a huge jar filled with magic water, and he who safely reaches the summit may take some of this water, and sprinkle it over those who have been turned to stone; they will then awake to life, and regain their form and figure.”

Both brothers thought the task by no means a difficult one, and declared themselves quite ready and willing to undertake the journey. They thanked the old man heartily for all his information and advice, and then sped him on his journey.

Next morning Wilhelm said to Sigurd that he would start forth in search of the rock. But before he left, he said to his brother—

“If at any time you see three drops of blood on your knife when you are at dinner, you must get up and follow me, for you will then know that I have failed, and have been turned to stone, and that you must then try your best.”

So Wilhelm went forth, followed by the good wishes of Sigurd and Olga. But after three days, when the brother and sister sat down to dinner, behold three drops of blood were on the blade of Sigurd’s knife!

Hastily starting up, he told Olga he must be off at once in search of their brother. [258]

“And remember, Olga, though I hope I may be successful, if at the end of three days you see three drops of blood, on your knife, you will know that I too have failed.”

He then bade her a loving farewell; and Olga saw him start on his way, with many fears and prayers in her heart for his safety. [259]

It seemed to Olga as if the time would never pass. Each day seemed longer than the last, and when the morning of the third day arrived, she had scarcely courage to look at her knife as she sat down to her breakfast.

But, oh joy! the blade was bright and clear, and with a light and happy heart, she went about her daily tasks.

When midday approached, she again glanced anxiously at the table, but, to her intense relief, the knife beside her plate was undimmed by either spot or stain, and feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off her, she sat down to her spinning-wheel, which she had not had the heart to do before, and hummed one of her favourite ballads, to drive away the feeling of loneliness that crept over her. And thus the hours passed; then, as the long, slanting rays of the sun warned her that the day was nearly over, Olga put away her spinning-wheel, and got ready [260]her supper. She had placed her plate of porridge on the table, and, bringing a bowl of milk from the cupboard, had just seated herself, when, glancing down, she saw three bright crimson drops on the knife beside her plate!

With a cry of grief and horror, Olga sprang up. There was now no thought of food or rest. Not a second must be lost if she hoped to save her brothers!

Hastily putting on her cloak and hood, she hurried out into the forest, following the path she had seen her brothers take.

Evening was closing in, and the tall trees cast dark and weird shadows around her. But never for a moment did Olga hesitate or rest. Strange, uncouth sounds seemed to fill the air, and she could almost fancy that the clinging brushwood which often crossed her path, seemed like long arms trying to hold her back. But she had only one thought, one resolve—the rescue of her brothers; so she kept bravely on, putting aside every obstacle that obstructed her way.

At length, after a long and weary journey, Olga arrived at the valley in which stood the great rock. As she came near, she saw that the whole ground was covered with innumerable stones of quaint and varied forms. Some looked like people, some like animals, and one tall figure had several square stones at his feet, like chests or boxes.

But Olga, though her heart almost jumped into her [261]mouth at the wild, weird scene, walked courageously forward, turning neither to the right nor left till she reached the rock on which sat the bird, his crest raised fiercely, while angry flashes of light from his eyes almost blinded her. No sooner, however, had her foot touched it, than a loud rumbling noise arose, wild cries and screams filled the air, thunder pealed, and flash after flash of lightning filled the valley with a lurid light, strong arms caught hold of her and tried to keep her back, while entreaties for help sounded on every side. Once, indeed, she distinctly [262]heard her brothers’ voices, praying her to look round if she loved them. Steadfastly, however, with a prayer on her lips for strength and guidance, Olga went bravely up the rock.

No sooner had she reached the summit, than immediately the thunder and lightning ceased, the weird cries and screams were silent, and, as she approached the great bird, he lowered his angry crest, and in a soft voice, praised her for her courage and steadfastness.

“I can now tell you whatever you desire, and will gladly help you in any way you wish,” he added.

Then Olga asked that she might first of all be allowed to restore to life all those who had been turned to stone.

This the bird readily granted, and, filling the lid of the stone jar with some of the life-restoring water, Olga lost no time in sprinkling all the strangely shaped stones with the magic water.

They all immediately regained their natural forms; the still and silent valley soon re-echoed with the sound of voices, and as the girl stood there between her two rescued brothers, all the others came up to thank the fair and brave maiden whose courage and steadfastness had rescued them from their stony prison and restored them to life.

