CHAPTER IV.

HIS ESCAPE ON THE WONDERFUL HORSE GULLFAXI.

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 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 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.

“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 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.

LINEIK AND LAUFEY

In olden days, there once lived a king called Ring, and his queen Gytha, who reigned over a mighty kingdom. They had two children, a son and a daughter, who were both almost grown up when my story begins. The boy was called Siegfrid, and the daughter Lineik. They were both as beautiful in person as they were gifted in mind. No one in the whole kingdom was their equal; and they loved each other so dearly that the one was never happy when the other one was away. Their father, therefore, had a beautiful palace built for them, where they had as many servants as they wanted, and everything they could possibly wish for.

Here the brother and sister lived together very happily until the queen fell ill, and feeling her end was drawing near, she called the king to her bedside.

“Dear husband,” she said, “we have lived very happily together; but now my end is drawing near, and, before I die, I hope you will grant two requests I wish to make—first, if ever you marry again, do not choose your wife from any small village or lonely island, but bring your bride from one of the large cities in the neighbouring kingdoms. If you do this, good fortune will attend you. Secondly, never let any one or anything come between you and our dear children; they will bring you good luck and happiness if you always let them stand first in your love and affection.”

When the queen had spoken these words, she lay back and died. The king was very grieved at her death. He sorrowed so greatly that he never left his room and would not see any one, and all the affairs of the kingdom came to a standstill.

Then one day the prime minister came to him, and told him that there would be a rebellion, and that the country would go to ruin if he continued to shut himself up instead of attending to the affairs of his kingdom.

“It is far more kingly,” he concluded, “to pull yourself together, and try and overcome your grief for the sake of your people, than to sit alone and lament! Besides, why should you not look around for another queen, who will be worthy to succeed your late consort?”

“Alas! that will be no easy task,” said the king, sighing deeply. “I will not, however, gainsay your words. As, however, such is your advice, it is best that the responsibility of the choice should also be yours. I therefore empower you to find me a bride worthy to share my throne, and be a successor to my late wife. I only make one stipulation: you must not seek her in any small village or lonely island, but from some large neighbouring state.”

The minister, delighted that he had at last roused the king, and filled with the importance of his mission, promised to bear in mind the king’s instructions, and set about preparing for the journey. The king provided him with a magnificent outfit, and a large and imposing following, and started him on his journey.

When they had sailed for about three days on their way to the neighbouring kingdom, suddenly a thick white fog arose; they could no longer see where they were going, and for a whole month they sailed about first in one direction then in another, for they had lost all reckoning. Whichever way they steered their vessels, no land was in sight, and they were beginning to lose all heart, when at length one day they saw a faint grey line on the horizon; gradually, as they came nearer, they could distinguish hills and trees, and finding a nice gently shelving beach in a sheltered nook, they ran their boats ashore, and landing, pitched their tents on the strand. But not a single human being was in sight, all was perfectly still, and they thought they must have landed on a desert island.

While the men, tired with their exertions, were resting, the minister decided to go on a little way inland and explore; and as the sun was now very hot, for it was about mid-day, he bent his steps towards a forest he saw some little way ahead. He had not gone very long in that direction, when he suddenly heard a harp being played; following the sound, he came to an open glade, and there, sitting on a fallen tree, he saw a beautiful woman, so grand, so stately, he thought he had never before seen any one so enchanting. Her playing on the harp was so perfect, that it was happiness only to listen to her, while at her feet sat the loveliest maiden he had ever seen, whose sweet voice accompanied the harpist.

The prime minister doffed his hat and bowed courteously to the lady, who, on seeing him approach, rose and returned his greeting with much friendliness, asking him where he was going and what was the object of his journey.

The minister, quite charmed with her kindness, told her the purpose of his coming.

“How strange!” said the lady, “for almost the same thing has happened to me. I, too, have lost my husband. He was one of the great kings who reigned on this continent; but, alas! one sad day the Vikings came, they overran the whole land, killed my husband, and took possession of this country. It was only with great difficulty, and not without much danger, that I managed to escape with this maiden, who is my daughter.”

When the girl heard this, she said softly—

“Is that the truth you are speaking?”

A sharp slap on the ear, while the minister was looking at the harp, rewarded the girl’s speech.

“Don’t forget what I told you,” muttered the lady.

The prime minister, who had not noticed anything, now asked the lady what her name was, and whether he could do anything for her.

“I am called Blauvör,” she replied, “and my daughter’s name is Laufey.”

Then the minister sat down beside her and began to talk to her; finding her very clever and well-informed, and fearing that if he went further he might fare worse, he thought he could not do better than secure so wise and beautiful a wife for the king; so he made proposals for her hand in his master’s name. His embassy seemed very welcome to Blauvör, who said she would be quite willing to accompany him, and that there need be no delay, “for I have all my treasures here with me, and shall not require any attendants beyond my daughter Laufey.”

And so, without loss of time, the minister conducted Blauvör and Laufey to the shore. The tents were struck, and the whole party having got on board again, the sails were set and the ships turned homeward.

The dense fog which had accompanied them was now quite dispersed, and they saw that they had landed on a small rocky island; but all were too delighted at the thoughts of the homeward journey to take any notice of this.

A fine fresh wind drove the vessels merrily along, and after six days’ delightful sailing, they came in sight of land, and soon recognized the great high towers of the king’s castle. Then the anchors were dropped, and they speedily began to disembark, the minister at once sending a message to King Ring, to announce their arrival.

The king was delighted to hear that his minister had been so successful. He at once put on his grandest robes of state, and, accompanied by his chief ministers and all the principal courtiers, equally richly attired, he proceeded down to the shore to receive and welcome his bride.

He had only gone half way when he met his prime minister, leading two beautiful women by the hand. Both were richly dressed in gold-embroidered robes, and decked with rare jewels. When King Ring saw all this richness and beauty, he was delighted beyond measure, and when he was told that the elder and the most beautiful of the two was his destined bride, he thought himself the most fortunate of kings.

He thanked the minister warmly for what he had done, and in his joyful greeting of mother and daughter, he quite forgot to ask whence his bride and her daughter had come, but led them with great pomp into the city, and lodged them in the most magnificent rooms in the palace.

A grand wedding-feast was speedily arranged, and all the great people in the kingdom were invited, only Siegfrid and Lineik were not asked. The king was so engrossed with his beautiful bride, sitting beside her and talking to her, that he had completely forgotten them.

The wedding was one of the grandest that had ever been seen, and after this feast, all the guests received rich gifts ere they departed, and then at the end of the week the king began again to look after the affairs of his kingdom.

Thus some time passed quietly, the queen was always present when the king received his ministers, and though she never said much, whispers soon went abroad that matters were not as they should be. The queen wished everything to be done her way, and insisted on hearing all that was being arranged, so that King Ring began to think that his marriage was not, after all, such a great piece of luck as he had at first imagined.

As for Siegfrid and Lineik, the queen never asked about them, nor did she see them. They never came to the palace, but kept to their own house and grounds.

Then, after a time, some of the people about the court began to disappear. No one could find out where they had gone, or what had become of them, and it was always those who had opposed the queen in the council. The king, thinking they had gone away because they would not agree to the queen’s wishes, at first took no notice of these strange disappearances, but appointed other ministers in their place; and so things went on for some time.

Then one day the queen came to the king and said she thought it was time for him to make his journey through the country to collect the revenue.

