d be thinking of marriage.

'Have you decided what your husband's name is to be?' said the father,
laughingly, to his eldest daughter, one evening when they were all
sitting at the door of their cottage. 'You know that is a very important
point!'

'Yes; I will never wed any man who is not called Sigmund,' answered she.

'Well, it is lucky for you that there are a great many Sigmunds in
this part of the world,' replied her father, 'so that you can take your
choice! And what do YOU say?' he added, turning to the second.

'Oh, I think that there is no name so beautiful as Sigurd,' cried she.

'Then you won't be an old maid either,' answered he. 'There are seven
Sigurds in the next village alone! And you, Helga?'

Helga, who was still the prettiest of the three, looked up. She also had
her favourite name, but, just as she was going to say it, she seemed to
hear a voice whisper: 'Marry no one who is not called Habogi.'

The girl had never heard of such a name, and did not like it, so she
determined to pay no attention; but as she opened her mouth to tell her
father that her husband must be called Njal, she found herself answering
instead: 'If I do marry it will be to no one except Habogi.'

'Who IS Habogi?' asked her father and sisters; 'We never heard of such a
person.'

'All I can tell you is that he will be my husband, if ever I have one,'
returned Helga; and that was all she would say.

Before very long the young men who lived in the neighbouring villages
or on the sides of the mountains, had heard of this talk of the three
girls, and Sigmunds and Sigurds in scores came to visit the little
cottage. There were other young men too, who bore different names,
though not one of them was called 'Habogi,' and these thought that they
might perhaps gain the heart of the youngest. But though there was more
than one 'Njal' amongst them, Helga's eyes seemed always turned another
way.

At length the two elder sisters made their choice from out of the
Sigurds and the Sigmunds, and it was decided that both weddings should
take place at the same time. Invitations were sent out to the friends
and relations, and when, on the morning of the great day, they were all
assembled, a rough, coarse old peasant left the crowd and came up to the
brides' father.

'My name is Habogi, and Helga must be my wife,' was all he said. And
though Helga stood pale and trembling with surprise, she did not try to
run away.

'I cannot talk of suc