two deceitful Princesses," said the father stork. "Then they could not go to the Wild Bog to do any more mischief. I will keep the plumages up there till we find a use for them."
"Up where will you keep them?" asked the mother stork.
"In our nest at the Wild Bog," said he. "The young ones and I can carry them between us, and if they are too cumbersome, there are places enough on the way where we can hide them till our next flight. One plumage would be enough for her, but two are better; it is a good plan to have plenty of wraps in a northern country!"
"You will get no thanks for it," said the mother stork; "but you are the master. I have nothing to say except when I am sitting."
In the meantime the little child in the Viking's hall by the Wild Bog, whither the storks flew in the spring, had had a name given her: it was Helga, but such a name was far too gentle for such a wild spirit as dwelt within her. Month by month it showed itself more, and year by year, whilst the storks took the same journey, in autumn toward the Nile, and in spring toward the Wild Bog. The little child grew to be a big girl, and before one knew how, she was the loveliest maiden possible of sixteen. The husk was lovely but the kernel was hard and rough; wilder than most, even in those hard, wild times.
Her greatest pleasure was to dabble her white hands in the blood of the horses slaughted for sacrifice; in her wild freaks she would bite the heads off the black cocks which the priest was about to slay, and she said in full earnest to her foster father, "If thy foe were to come and throw a rope round the beams of thy house and pull it about thine ears, I would not wake thee if I could. I should not hear him for the tingling of the blood in the ear thou once boxed years ago! I do not forget!"
But the Viking did not believe what she said. He, like everybody else, was infatuated by her beauty, nor did he