“I have helped you so much in all your business that I can easily carry on the government while you are away, so you need not hurry home, but take your time and enjoy yourself,” she added.

The king did not much care to go away. He was getting old, and thought his prime minister might well have gone in his stead, but he was falling each day more under the queen’s rule. She was the one who settled and decided everything, and if any one ventured to oppose her they were made to rue it.

The king therefore fitted out his ships for the journey, but he was very sorrowful and sad at heart. When everything was ready for him to start, he went to the house of his two children, where of late he had seldom been. A warm greeting welcomed him, and both Siegfrid and Lineik could not make enough of their father.

When the time for bidding them farewell drew near, the king grew very sad again, and sighing deeply, said—

“I cannot tell you, my children, what a sad foreboding haunts me that some evil threatens you. If I should not return from this journey, I fear it will not be safe for you to remain here. Take my advice therefore, and go away secretly, as soon as you are sure that there is no hope of my return. When you start, remember you must go towards the East—you will then soon arrive at a high, steep rock; when you have climbed this rock you will come to a long, narrow valley. Follow this valley till you come to two beautiful trees, the one has bright, glossy green leaves, the other dark bronze ones. They are hollow, and so arranged that they can be securely fastened from the inside, the opening being invisible from the outside. You must each get into one of these trees, and as long as you remain in them, nothing can touch you.”

Then the king took a tender farewell of his children, and getting on board his ship, the sails were unfurled, and he started off on his journey. They had not, however, been long at sea, before a frightful storm arose. Peals of thunder rent the air, the lightning flashed incessantly, and the wind and rain lashed the sea till the waves rose mountains high and engulfed the ships, so that the king and all on board the ships were drowned.

That same night of the storm, Prince Siegfrid had a strange dream. He saw his father standing beside his bed, his clothes streaming with water. Bending over his son, he took the crown off his head and placed it beside Siegfrid on the pillow, and then passed silently away.

When Siegfrid awoke next morning, he told Lineik his dream, and they both agreed that this could only be a warning from their father, telling them of his death at sea.

They therefore quickly gathered together all their clothes and jewels, and ere the sun had fully risen, they were well on their way on the road their father had told them of.

When they reached the foot of the hill they looked back, and there they beheld their step-mother in the distance, following them. She looked so fierce and angry, and so big, that she appeared more like some terrible giantess than an ordinary woman. Fortunately they had passed the wood at the foot of the hill, so they set fire to this, and the flames rose so quickly and brightly that their step-mother was unable to pass it, and had to go round. This gave Siegfrid and his sister time to get up the hill, but it was a long and weary climb, and once or twice Lineik was fain to sit down, but Siegfrid took her up in his arms and carried her till she was again able to walk. At last they reached the narrow valley in which stood the two trees their father had told them of. Lineik chose the one with the bronze-coloured leaves, and Siegfrid, having seen her safely fastened in, got into the other tree, drawing the opening to after him. But though no one could look into the trees, the rough, thick bark grew in such cunning twists and turns, that those inside could see everything that happened outside, and the brother and sister were thus able to talk to one another.

About this time, there reigned a great and powerful king in Greece, called Menelaus. He had two children, a son called Tellus, and a daughter called Hebe. They were beautiful, clever, and good, and it would have been difficult to find their equals in all the land.

When Tellus grew to man’s estate, he distinguished himself by many brave and noble deeds during his numerous warlike expeditions, which often carried him far away into foreign lands, and while thus travelling in search of adventures, he had more than once heard of Princess Lineik, who, it was said, surpassed all other women in beauty, wit, and goodness; so he determined to try and win her for his bride.

When he neared the island of King Ring, the wicked queen, who by her enchantments was aware of his coming and also his reasons for so doing, prepared to receive him with all honour. Dressing herself in her most magnificent garments, she ordered Laufey to do the same, and then went down to the shore with her maidens to receive him.

The prince, on landing, greeted her with great respect, and asked after King Ring, whereupon the queen, drawing forth her handkerchief, pretended to wipe away her tears, and told him that the king and all his attendants had perished at sea in a frightful gale, and declared she could never get over her great loss.

“And where is Princess Lineik?” asked Tellus.

“This is my dear step-daughter,” replied the queen, drawing Laufey forward, who, ashamed and angry, had kept in the background.

The prince seemed much surprised, for though Laufey was very pretty, yet from the fame of Lineik’s beauty he had pictured the latter as much handsomer.

But the queen, seeing his disappointment, said he must not be surprised that the dear child looked pale and sad, having lost both father and brother at one blow.

Prince Tellus thought this was but natural, so he formally demanded the princess’s hand in marriage. As may well be imagined, he did not meet with any opposition from the queen, who said she would hurry on the preparations, but Prince Tellus said he had promised his father that the marriage should take place in Greece, with all due splendour, and that the princess must therefore return with him.

The queen offered to accompany them, but this the prince would not consent to. So Laufey and her maidens were escorted to the prince’s ship, and they set sail for Greece, leaving Brunhild behind, greatly to her chagrin.

They had not sailed far, when a dense white mist overtook them. The steersman lost his reckoning, and when at length the fog lifted, they found they had sailed up a beautiful fiord. The mountains with their snowy tops rose steeply on each side at the entrance, but as they got further in, the fiord widened, and grassy slopes shelved down to the golden sands.

The prince ordered a boat to be lowered, and getting in, they rowed on till they came to the entrance of a narrow valley in which stood two beautiful trees.

The prince landed to look at them. He had never seen anything like them before, and nothing would satisfy him but to have them cut down and carried on board his ship to take back to Greece.

No sooner were they brought on board than the fog lifted. The sails were immediately unfurled, and the homeward journey was speedily effected.

On his arrival, Prince Tellus at once led Laufey to the palace, where she was received with all honour. He gave her up his own magnificent rooms, which looked on the court where the great fountains played and the beautiful doves circled amid the fruit and flower-laden trees and shrubs. Here Laufey was to spend her days, while at night she retired to the women’s apartments under the care of the queen.

The two beautiful trees, however, Prince Tellus declared he could not part from; so he had them placed in his room, one at the head and the other at the foot of his couch.

Meanwhile the preparations for the wedding went on apace.

The prince, according to the custom of the country, then brought Laufey (believing she was Lineik) three pieces of rich silk, to make him three tunics; one was blue, the other was red, and the third one was green. She was to make up the blue one first, then the red one, and last of all the green one, which was to surpass both the others in richness and beauty of design. “For,” added the prince, “the green one is the one I shall wear on our wedding-day.”

Laufey took the three bits of stuff, and the prince departed. But no sooner had he closed the door than, sitting down on the couch between the two trees, she burst into tears.

Oh! what was she to do? Brunhild had never taught Laufey anything, but just let her grow up as she would, so how could she, who had never had a needle in her hand, make up or embroider these beautiful stuffs? And if the prince discovered how ignorant she was, would he not send her away with scorn and laughter, or perhaps even have her put to death for her deception?

And the poor girl sobbed and cried as if her heart would break.

Now, as has already been mentioned, Siegfrid and Lineik were inside the two beautiful trees. They could therefore see all that passed in the prince’s chamber, and when they heard poor Laufey’s lamentations, Siegfrid was so touched at sight of the girl’s tears that he said to his sister—

“Sister Lineik, Laufey weeps; Oh, have pity on her, And assist her with her task.”