“And now,” said Olga, turning again to the wonderful bird, “can you tell us whose children we are?” [263]

“You are the children of the king of this country,” he replied; and then proceeded to tell them how the two wicked aunts, through jealousy, had caused them to be carried away, and had then accused their mother of destroying them, for which supposed misdeed she had been thrown into the lion’s den.

“But,” he added, seeing the grief and horror of the young people, “the lion’s mouth was closed, so that, instead of killing her, he not only shares his food with her, but has so guarded the cage that no one dares enter; she is still alive, therefore, though almost at death’s door through grief and all the anxiety she has endured.”

Then one of the strange figures who had been restored to life, and whom Olga had especially noticed as being taller and fairer than most of the others, and also because he was surrounded with several quaintly shaped chests, now came forward. He was a handsome young fellow, and stated that he was called Odo, and was the son of a neighbouring king, and that, having gone forth in search of treasure and adventures, he had succeeded in amassing a large quantity of gold and precious stones, and was on his way home, when he heard of the wonderful bird, who could foretell the future. He had gained the valley and was almost close to the bird, when he incautiously looked back, hearing wild cries for help, and in that moment he had been turned to stone, and his were the quaintly shaped chests Olga had noticed. [264]

The bird, being in a gracious mood, allowed the prince to carry away his treasure; so, followed by his servants, he accompanied Olga and her brothers to their home.

As soon as they arrived, they at once went to the lion’s den and liberated the poor queen—the lion offering no resistance—and took her back to their hut. Poor Hertha was almost dead with grief and anxiety; but loving care quickly restored her to health, and the delight of seeing her dear children, whom she had thought dead, alive and well before her, did more than anything to restore her and make her strong and well.

They then procured her some rich and fitting garments, and leaving her in the hut, they repaired to the king’s court and demanded an audience.

After some little delay, this was granted, for after the loss of his wife and children the king had grown sad and listless, often blaming himself for condemning his queen so hurriedly; for, when he had time to think it all over, he could not, despite her sisters’ repeated representations, believe that the queen had really killed her children.

When the sister and brothers were ushered into the royal presence, the king was at once struck by their noble appearance, especially with Olga, whose likeness to her mother was marvellous.

They then told him who they were and how they had been saved, and also that they had just freed [265]their mother, who was not dead, as he had been told.

King Leofric could scarcely believe he heard aright as they related their wonderful tale, the particulars of which they had received from the magic bird, and it is impossible to describe his delight and thankfulness to find that his wife, whom he had loved so dearly, was not only proved innocent, but was alive and well.

He immediately sent for her two wicked sisters, and when questioned as to what they had done, they began first to prevaricate, and then each accused the other of having done the wicked deed. But the truth was clearly proved against them, they were therefore both thrown into the lion’s den, where the poor queen had so long lingered; this time, however, the lion never hesitated, but eat them both up at once.

The king then eagerly went to fetch his queen, who returned to the palace with all due honours and splendour.

A great feast was immediately prepared to celebrate the happy restoration of the lost queen and her three children.

This feast lasted many days, for all who chose to come were welcome; indeed, it seemed as if the king could not do enough to show how thankful he was.

He remitted the sentences of many state prisoners, and all the poor in the kingdom received rich gifts.

When at length the feast came to an end, Prince [266]Odo asked the king for the hand of his daughter, the fair princess Olga.

Thereupon a fresh feast was arranged to celebrate the marriage of the prince and princess, and this was carried out with still greater splendour, such as had never been seen before.

Not only was the big hall of the palace prepared for the invited guests, but endless tables were spread in the great courtyard for all the poor and homeless, to whom abundant good fare was generously dispensed, for, Princess Olga said, as they had been poor themselves they must never forget their less fortunate subjects.

Then, when it was over, Prince Odo returned to his own kingdom with his wife, where they reigned in peace and happiness for many years.

Wilhelm married a beautiful cousin, and succeeded to the throne at his father’s death, Sigurd also married a lovely princess in a neighbouring state, and came to the throne on the death of his father-in-law.

