“Yes， I know，” said the stork-papa; “but to-morrow I can easily place myself on the edgeof the open cupola， when the learned and wise men assemble to consult on the state of thesick man; perhaps they may come a little nearer to the truth.” And the learned and wise menassembled together， and talked a GREat deal on every point; but the stork could make nosense out of anything they said; neither were there any good results from theirconsultations， either for the sick man， or for his daughter in the marshy heath. When welisten to what people say in this world， we shall hear a great deal; but it is an advantage toknow what has been said and done before， when we listen to a conversation. The stork did，and we know at least as much as he， the stork.
“Love is a life-giver. the highest love produces the highest life. Only through love can thesick man be cured.” This had been said by many， and even the learned men acknowledged thatit was a wise saying.
“What a beautiful thought!” exclaimed the papa stork immediately.
“I don't quite understand it，” said the mamma stork， when her husband repeated it; “however， it is not my fault， but the fault of the thought; whatever it may be， I havesomething else to think of.”
Now the learned men had spoken also of love between this one and that one; of thedifference of the love which we have for our neighbor， to the love that exists between parentsand children; of the love of the plant for the light， and how the germ springs forth when thesunbeam kisses the ground. All these things were so elaborately and learnedly explained， thatit was impossible for stork-papa to follow it， much less to talk about it. His thoughts on thesubject quite weighed him down; he stood the whole of the following day on one leg， withhalf-shut eyes， thinking deeply. So much learning was quite a heavy weight for him to carry.One thing， however， the papa stork could understand. Every one， high and low， had fromtheir inmost hearts expressed their opinion that it was a GREat misfortune for so manythousands of people—the whole country indeed—to have this man so sick， with no hopes ofhis recovery. And what joy and blessing it would spread around if he could by any means becured! But where bloomed the flower that could bring him health? They had searched for iteverywhere; in learned writings， in the shining stars， in the weather and wind. Inquiries hadbeen made in every by-way that could be thought of， until at last the wise and learned menhas asserted， as we have been already told， that “love， the life-giver， could alone give newlife to a father;” and in saying this， they had overdone it， and said more than theyunderstood themselves. They repeated it， and wrote it down as a recipe， “Love is a life-giver.” But how could such a recipe be prepared—that was a difficulty they could notovercome. At last it was decided that help could only come from the princess herself， whosewhole soul was wrapped up in her father， especially as a plan had been adopted by her toenable her to obtain a remedy.
More than a year had passed since the princess had set out at night， when the light of theyoung moon was soon lost beneath the horizon. She had gone to the marble sphinx in thedesert， shaking the sand from her sandals， and then passed through the long passage，which leads to the centre of one of the GREat pyramids， where the mighty kings of antiquity，surrounded with pomp and splendor， lie veiled in the form of mummies. She had been told bythe wise men， that if she laid her head on the breast of one of them， from the head shewould learn where to find life and recovery for her father. She had performed all this， and in adream had learnt that she must bring home to her father the lotus flower， which grows in thedeep sea， near the moors and heath in the Danish land. The very place and situation had beenpointed out to her， and she was told that the flower would restore her father to health andstrength. And， therefore， she had gone forth from the land of Egypt， flying over to theopen marsh and the wild moor in the plumage of a swan.
the papa and mamma storks knew all this， and we also know it now. We know， too， thatthe Marsh King has drawn her down to himself， and that to the loved ones at home she isforever dead. One of the wisest of them said， as the stork-mamma also said， “That in someway she would， after all， manage to succeed;” and so at last they comforted themselveswith this hope， and would wait patiently; in fact， they could do nothing better.
“I should like to get away the swan's feathers from those two treacherous princesses，”said the papa stork; “then， at least， they would not be able to fly over again to the wildmoor， and do more wickedness. I can hide the two suits of feathers over yonder， till we findsome use for them.”
“But where will you put them?” asked the mamma stork.
“In our nest on the moor. I and the young ones will carry them by turns during our flightacross; and as we return， should they prove too heavy for us， we shall be sure to findplenty of places on the way in which we can conceal them till our next journey. Certainly onesuit of swan's feathers would be enough for the princess， but two are always better. In thosenorthern countries no one can have too many travelling wrappers.”
“No one will thank you for it，” said stork-mamma; “but you are master; and， exceptingat breeding time， I have nothing to say.”