Then Lineik replied—

“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother, All Brunhild’s wicked deeds, And how she endeavoured To kill both you and me?”

But after a while Lineik consented, and creeping forth from her tree, greatly to Laufey’s surprise, she told her who she was and how she came there. Then sitting down beside her, helped her so effectually with her skilful fingers that the tunic was soon completed, greatly to Laufey’s delight. Lineik crept back into her tree, and when Prince Tellus appeared, she showed him the garment.

“I have never seen so prettily worked a tunic,” he said, greatly pleased. “Now take the piece of red silk and let that be as much more finely embroidered as the stuff itself is richer.”

But when Laufey found herself confronted with this fresh piece of work, all her courage fled. How could she carry out the prince’s wishes? And she began to cry.

Then Siegfrid again called to his sister—

“Sister Lineik, Laufey weeps; Oh, have pity on her, And assist her with her task.”

And again Lineik answered—

“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother, Brunhild’s wicked deeds, And how she used all endeavours To kill both you and me?”

Nevertheless, after a while she again consented to help Laufey, and leaving her tree she sat down beside her, cut out and made up the red tunic, devoting even more care and skill than on the first one. All the seams were embroidered in gold thread, and precious stones bordered the neck and skirt.

When it was ready she gave it to Laufey, while she herself slipped back into her tree.

Prince Tellus was greatly pleased when he saw the second tunic.

“Why, this is more beautifully worked than the first tunic! I can hardly imagine how you have done it without any one to help you. Now you must make the third and last tunic. I will give you three days to finish it; and remember that this tunic must surpass both the others in beauty of design and richness of embroidery, for I shall wear it on our wedding-day.”

After the prince had gone, Laufey sat down on the couch, and felt very sad. How could she hope that Lineik would again help her? She had done so twice, notwithstanding all the ill the queen had intended against her and Siegfrid, and it was too much to expect her to aid her again, and, thinking thus sadly, the tears streamed down her cheeks.

But Prince Siegfrid was so touched by the poor girl’s grief that he again said to his sister—

“Lineik, sister, Laufey weeps! Oh, have pity on her, And assist her with her task!”

And again Lineik replied—

“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother, All Brunhild’s wicked deeds, And how she used all her arts To kill both you and me?”

Nevertheless, after a while, she again consented to help Laufey, and leaving her tree, she sat down beside her, and with her deft, clever fingers the work made rapid progress, and seemed to grow under her hands. This time she spent even more care and skill on the garment, and when, on the third day, it was finished, there was hardly any portion of the original stuff visible, so thickly was it covered with rich gold and silver scrolls and flowers, starred with rare and precious stones. Lineik and Laufey were so occupied admiring their work, as they sat together on the couch, that they did not hear the lifting of the curtain behind them, as Prince Tellus suddenly entered the room.

Lineik, with a cry, started up hastily, and was about to slip back into her tree; but the prince sprang after her, and taking hold of both her hands, led her back to the couch, where Laufey sat in fear and trembling.

“I have long had my suspicions that some mystery was at work here,” he then said; and, seating himself between the two girls, he continued, “Nay, do not fear me, but”—turning to Lineik—“tell me your name, and who you are, and how you came here.”

So Lineik told him who she was, and all about her home, and how she and her brother Siegfrid had come in his ship. And as he sat and listened to her, Prince Tellus thought he had never seen any one so beautiful and clever as Lineik; she was just like what he had always pictured her to himself. Then, casting an angry glance at Laufey, he told her she deserved to be put to death for her deception of him.

Then Laufey threw herself on her knees before him, and prayed for forgiveness, in which Lineik joined most heartily.

“I only deceived you about the work of the tunics,” continued Laufey; “for Lineik forbade me to say who had really worked them. You may remember that I never said I was Princess Lineik. It was Queen Brunhild—my mother, as she called herself—who thus deceived you.”

And while they were thus talking, Prince Siegfrid came forth from his tree, whereupon there were fresh explanations and much rejoicing that the mystery was explained; and Prince Tellus lost no time in claiming the hand of the rightful Princess Lineik. But Lineik said she could not promise to marry any one till her wicked stepmother, who had wrought such ill to every one, was driven forth from the kingdom she had usurped.

And now Laufey had a wondrous tale to tell. Brunhild was no queen, but a wicked ogress, who reigned over the lonely island, where the Prime Minister had found her. There she had lived in a huge cave, together with other giants and ogres.

“I also am a king’s daughter,” continued Laufey. “But Brunhild, with great skill and cunning, stole me away one day when I was playing in the fields with my little companions. She threatened to kill me if I did not obey her in everything, and called me her daughter, for she thought people would then imagine she also came of a kingly race. It was she who killed your father,” continued Laufey, turning to Siegfrid, “and all those people at your court who disappeared so mysteriously were eaten by her at night; for all ogres love human flesh. Her object was to get rid of all your chief people, and then bring over her friends the giants from the stony island, so that they might all live in your rich and fruitful kingdom.”

When they had heard this tale, Siegfrid said he must at once return home and save his country from the giants. Prince Tellus declared he would accompany him, for it was an adventure quite after his own heart. So they got together a large force, and setting sail, a favourable wind speedily brought them to the island, where they landed, and surrounded the castle before Brunhild had even heard of their arrival; for very few people were about, the greater portion having been killed by Brunhild, and the rest having fled and hidden themselves to escape from the wicked queen.

So there was but little attempt at defence, and Brunhild was taken prisoner. When she saw that her wicked plans had been discovered, and that there was no hope of escape, she screamed and raved like a madwoman. But her wicked deeds deserved no pardon. She was condemned to death, and her head cut off, after which her body was burnt on a huge funeral pile in the yard of the castle.

Then the two princes returned to Greece, and a very gay and splendid double wedding took place, at which all the greatest nobles of the kingdom took part; for on his return, Siegfrid, who during the test of the tunics had lost his heart to Laufey, now proposed for her hand.

After the festivities were over, he and his fair bride returned to his island, and great were the rejoicings that the kingdom was again under the rule of a just and kind sovereign. He and Laufey reigned long and happily, and visits were often interchanged between them and Prince Tellus and his bride Lineik, who in time became known as the wisest and best among all the rulers of Greece.

THE FIVE BROTHERS

Once upon a time, long years ago, when giants still lived upon the earth, there dwelt an old man and his wife in a small wooden hut, sheltered from the rough winter winds by the tall mountains and rocks that surrounded it. The world would have said they were very poor; but they thought themselves rich, for they had five handsome, healthy boys, who were the delight of their eyes. There was only a year’s difference in age between the lads, and they were always together.

One day, the old couple went to cut grass on a slope some distance off, leaving the boys alone at home. It was a bright, warm morning, and, tired of playing indoors, the children went out into the little garden, and soon their merry shouts were heard echoing from the hills. Presently, up the path towards them came an old woman, feeble and lame.

“May an old woman beg for a draught of water?” she said, in a weak voice.

Stopping their games at once, the eldest boy ran to the well, while the others made her sit down by the door and rest. In a moment he was back with a pitcher of cool, sparkling water.

“There, grannie,” he said, “that will refresh you. I let the bucket run down ever so far, to make the water nice and cold.”

The old dame thanked him heartily, and, having quenched her thirst, asked what their names were. The boys laughed merrily.

“We have no names,” they said. “We are all so near in age that we do everything together; and when father or mother want anything they just call out ‘Boys!’ and there we are, always at hand.”