Thus Olga and her brothers, after all their trials, lived long and happily, their children and children’s children reigning after them for many generations. [267]

There once reigned a king and queen, and they had one little daughter called Isolde. She was the loveliest little maiden ever seen; her skin was white as the driven snow, her cheeks looked as if pink rose-petals had fallen on them, her lips were the colour of the reddest cherries, and the deepest blue of the summer sky seemed reflected in her eyes, while her long fair hair, reaching almost down to the ground, glistened like gold when touched by the sun’s rays.

Having no son of his own, the king had adopted his nephew Fertram as his heir to the crown.

The boy was as handsome as the little girl was lovely, and his father and mother being both dead, he was brought up at his uncle’s court.

He was two years older than Isolde; but the children [268]were devoted to each other, and the parents often looked forward to the time when they would be old enough to be betrothed and married.

But the truth of the old saying, “the best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley,” was once again to be verified, for when Isolde and Fertram were respectively sixteen and eighteen, and there was talk of a great betrothal feast shortly, the good queen, who had gone out bathing in the sea on a raw autumn morning, took a severe chill and shortly after died.

The king was quite inconsolable at her loss, and after her funeral, he shut himself up in his rooms for many months and would see no one but Fertram and Isolde. Even when at length he again came forth, he seemed to take no interest in anything.

Gradually matters grew worse and worse, till at last the chief officers of the court came to him and advised him to marry again.

For a long time the king would not listen to them; but at length, wearied out with their importunities, he said they might go and see if they could find any one worthy to succeed his late queen.

So some ships were fitted out, and the chief officers started forth on their quest, they sailed on for many days without seeing any land, but at length they saw some rising ground on the horizon, which, as they came nearer, proved to be a rocky island surrounded by a low sandy beach.

Here the men landed, and following a narrow road [269]which led them up a thickly wooded valley, they presently arrived at the gates of a fine castle.

They looked to see if the warden was there, for the drawbridge was down; but no one was on the walls, so they crossed the bridge and blew the horn which hung near the gateway. Immediately the great doors flew open, and they entered.

Still there was no one about; so they walked up a wide flight of stairs, and presently they came out on a broad terrace. Here a handsome, tall, and stately woman, dressed all in black, came forward and bade them welcome; she then clapped her hands, and a pretty dark-haired maiden appeared, bearing a silver tray with flagons of rich wine and fruit.

The ministers were invited to sit down on one of the big stone benches, and while they were partaking of the fruit and wine, which was very welcome after their long walk, the lady told them that her husband had died in battle, most of his followers having also been killed, and that she was now living there alone with her daughter.

Then she brought out her lute, and sang to the men while they rested, and entertained them so well, that they all agreed they need go no further to seek a lady worthy to fill the late queen’s place; so they forthwith solicited her hand for their master the king.

At first the queen said she could not think of accepting the offer, for that she had made up her mind, after her dear husband’s death, to live and die in his [270]now deserted castle; but the more reluctant she appeared, the king’s ambassadors only grew the more urgent, until at length she consented to go with them.

Handing over the castle and all it contained to an old servant, she and her daughter departed with the king’s people, and, the wind being favourable, the homeward journey did not take many days to accomplish.

When the king saw the ships in the distance all decorated with flags and gaily coloured banners, he knew that the ministers must have been successful in their quest; so he ordered out his golden chariot, and, accompanied by all his chief courtiers, drove down to the shore, there to await the travellers.

At length the vessels were beached, and no sooner had the king set eyes on his bride, than he at once felt a great love for her in his heart. He placed her beside him in his golden chariot, while her daughter and the attendants followed in a silver one. And thus they proceeded back to the palace, where a great feast had been prepared, at which all the great princes and nobles of the land were present.

The rejoicings continued for a whole week; wine and mead were lavishly dispensed to all who came, and the tables literally groaned beneath the great dishes of fish, flesh, and fowl, interspersed with huge pyramids of delicate cakes and delicious fruits.

At the end of the feast, each guest was presented with valuable gifts from the king’s treasure-house, [271]so that all those who were poor when they came, returned home rich and happy, while the queen herself was invested with all the grandeur and power of her new position.

Strangely enough the new queen’s daughter was called Isolde, like the king’s daughter; but, though the former was very pretty, every one declared she could not compare with the latter. So, in order to distinguish them, the former was always spoken of as “dark Isolde” and the latter “fair Isolde.”

