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"Well, that's a new ending to the story," said stork-papa. "I had certainly not expected it. But I like it very well." "But what will the young ones say to it?" said stork-mamma. "Yes, certainly, that's the important point," replied he. In the forest, high up on the steep shore, hard by the open sea coast, stood a very old oak tree.
"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.
"Don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said stork-mamma. "It puts ideas into the children's heads that can not be realized." "Are those the high mountains I have heard spoken of?" asked Helga, in the swan's plumage. "They are storm-clouds driving along beneath us," replied her mother. "What are yonder white clouds that rise so high?" again inquired Helga.
One evening, stork-papa stayed out rather late, and when he came home he seemed quite busy, bustling, and important. "I have something very dreadful to tell you," said he to the stork-mamma. "Keep it to yourself then," she replied. "Remember that I am hatching eggs; it may agitate me, and will affect them." "You must know it at once," said he. "The daughter of our host in Egypt has arrived here.
What rejoicing there will be yonder!" And the stork lifted the little girl out of the flower-cup, flew to the wooden house, picked a hole with his beak in the bladder-covered window, laid the charming child on the bosom of the Viking's wife, and then hurried up to the stork-mamma, and told her what he had seen and done; and the little storks listened to the story, for they were big enough to do so now.
In those northern countries no one can have too many travelling wrappers." "No one will thank you for it," said stork-mamma; "but you are master; and, excepting at breeding time, I have nothing to say." In the Viking's castle on the wild moor, to which the storks directed their flight in the following spring, the little maiden still remained.
"Well, everyone flies in his own fashion," said stork-papa: "the swans in an oblique line, the cranes in a triangle, and the plovers in a snake's line." "Don't talk about snakes while we are flying up here," said stork-mamma. "It only puts ideas into the children's heads which can't be gratified." "Are those the high mountains of which I heard tell?" asked Helga, in the swan's plumage.
Great black bubbles rose up out of the moor-slime, and the last trace of both of them vanished when these burst. Now the princess is buried in the wild moor, and never more will she bear away a flower to Egypt. Your heart would have burst, mother, if you had seen it." "You ought not to tell me anything of the kind at such a time as this," said stork-mamma; "the eggs might suffer by it.
"But with you it's only once in a way, whereas I lay eggs every year; but neither of us is appreciated that's very disheartening." "Still one has one's inward consciousness, mother," replied stork-papa. "But you can't hang that round your neck," stork-mamma retorted; "and it won't give you a good wind or a good meal."
The waters of the Nile had fallen, and the whole river bed was crowded with frogs, and this spectacle was just according to the taste of the stork family. The young storks thought it was optical illusion, they found everything so glorious. "Yes, it's delightful here; and it's always like this in our warm country," said the stork-mamma; and the young ones felt quite frisky on the strength of it.
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