“You have kind hearts,” the old woman said; “you are good to the aged and feeble. I was nearly dying of thirst, and could not have gone further without your help. Would that I could reward you as I should like! Alas! I have not the power. But one thing I can do for you. You shall no longer be nameless. I am going to bestow a name on each. You, my young cup-bearer,” turning to the eldest boy, “shall be called ‘Watchwell;’ your brothers, ‘Holdwell,’ ‘Hitwell,’ ‘Spywell,’ and ‘Climbwell.’ May these names in the future bring you good fortune, as a reward for your kindness to a poor old woman.”

Then she bade them good-bye, reminded them once more of their names, told them to act up to them, and turned away down the path.

In the evening, when their parents returned, the boys related what had occurred, and repeated the strange names they had been given. The old people were much astonished, and asked where the stranger had come from, and all particulars about her. But the boys could only tell what had happened, and the whole thing would soon have been forgotten, had it not been for the names. These they did not forget, and, strange to say, the more they were used the more the owner of each name seemed to develop the special quality that his name denoted, Watchwell, in addition, constituting himself the general guardian of the five. Was there a burden to carry, Holdwell’s strong arms were ready. Did the parents require faggots for the winter, Hitwell would cut a pile, up in the dark pine woods on the mountains, that gladdened their hearts. Not a rabbit or bird could escape the keen eyes of Spywell, and by constant practice little Climbwell could scale the steepest cliffs along the fiord.

Years rolled on; the bright boys had grown up into tall, handsome young men, and all this time they had never crossed the high rocky hills that walled in their valley, never seen the great world that lay outside. But, now that they were men, a great wish was rising in their hearts to go forth from the old home and play their part among other men. The old people gave them their blessing, and bade them continue to stand by one another as they had ever done, for, if they only did that, there was nothing they could not achieve.

And so the young men departed, following the steep track over the high mountains at first, and then gradually leaving the hill country behind them as they went ever onwards. Sometimes they rested at a farmhouse, sometimes in a village, but nowhere did they find any permanent work. Many a farmer would gladly have engaged Watchwell and Spywell to guard his flocks, but he had no employment for Holdwell and Climbwell, and when the two last could have joined the village lads in fishing or seabird hunting, there was, again, no post for the other three. Still, they would not be discouraged. They had stout hearts and strong limbs, and the good fortune they sought must be found elsewhere. So on they went, climbing high mountains and fording swift rivers, till at last they entered an interminable dark pine wood with a tangled undergrowth of brambles and tall ferns. Hitwell cleared a path before them, and at length they emerged on a vast plain.

The sun was setting, and pouring a flood of crimson, gold, and purple over the scene before them. The rays lit up the tall spires and high grey walls of a large city, and turned the broad, flowing river that encircled it into molten gold.

The brothers stood still entranced.

“It must be the city of the king,” cried Watchwell, at length.

“Yes,” said Spywell; “look, there is the royal flag flying on the tower of the palace.”

They soon traversed the plain, and as darkness began to fall, they arrived at the great drawbridge over the river, and were directed to the palace by the warder. The king received them, and listened to their request for employment in his service. The brothers were such fine, handsome fellows that he was much taken with them as they stood before him. They were very tall, and had bright blue eyes, and fair curling hair. He told them that he could give employment to all five, if they would remain throughout the winter at his court, and watch and guard his daughters at the coming Christmas Eve.

“Do not, however, pledge yourselves to stay, until you learn the nature of the task that lies before you,” he said. “For I have made a vow that the life of the next man who fails in this duty shall be forfeited. Perhaps you five brothers acting together can be more careful than strangers. Now listen. Two years ago,” he went on, “I had five fair daughters, but, alas! the Christmas before last my golden-haired Elma disappeared mysteriously in the dead of night. Search was made in all directions; no trace of her could be found. Last Christmas Eve the princesses’ apartments were carefully watched and guarded; no strangers were admitted, only old and faithful servants were near them. But when morning came, Irene, my second daughter, was nowhere to be found, nor was there any sign of her captors’ footsteps near the window of the room where she slept. I have now made a vow, and I shall keep it; but I also offer a reward. He who defends them faithfully this year shall wed the next eldest princess who would without his care have disappeared, and he shall be to me as a son. It will be death or honour. Choose, young men, now, while you are still quite free.”

“We will stay and guard the princesses,” they cried with one voice. “It is a task that will call all our qualities into full play. No robber can escape the eyes of Spywell, Holdwell will act up to his name, till Climbwell and Hitwell reach him, and I,” and Watchwell drew himself up proudly, “I will be the one to forfeit my life if we fail.”

So they remained at the court, and became great favourites with the king, who began to feel almost sorry that he had imposed sentence of death on the man who should fail to defend his daughters. He, therefore, determined to do what he could to make them safe, and caused a great tower to be built on to the palace with thick walls and windows very high up, and here the princesses were to sleep on Christmas Eve.

And now the time drew near. As usual great festivities were held for several days. On the last night, when the dancing and merry-making were all over, the three princesses—Frida, Ida, and Meya—were led to the tower by the king, attended by their ladies. As they lay down on the big couch, covered with silken embroideries, he bade them a last good night, and charged the five brothers to guard them with their lives. Then he left the tower, double locking the great iron door that led into the rest of the castle. All was still. The brothers lay down on a rough bench in the ante-chamber, but the door of the princesses’ room was wide open, and a lamp was kept burning there.

It had been a long and tiring day, and the younger brothers were soon fast asleep. But Watchwell never closed an eye. Wrapped in his long cloak, he leant against the wall and watched.

The night drew on. But what was that? He thought he saw a dark shadow slowly approach the window of the princesses’ room. As he looked, a monstrous hand opened the lattice, and stretched out gropingly towards the couch on which the king’s daughters lay asleep.

Watchwell touched his brothers. In an instant Holdwell had grasped the mysterious hand so tightly that the owner could not move it; and Hitwell, with one blow of his sword, severed it from the wrist. A terrible wild cry of pain and baffled anger filled the air, and, looking forth, the brothers saw a fearful giant striding rapidly away from the palace, and shaking his remaining hand threateningly towards the tower. The noise had aroused the king, who was quickly on the spot, while Watchwell and his brothers hurried after the monster. Faster and faster he went, seeing he was pursued, but, though he was speedily out of sight, Spywell’s keen eye traced his footsteps all the way.

On, on, on, they went, till at last they came to the foot of a high mountain. Steep and precipitous before them the sides rose up—no foothold to be seen anywhere. Climbwell, however, never hesitated. He showed his brothers a strong silken cord that he always carried with him, then, making a bold spring to a tiny ledge he had noticed, he commenced to climb, never taking a false step, till he reached the summit in safety. Then, lowering the silken rope, he drew up his brothers one after the other.

When they reached the top they found an enormous cavern, and just inside the entrance sat a huge giantess, on a low stool, crying bitterly. The brothers asked what ailed her.

“What matters it to you?” she said, and cried more than ever. But at last she told them that the previous night her husband had lost one of his hands, and she feared he would die, he was in such terrible pain. Then they told her that they could heal her husband if she would let them in, but “no one,” they said, “must be there but ourselves; we must bind all others lest they should find out the secret of our healing power.”