Now Isolde, the king’s daughter, did not live in the palace, for her father, on her sixteenth birthday, had built her a separate tower standing in the midst of a beautiful garden. It was fitted up with every possible luxury and convenience; rich curtains draped all the windows, soft couches, covered with dainty silks and cushions of cloth of gold, lined the walls, and bright carpets were spread on the inlaid, polished floors.

Here Isolde spent her days very pleasantly with her two favourite attendants Eya and Meya, spinning and weaving and gathering flowers to deck her rooms; and here Fertram would often join her, after one of their long rides in the forest, chatting and laughing and making happy plans for their future.

Soon after the king’s second wedding, the queen came to him one day, and, after praising his kind rule over his people, told him she thought he ought not to remain longer at home with her, but make [272]a tour and visit all his provinces to see what the governors were doing, and whether they were getting in the treasure rightly.

The king, who was very happy and comfortable at home, did not at first agree to this; but the queen at last managed to persuade him, and also advised him to take Fertram with him, saying that it was only right he should see something of the world, and of the kingdom over which he was one day to rule.

So at length the king yielded, and ordered his ships to be got ready, at the same time telling Fertram that he was to accompany him.

Though pleased at the thought of the journey, Fertram was grieved to leave fair Isolde, and the parting between them was a very sad one, for both felt that some misfortune was hanging over them, and yet they could not tell what.

A few days later the king and Fertram sailed away amid great cheering of the people, who crowded down to the shore to wish the travellers good speed on their journey and a quick and happy return. [273]

Isolde the fair felt terribly sad and lonely after her father’s and Fertram’s departure; she lost all interest in her work and play, and would sit for hours at one of the windows facing the sea, ever hoping to see the welcome sight of the returning ships.

At last, one morning about a fortnight after the king had gone, the queen came to her, and, greeting her kindly, asked her to come with her and her daughter dark Isolde and spend the day in the woods.

“I know a lovely spot,” she added, “where we can have a splendid game of ball, and then, when we are tired, we can sit down and rest and dine beneath the shade of the trees.”

Fair Isolde at first refused, saying she did not feel as if she cared to play; but the queen would take no denial, and at last Isolde, who had been very lonely since Fertram went away, agreed to go, together with her two maidens Eya and Meya.

It was a fine bright morning as the whole party set forth, and the sun and the fresh air soon made Isolde feel more like her former self. [274]

Laughing and singing, the whole party wandered merrily through the woods till they reached a lovely open glade, when they commenced a merry game.

Here, there, and everywhere flew the bright-coloured balls, tossed and caught by eager hands.

Isolde the fair was more deft in her play than the others, and never missed a ball; but further and even further flew the balls sent by the queen and her daughter, till at length they and fair Isolde were quite out of sight of their attendants, when the latter, running swiftly after a bright crimson ball, suddenly paused, for at her feet there yawned a deep dark pit.

“Oh, stop!” she cried, startled, looking round at the queen and dark Isolde. “Stop! Don’t come any further, or you will fall into this dreadful place!” But the words had scarcely passed her lips when she felt a strong push and fell headlong into the hole.

Then the queen, laughing wickedly, looked down at poor Isolde and said—

“Ha! ha! my pretty bird! How do you like your new house, fair Isolde? It is not quite so fine as your grand, beautiful tower, is it? But you won’t need such pretty things now, for you will soon be dead, and then Fertram on his return will marry my dark Isolde!”

“Oh, help me out! Don’t leave me here!” cried fair Isolde; “and I will promise, on the word of a princess, never to speak of this to any one!” [276]

[277]

“No, no, my young damsel! Promises are easily broken; but the dead tell no tales!” And, despite her tears and entreaties, the wicked queen and her daughter placed branches of pine trees across the open pit, and then covered them thickly with earth and leaves, so that no one, even if they passed that way, would ever dream there was a grave hidden beneath.

By this time the sun had set, and it was getting dusk ere they had finished their task; so the queen and dark Isolde hastened back to the palace, but ere they entered it, they set fire to fair Isolde’s tower, which was soon completely burnt to the ground.

The queen’s attendants, meanwhile, together with Eya and Meya, finding the queen and the two princesses did not return, called out and searched for them in various directions, but, seeing nothing of them, concluded they had returned to the palace, and so, as it was now quite dark, hastened home themselves.

