two are
always better. In those northern countries no one can have too many
wraps."

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

In the Viking's castle by the wild moor, whither the storks bent their
flight when the spring approached, they had given the little girl the
name of Helga; but this name was too soft for a temper like that which
was associated with her beauteous form. Every month this temper showed
itself in sharper outlines; and in the course of years--during which
the storks made the same journey over and over again, in autumn to the
Nile, in spring back to the moorland lake--the child grew to be a
great girl; and before people were aware of it, she was a beautiful
maiden in her sixteenth year. The shell was splendid, but the kernel
was harsh and hard; and she was hard, as indeed were most people in
those dark, gloomy times. It was a pleasure to her to splash about
with her white hands in the blood of the horse that had been slain in
sacrifice. In her wild mood she bit off the neck of the black cock the
priest was about to offer up; and to her father she said in perfect
seriousness,

"If thy enemy should pull down the roof of thy house, while thou wert
sleeping in careless safety; if I felt it or heard it, I would not
wake thee even if I had the power. I should never do it, for my ears
still tingle with the blow that thou gavest me years ago--thou! I have
never forgotten it."

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

"Self-achieved is well-achieved," she said.

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

It seemed as if, out of mere malice, when her mother stood on the
threshold or came out into the yard, Helga,