The giantess, who was quite as wicked as her husband, and had hoped to entice these young men, by her pretended grief, into the cavern, so as to provide a dinner for herself and her husband, did not at all like the suggestion of being bound. But she thought, perhaps, they might be able to heal her husband first, so she submitted for the moment, comforting herself with the hope that she could easily break the rope and set herself free when the young men had cured her husband.

Holdwell bound her with Climbwell’s strong silken rope, and then they passed into the inner cavern. The giant was lying on his couch, and gave a howl of rage when he saw them. But, crippled by the loss of his hand, he was no match for the young men, who speedily put an end to him. Then they also killed the wicked giantess, who had quite a heap of human bones beside her, and proceeded to explore the inner cavern. They thought it might, perhaps, contain some hidden treasure. But nothing was to be found, and they were on the point of leaving, when Spywell descried a small door cunningly let into the rock. Speedily breaking it open, a subterranean passage was seen, leading to another cavern, and there they discovered the two lost princesses—Elma, very pale and emaciated; whilst Irene, who had not been imprisoned so long, was more rosy and not so thin. The giant had evidently intended securing all five princesses before eating them.

The king’s daughters were greatly overjoyed when they saw their noble deliverers, and heard that they were prisoners no longer. They quickly departed, Spywell and Climbwell having discovered an easier road for them to return by.

They arrived at the palace as night was falling, and the joy of the king at having his five daughters united once more can well be imagined.

A great banquet was hastily prepared, and before the assembled nobles and guests he related the brave deeds of Watchwell and his brothers, and announced that he had decided to wed his five daughters to the five heroes. “It is but right and fitting that men such as these, brave, noble and true, should reign over this land when I am gone,” he said, “and to whom could I more worthily entrust my dear daughters than to those who have saved their lives?”

Never was there so magnificent a wedding-feast. It lasted a whole month, and the dresses of the five princesses were perfect marvels of gold and silver embroidery and precious stones. Then to each brother was appointed a position in the State which would call his special quality into play. They lived long and happily with their respective wives, greatly beloved and honoured by all, and when at length the old king died, Watchwell succeeded to the throne, and his wise and good reign, together with his beautiful and beloved Queen Elma, is still spoken of to this day.

HERMOD AND HADVÖR

In the days long ago, there lived a king and queen. They had an only child, called Hadvör, who was not only the heiress to the crown, but was also the most beautiful maiden ever seen.

Now, the king and queen, having no son of their own, had adopted the child of a friend. The boy was called Hermod; he was about the same age as Hadvör, and equally well-skilled in all knowledge that pertains to a young prince.

The young people had played together ever since they could remember anything, and the friendship of their childhood only strengthened as they grew older, and they promised to continue true to one another, no matter what might happen.

When they were about eighteen years old, the good queen sickened, and, feeling that her end was drawing near, she called the king to her bedside.

“Dear husband,” she said, “I feel I have not long to live. Pray, therefore, grant me the last request I shall ever make you. I know how lonely you will be without me, and I hope, therefore, that you will marry again. But, if you do, let it be the good queen of Hetland, who has lately lost her husband, and who, having no children, will love our dear ones as if they were her own.”

The king, overwhelmed with grief, promised to do as she wished; and the queen died peacefully.

For some time the king could think of nothing but the terrible loss he had sustained. At length, however, wearying of his lonely life, he fitted out a ship, and went to sea.

After sailing along for some days under brilliant sunshine, one morning a thick fog arose. It grew denser and darker, and the sailors could no longer tell which way they were going, when the mist suddenly lifted, and they saw land before them.

The king ordered a boat to be lowered, and was rowed ashore. He then got out alone, telling the men to wait for him.

Going quietly along, he presently came to a wood, and the sun being very hot and the king very tired, he was glad to sit down and rest under the shade of a big oak tree. He had not been long there, however, when he heard music in the distance, and, following the sound, he presently came to a beautiful open glade, and there he saw three women. One of them, clad in richly embroidered robes, was seated on a golden stool. She held a harp in her hand, and had evidently been playing, but she looked sad and troubled. Beside her, seated on a lower stool, was a young girl, also handsomely dressed, though not so richly as the elder women, and behind them stood another girl, also good-looking, but very plainly dressed, with a green cloak thrown round her. She evidently was the servant of the other two.

After gazing at the women for a few moments, the king stepped forward and saluted them respectfully.

The lady seated on the golden stool, having returned his greeting, asked him who he was and where he was going.

“Alas!” said the king, “I have lost my dear queen, and now, in accordance with her last wish, I am on my way to Hetland, to ask the widowed queen of that country to become my wife.”

“Oh, king!” replied the lady. “How wonderful is the hand of fate! I am the queen you are in search of! Hetland has been overrun by Vikings, who burned and destroyed everything they did not carry off, and it was only by a miracle that I managed to escape with my daughter and my attendant here.”

When the king heard this, he hesitated no longer, but at once offered to take her back as his bride.

After a slight hesitation, the lady accepted the king’s offer, and, having rested a little longer, the king led the way back to the boat. They quickly embarked, and, without any further adventures, arrived at the king’s country, where a great wedding-feast was immediately prepared, and the marriage took place, amid great rejoicing.

For some little time matters went very smoothly. Hermod and Hadvör kept much to themselves, leaving the queen and her daughter to enjoy all the splendour and gaiety of the court. But, as time went on, Hadvör, who was always kind to those about her, seeing that Olöf, the queen’s attendant, was much neglected and snubbed by her mistress, took compassion on her, and often asked Olöf to come and see her.

After some months a war broke out with one of the neighbouring countries, and the king had to go forth at the head of his army. No sooner had he sailed than the queen went to Hermod and told him she wished him to marry her daughter.

“That I cannot do,” replied Hermod, “for I love Hadvör, and she alone shall be my wife.”

Then the queen, finding that no persuasion and no threats had any effect, got very angry.

“If you will not marry my daughter,” she cried angrily, “neither shall you wed Hadvör. I have not forgotten the magic taught me by my mother, and, as you will not obey me, I lay my spell on you. You shall live on a desert island, and all day long you shall roam about in the shape of a lion; only after sunset shall you return to your human form, and then you shall think of Hadvör and remember your former life, and thus suffer doubly in looking back on the past; and you shall not be freed from this enchantment till Hadvör succeeds in burning your lion’s skin.”

“I am in your power now,” replied Hermod; “but your punishment will overtake you ere long, for I also possess some magic gifts; and, though I am at present powerless, as soon as your wicked spell is broken, which it assuredly will be, you and your daughter, who is as wicked as you are, shall be turned into a rat and a mouse, and you will bite and tear each other till you kill one another.”

So Hermod suddenly disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him. The queen made a pretence of sending out people to search for him, but no trace of him was found.

When Olöf next visited Hadvör, she found her in great grief at Hermod’s disappearance.

“Nay, do not weep,” she said; “the queen, by her wicked enchantments, has caused him to disappear for a time. Both she and her daughter are two wicked giantesses, who have only assumed their present form, and, when Hermod refused to marry her daughter, she put in practice her magic arts. She has transported him to a desert island, where he will be a lion during the day, but resume his own form every evening, and this charm will last until you succeed in burning the lion’s skin. The queen has also further arranged that you are to marry her brother, a terrible, three-headed giant, who lives underground. I, too, have suffered from her arts,” concluded Olöf; “she carried me away from my parents’ house, forcing me to serve her. Fortunately, however, she is powerless to hurt me, for the green cloak I always wear over my dress was a gift from my godmother, and nothing can harm me while I have it on.”