On their arrival there, they found the queen and dark Isolde, who said fair Isolde had returned with them back to her tower, saying she was tired, when shortly after, to their horror, they had noticed flames bursting out of the windows, but ere they could send help, the tower was burnt down.

Poor Eya and Meya were inconsolable at the loss of their beloved mistress, and mourned long and sadly for her. [278]

We must now return to fair Isolde.

When she heard the queen’s words and knew that they did not mean to help her, but intended leaving her there to die, she wept long and bitterly; then, as hour after hour passed, and, though she listened intently, she could hear no one passing by who might have helped her, she sat down on a heap of leaves lying in one corner, and began to think how best she could get out. Then she suddenly remembered that she had fortunately that morning put on the golden girdle which had been a parting gift of her mother on her death-bed, and to which was attached a large pair of golden scissors. She had enjoined fair Isolde never to go outside the house without this girdle, for it had been given her by a fairy godmother, and had the marvellous power of preserving whoever wore it both from hunger and fatigue.

Isolde, therefore, after her first burst of grief, felt she was not quite helpless; the power of the girdle would save her from starvation, till she could once [279]again procure food. And meanwhile, feeling somewhat comforted, she took hold of the big golden scissors, and by working hard, and persevering in spite of fatigue, she managed to dig some deep holes in the side of the pit, large enough to give her a good foothold, and thus managed to climb up to the top, and work her way through the mass of earth and leaves the wicked queen and her daughter had piled up together.

When she at last got out, she wandered about the forest for some time, till she got back to the open glade, where they had played ball.

Here she sat down to consider what she had better do.

At first she thought it would be safer to keep hidden away in the forest, for fear her stepmother might find her and again try to kill her; but, on second thoughts, she decided it would be better for her to return to the tower, and so disguise herself that no one could possibly recognize her.

She first stained her face brown with the juice of some berries, and then with her deft fingers she made herself a quaint dress and large cap out of various coloured leaves, and thus disguised, she went back to her tower, and found it a heap of ashes. Feeling now certain there was a plot against her, she determined to go on to the palace, went round to the kitchen door, and begged the cook to give her a morsel of food, as she was very hungry. [280]

The cook, who was a kind-hearted old woman, told her to sit down on a bench, and fetched her some bread and meat, in return for which, Isolde offered to mend her clothes for her, as she probably had no time to do so herself, saying her name was Näfra Kolla, the sewing girl.

The old cook, who, although good at her own work, was no great hand with her needle, was delighted when she heard this, and told her she was welcome to stay as long as she liked, more especially as the king would soon be back, when there would be plenty of work for every one.

So Näfra Kolla remained, and when it was seen how clever she was with her needle, she found plenty to do, for the whole king’s household declared they had never seen such beautiful work as hers. [281]

At length the king returned from his long tour accompanied by Fertram, and as soon as the ships were in sight, the queen and her daughter drove down to the shore to welcome them home.

When they were all four seated in the golden chariot on their way back to the palace, both the king and Fertram were greatly surprised not to see fair Isolde, and asked why she had not come down to meet them.

Then the queen, pretending to weep, and putting her handkerchief to her eyes, said that some time after the king’s departure, the tower in which Isolde lived had been burned to the ground; no one could find out how the accident had happened, but they thought the princess must have carelessly left a light near some of the curtains.

This terrible calamity was a fearful blow to Fertram, so, instead of joining in the festivities to celebrate the king’s return, he shut himself up in his own rooms and would see no one for several weeks.

At last the queen herself came to his door, and as [282]she would take no denial, he was at length obliged to open it. When she entered, he saw she held a golden goblet in her hand, filled with wine. At first he would have none of it; but as she continued to press and urge him, if only just to taste it, hoping by so doing to get rid of her, Fertram took the cup and drank a little. But no sooner had he swallowed the first mouthful than he fell into a deep sleep, and lost all consciousness.

When at last he awakened, all remembrance of his love for fair Isolde had vanished.

The queen, seeing the satisfactory effect of her magic draught, lost no time in sounding the praises of her own daughter, until at length, after much persuasion, Fertram consented to marry her, and a day was fixed for the wedding.

Ere this could take place, however, the future bride had, according to the custom of the country, to embroider and make up both her own and the bridegroom’s wedding garments.

Now, dark Isolde was not good with her needle; she was very lazy, and much preferred idling about and gossiping in the stables and kennels, to sewing or spinning indoors.