Poor Hadvör! She felt very hopeless when she heard of all her stepmother’s wicked plots against her, and entreated Olöf, by the love they bore each other, to assist her.

This Olöf gladly promised she would do.

“But first, you must keep watch and guard against the queen’s brother,” she said. “He lives in a cave beneath the castle, and will rise beneath your chamber some night. You must, therefore, always keep a large pot of boiling pitch ready, and as soon as you hear a great rumbling noise, like an earthquake, and see the ground cracking, at once pour the boiling pitch down the cracks, and this will kill the giant. It is the only thing that can hurt him.”

About this time, the king returned home from the wars, and was greatly distressed at Hermod’s disappearance. He made inquiries and sent out messengers in all directions, but no trace of him could be found, and the queen had to use all her arts to console the king under the loss of his adopted son.

Hadvör meanwhile remained quietly in her own house. Following Olöf’s advice, she kept ready the boiling pitch for the giant, and had not long to wait. One night, shortly after the king’s return, she was suddenly awakened by a loud rumbling noise; the ground began to shake and tremble; but Hadvör, having been fully prepared, was not frightened, and summoned her maidens to assist her. Then, as the noises grew louder, and several great cracks appeared in the floor, Hadvör and the girls poured the boiling pitch down the open seams. Then gradually the noises ceased, till everything was perfectly quiet again.

The next morning the queen rose up early, and as soon as she was dressed she hurried to Princess Hadvör’s house. There, lying on the ground outside, she saw the dead body of her brother the giant.

“Oh,” cried the queen angrily, “that must be Hadvör’s work! But the minx need not think she shall go unpunished, and upset all my schemes;” and bending over the body of the uncouth monster, she continued: “By my magic power, I will that your body shall be transformed into that of a beautiful prince, and that Hadvör shall be accused of causing your death.”

With these words she placed her hand on the giant’s body, and immediately it was changed into the likeness of a handsome prince.

The queen then returned to the palace, and, pretending to weep, she told the king that she feared his daughter was a very wicked girl, though she always seemed so good, for that her brother, a brave and handsome prince, had come to ask Hadvör’s hand in marriage, who without any rhyme or reason had caused him to be killed, for she, the queen, had just seen his dead body lying outside the princess’s house.

When the king heard this, he hastened to Hadvör’s house, accompanied by the queen; and when he saw the dead body lying there, just as the queen had described, he was very angry. He said he could not have wished for a handsomer or nobler son-in-law, and that he would gladly have consented to the marriage.

Then the queen begged that she might be allowed to choose Hadvör’s punishment, and the king, greatly incensed with his daughter, gave his consent.

So the queen said it would only be a just punishment that Hadvör, who had killed her brother, should be buried alive in the same grave with him; and the king, though sorry for his daughter, having given his royal word, said the queen’s wishes must be carried out.

Olöf meanwhile, who, unknown to the queen, had overheard all that passed, hastened away to tell Hadvör. When the princess heard what the queen intended doing, she was very frightened, but Olöf comforted her and promised to help her.

“And remember, if you wish to bring Hermod back again, you must not mind undergoing some pain and suffering for him.”

Olöf then brought her a short cloak, which she told Hadvör she must wear over her dress when she went into the grave or burial mound. The giant, she said, would be a spirit after he was buried.

“He will then ask you to cut off and give him one of your hands,” continued Olöf; “but you must not promise to do this until he has told you where Hermod is, and how you are to get to him. Then when you want to get out of the grave, he will let you mount on his shoulder; but beware how you trust him: he will only help you to put you off your guard, and will take hold of your cloak and drag you back. See, therefore, that it is only loosely tied, so that when once you have your foot on the outer edge the cloak alone will remain in his hands.”

Meanwhile the grave was being prepared, and when all was ready the body of the supposed prince was laid in it, and Hadvör, who was not allowed to say a word in her own defence, was lowered in beside him, and the grave, was walled up and closed.

And then all happened as Olöf had foretold. The supposed prince became a spirit, but in his former giant form, and asked Hadvör if she would let him cut off one of her hands and her hair, saying, “Only a maiden’s hand will open the grave, and a maiden’s hair will Hermod save.” But Hadvör refused unless he first told her where Hermod was, and how she could get to him.

Then the giant said that the queen had banished Hermod to a desert island, and described exactly where it was.

“But you will not be able to reach him unless you cut off your hand,” said the giant “Then you must cut off your hair and plait it together and make it into sandals, and with these you will be able to cross both sea and land.”

Hadvör at once carried out the giant’s instructions. She cut off her beautiful long golden hair, and plaiting it together, made herself a pair of sandals. Then, thinking only of Harmod, bravely held out her hand for the giant to cut off, and declared she was ready to go.

The giant said he would help her, that she must climb upon his shoulder and touch the roof with the hand he had cut off, when the top of the grave would open. So she followed his directions; and no sooner was the grave open than the giant stretched up his hand and caught hold of her cloak, to pull her back. But with one spring Hadvör was outside the grave, the cloak slipped from her shoulders, remaining in the giant’s hands; and, without waiting to look round, she flew along the road he had told her of.

She ran on for some time without venturing to stop or look round, until at length she reached the seashore. There, far far away in the distance, she saw a high rocky island. Her sandals, however, enabled her to cross the water easily; but when she reached the island the shore was so steep and rocky, she could find no way of getting into the interior. This was a terrible disappointment and tired and weary with all she had gone through, Hadvör sat down on a fallen piece of rock, and presently fell asleep. Then she dreamt that a big giantess came up to her and said, “I know that you are Hadvör, the king’s daughter, and that you are in search of Hermod. He is on this island; but you will not find it easy to reach him, if left to yourself, for the cliffs are steep and dangerous, and, though you are brave and ready to face any danger for him, you will not be able to climb them. But I will help you. Go round the corner of the next cliff, and there you will find a stout rope fastened to the rocks. By its help you will be able to climb up and get into the island. But it is large and has many caves, and you might be a long time ere you find Hermod. I have, therefore, brought you this ball of ribbon; take hold of the loose end, and the ball will roll along and guide you in the right way. I also give you this girdle; fasten it round your waist, and as long as you wear it you will suffer neither hunger nor fatigue. But remember to keep silence while Hermod is still under the spell, and on no account must you speak until after you have burnt the lion’s skin.”

When Hadvör awoke, feeling quite strong and refreshed, she thought she had only had a very pleasant dream; but, looking round, she saw a ball of gaily coloured ribbon and a beautiful silken girdle lying beside her. Putting the girdle round her waist, she tucked the ball inside of it, and, going round the next cliff, she saw a stout rope hanging down. Then she knew that her dream was no ordinary one. She took hold of the rope, and began climbing the almost perpendicular rock. But it was a long and difficult task, for the rocks were high and steep, and the loss of her hand greatly impeded her progress. But whenever she lost heart, she thought of Hermod, and the knowledge that she was at last near him gave her fresh strength, till at length she reached the top.

She then placed the ball on the ground and followed its lead, till it stopped at the entrance to a cave.

Cautiously Hadvör peeped in, but she saw nothing except a miserable wooden pallet, so she crept under this and hid herself.

The hours seemed very long, as she lay there listening for every sound that might announce Hermod’s approach; then, just as the sun was setting, sending a bright crimson gleam into the cave, she heard a loud roar, accompanied by heavy footsteps, and presently a huge lion entered the cave.

Hadvör’s heart leapt into her mouth, but she remembered that she must be silent if she wished to save him.

The lion then went towards the hearth, and giving himself a vigorous shake, the lion’s skin fell off, and Hadvör saw that it was indeed Hermod.

He sat down on the bed (little thinking that Hadvör was hid underneath), and began talking aloud of his love for Hadvör, and his great grief at their separation, and his utter inability to help himself. “For, alas!” he concluded, “it is only by Hadvör’s finding and burning my lion’s skin that I can ever get back my human figure and power; and how is it possible she should ever find me here?”

Hadvör, when she heard these words, almost jumped out from beneath the bed, but she remembered in time that she must not speak until she had burnt the lion’s skin. So, with a strong effort of her will, she kept perfectly still and silent till Hermod threw himself down on the bed.

As soon as she heard that he was fast asleep, she crept forth quietly, and, taking an armful of wood and a lighted brand from the hearth, she made up a big fire outside the cave, and burnt the lion’s skin Hermod had thrown off. She then returned to the cave and wakened Hermod. What a glad and joyful meeting that was!

Hadvör told Hermod all that had occurred after his disappearance, and how, by Olöf’s help, she had been enabled to find him.

“Oh, Hadvör,” cried Hermod, “to think of all you have done and suffered for my sake! And, alas, that you should have lost your right hand! How can I ever make up to you for all you have done?” And gently taking the maimed arm, he pressed his lips to the wrist, when lo, and behold, the hand was restored, and not even a mark was visible to show where it had been severed!

Then they began planning how best to return home, and Hadvör told Hermod of her wonderful dream and the gifts she had already received from the giantess. “Surely,” she added, “she must live somewhere on this island, and might help us again.”

Hermod said he believed a giantess did live on the island, and that she was called Allgood, but he had never seen her, though she was supposed to watch over people and help them. So they determined to try and find her, and they sallied forth. After a long search, they came to a huge cavern, inside of which sat the great giantess, surrounded by her fifteen children! Then Hermod asked her if she would help them to return to their home, telling her how they had been driven forth.

“It will not be easy,” replied Allgood, “because the giant who was buried with Hadvör will try and throw all kinds of obstacles in your way. He has been changed into a huge whale, and swims all round this island, and he will certainly try all he can to kill Hadvör ere she reaches her own country. But I will lend you my ship, for though Hadvör’s sandals would carry you across the water, they will not protect you from the giant. He may not know that you are in my ship; but if you see him swimming towards you, I fear your life may be in danger. Then call on me, and I will help you.”

Hermod and Hadvör thanked the giantess warmly for her good advice and kind offer of help, and getting on board her ship, where they found food and everything they wanted, they left the island, happy and hopeful. But ere long they saw a huge whale swimming rapidly towards them. He spouted the water up, yards high, and lashed the sea with his tail as he came near the ship.

“Oh, Hermod,” cried Hadvör, “that surely must be the wicked giant! Let us call on Allgood to help us!” And they both called loudly on the giantess for aid.

Immediately a still bigger whale than the first one appeared, followed by fifteen smaller ones. They swam swiftly towards the ship, and when they had completely surrounded it, they turned on the first whale. Then a terrific battle began. The water shot almost up to the clouds, the sea was lashed into such great waves, that it seemed as if the vessel must be swamped, and Hermod and Hadvör watched eagerly for the result. The fight lasted for some time; but when at length it was over, they saw that the sea for some distance was red with the blood of the dead whale. And then the big whale, followed by the fifteen smaller ones, swam back to the island, and Hermod and Hadvör reached their own land in safety.

Meanwhile, strange events had happened at the king’s castle. The queen and her daughter had disappeared, and in their apartments a big rat and a mouse fought all day and night. In vain the servants tried to drive them away. Even if they ran off for a short time, they always came back again and disturbed the whole castle by their cries. Thus some time passed, and the king was once again plunged into grief, not only at the disappearance of the queen, but because these horrid animals left neither him nor his court any peace.

One evening, when they were all assembled in the great hall, very sad and silent, quick steps were heard approaching, and, to the surprise of every one, Hermod entered. As soon as the king saw him, he embraced him warmly, greeting him like one returned from the dead, and anxiously inquiring all that had happened to him. But before sitting down, Hermod said he must first go to the queen’s apartment. There the rat and mouse were fighting and biting one another, uttering frightful cries; but, drawing his sword, Hermod smote them both, when, to the amazement of all, there lay two hideous giantesses dead on the ground. The servants quickly carried them out into the great courtyard, where they were thrown on a pile of wood and burnt.

Meanwhile, the king and Hermod, accompanied by the whole court, returned to the hall, and then Hermod related all his wonderful adventures, greatly to the delight and amazement of the king and his courtiers. And, while they were exclaiming at the wonders of his tale, Hadvör came in, accompanied by Olöf.

Then, indeed, there was general rejoicing, and the king at once acceded to Hermod’s wish to become his son-in-law. There was no long delay over the wedding, and as the king was now growing old, he handed over the government of the country to Hermod, whose reign is still known as that of “the good king.”

Hadvör, in the midst of her own happiness, did not forget Olöf and all the good services she had rendered her. She married one of the great nobles of the kingdom, who became King Hermod’s right hand, and Hadvör and Olöf remained close friends all the days of their life, their friendship descending to their children and grandchildren.

INGEBJÖRG

There once lived a king and queen who ought to have been as happy as the day is long, for they had a fine kingdom, a beautiful palace, plenty of horses and carriages; their treasure-room was filled with gold, silver, and precious stones, and no matter how much they took out of it, it always remained full.

Their people were quiet and industrious, and they had no cares or troubles; yet, notwithstanding all this, they grew daily more sad and sorrowful, for they had no children to inherit all the riches they owned.

One day the queen went out into the palace garden. It was a fine bright winter’s morning. The snow lay hard and firm on the ground, and each tree and bush sparkled and glistened in the sunshine, just as if the jewels in the king’s treasury had been scattered over them.

The queen, feeling tired, sat down on a stone bench beneath a huge oak tree, when suddenly a large white bird flew down from the tree. It brushed past so close to the queen’s face, that the wing-feathers scratched her cheek, and a few drops of bright crimson blood fell on the snowy ground.

“Oh,” cried the queen, “would that I might have a daughter who would be as beautiful as those crimson drops on the white glistening ground!”

“You shall have your wish,” sang the bird, as it flew away, its white wings shining in the sun like silver.

The queen had hardly recovered from her surprise than she heard a noise behind her, and, turning round, she beheld the old man Surtur, who lived in a little hut near the palace, and who was well known and dreaded as a wicked magician.

“Ay, you shall have your wish,” he muttered, in a fierce, angry voice; “but I too intend to have a say in the matter. A daughter shall indeed be born to you, but she shall cause you more sorrow than happiness, unless, indeed, she returns you good for evil.” And he laughed wickedly, and disappeared.

When the queen heard these words she was greatly troubled, for she knew that Surtur was her enemy, and that he was powerful; but as weeks and months passed and nothing happened, she forgot all about the old man’s words, and when at length her little daughter was born, every one agreed that she was the most beautiful child ever seen. She was christened Ingebjörg, and grew up as good as she was beautiful.