In her perplexity as to what she had better do, for she wanted to marry Fertram, she sauntered across the stable yard to the kitchen, where the old cook was sitting on a stool shelling peas, and asked her what she would advise her to do. [283]

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself to be so helpless,” answered the cook, crossly, for she had no love for the new queen and her daughter. “It is all very well for a poor old woman like me not to be able to use her needle, for I have always had to work hard for my living, and my hands soon got too rough for sewing much; but for a young princess like you not to be able to embroider her own wedding-dress! Why, such a disgrace will be handed down for generations! But there, as you are so stupid, [284]I suppose I must try and help you. Fortunately there is a young girl here, called Näfra Kolla, who sews as beautifully as any princess; you tell her I sent you, and I dare say she will help you.”

When dark Isolde heard this she was greatly pleased, and at once ran up to her room and brought down the various pieces of silk and twists of gold and silver thread, and brought them to Näfra Kolla, begging her to make up the garments. This Näfra Kolla promised to do, and her clever busy fingers finished both the bridal garments the evening before the wedding. [285]

The following morning the sun shone out bright and clear, and every one declared no happier omen could usher in so auspicious a day.

But when the queen went to her daughter’s room to waken her, in place of dark Isolde, there lay a hideous dwarf in the bed.

“Oh, Isolde!” cried the queen, wringing her hands, “what can we do? How was it possible that we both forgot that this is the one morning in the year on which you must resume your own form? Oh, this is terrible! We must put off the wedding, and say that you are ill!”

“No, no,” croaked the misshapen figure; “if we once let Fertram off, I know he will never marry me.”

The queen remained lost in thought for a few minutes. Then she exclaimed—

“I know what we will do! I will get Näfra Kolla, the sewing girl. She is just your height and size. I will dress her as the bride, and under the thickly [286]embroidered veil no one will notice the difference. Then, after the whole party come back from their ride, you will have resumed your own pretty face and figure. You can then change with Näfra Kolla, and none will be any the wiser.”

“But will not Näfra Kolla talk about it or object?” asked the dwarf.

“Neither she herself nor any one else will know anything about it,” replied the queen, “You leave it all to me.”

In a short time the queen went to Näfra Kolla’s room, and brought her a hot cup of coffee.

“Drink this,” she said; “I am sure you must be wearied out with all the work you have done, and this will be a tiring day for you.”

Though Näfra Kolla was not thirsty, she did not like to refuse the queen, thinking she really meant it kindly; but no sooner had she swallowed the coffee than she seemed to fall into a sort of trance. It seemed to her as if she were Isolde again, and that this was her own wedding-day. She was dressed in the bridal garments, and the richly embroidered veil was thrown over her; then, after the wedding ceremony was over, the whole bridal party went for a ride through the forest. It all seemed like a strange dream to the girl.

As they passed the blackened ruins of Isolde’s tower, Näfra Kolla murmured—

[287]

Fertram bent forward on his horse, and asked her what she had said. But she gave him no answer.

Shortly after they came to a big lime tree, whose sweet blossoms scented the whole air, and Näfra Kolla murmured—

After riding some little distance further, they came to the deep trench.

Looking down into it, Näfra Kolla murmured—

Once again Fertram asked her what she had said; but still she remained silent.

At last, just as the sun was setting, they returned to the palace. Näfra Kolla dismounted and went up to her own room; but scarcely had she sat down, than a sudden giddiness seized her, all grew dark before her eyes, and she lost consciousness.

Then the queen, who had been waiting for her, came forth from behind a screen where she had been hidden, and, taking off the bridal garments, she hastened with them to dark Isolde’s room. The latter had now regained her fair form, and was quickly robed in the rich garments of the bride, after which the queen returned to Näfra Kolla and dressed her in her usual dress.

Presently Fertram came for Isolde, and, sitting [288]down beside her, asked her what she had said during the ride, when they passed the ruins of her tower.

“I really cannot remember what I said,” replied Isolde.

“But you must tell me,” said Fertram.

Then Isolde went to her mother and asked her what Näfra Kolla could have said. So the queen told her, and Isolde returned to Fertram and repeated the words.

But he felt strangely dissatisfied.

“I should also like to know what it was you said when we passed beneath the great lime tree, and when we came to that deep trench in the forest.”