At first the queen could not do enough for the child, and could hardly bear her out of her sight; but as she grew older, and when she saw how fond the king was of Ingebjörg, and how every one praised and admired her, she began to grow jealous, and all her love seemed to turn to hatred.

When the king saw this, he thought it would be better to separate Ingebjörg from her mother, so he built her a separate house, and there she lived with her own attendants. But this only made the queen still more angry. At last she fell ill, and sent for her daughter, and when the girl came to her bedside she whispered something in her ear, and then sent her back to her own house again. But from that day a change came over Ingebjörg. She no longer laughed and danced as was her wont, but walked about the rooms alone, often weeping, and would never leave her house on any pretext whatsoever.

One day, when Ingebjörg, as usual, sat in her room, her work that she used to take such pleasure in lying idly on her lap, while the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard some one knocking at the door, and on opening it she saw a funny little old woman with a high peaked hat, who asked if she might come in and rest.

Ingebjörg listlessly said “Yes;” and then the old woman began telling her some wonderful stories, and at last Ingebjörg got so interested that her tears stopped, and she looked quite bright and happy like her old self.

“And now,” continued the old woman, “I want you to come out into the wood with me. It is a lovely day, and so beautiful and fresh in the shade of the trees.”

Though at first Ingebjörg declared she did not care to go, she at last allowed herself to be persuaded, and soon they were wandering along on the soft mossy-paths beneath the beautiful great tall-stemmed firs, graceful beeches, and feathery birch, till gradually the sad look disappeared from Ingebjörg’s face, and she began to laugh and run like the happy girl she had once been.

“And now,” said the little old woman, when, tired of walking, they had seated themselves on a mossy bank, “now tell me, Ingebjörg, why are you always so sad?”

At first the girl refused to speak, but the little old woman kept on asking, and she looked so kind and gentle that at length Ingebjörg said her mother had told her that it had been foretold at her birth that she was to marry a terrible giant, and that she was to burn her father’s castle and so cause his death.

“And oh,” cried Ingebjörg, “I love him so dearly! He has always been so good and kind to me! Oh, let us hasten home. I quite forgot; I ought never to have left my house, and I never will go out again, and then I cannot possibly harm him, or marry that horrible giant.” And the poor girl hurried home, sobbing and crying all the way.

“Nay, nay,” said the little old woman, “comfort yourself, my child. I am your godmother, and there is no harm done, and I think we can find some way to avert these evils. It is all that wicked Surtur’s doing. He wanted to marry your mother, and when she would have nothing to say to him and married your father, he vowed he would never rest till the king was dead and she was punished. So he got her maid to give her some drops made out of the dragon’s tooth, which turned her love for you to hatred and jealousy. But he can only work so far. It remains for you, now that you are grown up, to undo the evil he has wrought by returning good for evil, for love can overcome all things. The king’s palace I cannot save, for my power only extends over living things; but neither your father nor mother shall be hurt, and the treasure can also be saved. Neither need you fear the giant if you will do exactly as I bid you. Now you must first go and persuade your father to go out riding in the forest with all his attendants.”

With a heart greatly relieved at her godmother’s cheery words, Ingebjörg hastened to do her bidding.

“Dear father,” she said, as she entered his presence, “the day is so fine and the woods are so beautiful, will you not go out for a ride in the woods and take the courtiers with you?”

And the king, pleased at seeing her look so bright and happy, at once said he would go, and with all his courtiers in attendance, started off for a great hunting party in the forest.

As soon as they were well out of sight, Ingebjörg sent the servants away on different errands, and when the palace was quite empty, the little old dame helped the princess to carry out all the treasure and whatever else was of value in the castle, and then, when they stood in the great empty hall, she told Ingebjörg that she must now take down the big can of oil from the mantelshelf. In so doing the girl’s foot slipped, and the oil ran over the hearth and into the fire. In a few minutes the whole place was in a blaze, the little old dame and Ingebjörg having just time to escape.

“Thus,” said the old woman, “one part of old Surtur’s enchantment has been fulfilled, without harm to any one, and the rest you must now carry out;” so saying, she gave Ingebjörg a little silver ball. “Now go to the forest, throw down this ball, and follow its windings till it stops at a woodman’s hut; go in, but keep the door ajar, so that you can see who comes in, and, whatever you do, remember that you must see the owner of the hut before he sees you. Remain there till I summon you; but when in your dreams you hear me calling you, do not lose an instant, but hasten to the palace, for your mother will need you. Remember love is the great conqueror, and can overcome all evils.”

Ingebjörg promised to do exactly as the old dame had told her. She threw down the silver ball and followed its course as it rolled along, till at last it stopped before a woodman’s hut, and, going in, she hid behind the half-closed door, peeping curiously between the slit.

Presently she saw a huge giant coming towards the hut, carrying a dead bear across his shoulders which he had killed out hunting. He pushed open the door, and, as he threw down his burden, he beheld Ingebjörg; however, she had seen him first, and felt very frightened.

But though he looked terribly fierce, his voice was very soft and kind as he told her that she might remain with him, but that she would have to make the beds, cook the food, and sweep the floor—all which Ingebjörg promised to do. He then showed her a little inner chamber where he said she might sleep. “And, whatever noises you hear,” he added, “don’t come in here unless I call you.”

And thus passed three days. The giant went out early every morning, and never returned till sunset; while Ingebjörg cooked the food, made the beds, and kept the little hut clean and tidy. Every night she heard frightful noises in the outer room, the walls of the hut shook, and the earth trembled, but as the giant never called her, she lay quietly in her bed, pulling the clothes over her ears to deaden the terrible noises. And then, as she fell asleep, each night she dreamed that, instead of the giant, a handsome young prince stood beside the hearth.

On the third evening, she had hardly fallen asleep when she fancied she heard some one calling her. Quickly jumping out of bed, she hastily threw on her clothes, cautiously opened the door, and, seeing the hut was empty, she ran as quickly as she could to the palace. She knew that her mother needed her.

There, in front of the chief entrance, she saw a wooden stake had been driven into the ground, to which the queen was tied, while the servants were piling fagots of wood round her; for the queen had been condemned to be burnt to death for having set the palace on fire during the king’s absence and stolen all the treasure, though she in vain pleaded her innocence.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Ingebjörg threw herself down on her knees before her father.

“Oh, stop, stop!” she cried eagerly. “Dear father, my mother is not to blame. It was I who was forced to burn down the castle, in order to save your life, which was threatened by the wicked magician, Surtur, and the treasure also is safe.”

When the king heard this, he at once ordered the queen to be released, who, freed from the wicked spells that Surtur had thrown over her, embraced her daughter with many loving words.

Surtur, hearing that his evil deeds were known to the king, tried to hide himself in the woods; but he was caught and brought back by the giant, who had also fallen under his enchantments. But Ingebjörg remembered her silver ball, and, throwing it towards the giant, he caught it, and as he did so he was immediately changed into the handsome young prince Ingebjörg had seen each night in her dreams.

But Surtur was not to escape. The king called his servants, who bound the magician with strong cords. He was condemned to death for all his wicked deeds, and was led forth into the desert, where he was torn to pieces by wild horses.

All the queen’s old jealousy now died out for ever. She loved Ingebjörg more fondly each day, and before long there was a great marriage-feast between the prince and Ingebjörg. They lived happily together all the days of their life, and on the death of the king and queen, Ingebjörg and her husband reigned in their stead, beloved by all their people.

HANS