In the Viking's castle on the wild moor， towhich the storks directed their flight in the followingspring， the little maiden still remained. They hadnamed her Helga， which was rather too soft a namefor a child with a temper like hers， although herform was still beautiful. Every month this tempershowed itself in sharper outlines; and in the courseof years， while the storks still made the samejourneys in autumn to the hill， and in spring to themoors， the child GREw to be almost a woman， andbefore any one seemed aware of it， she was awonderfully beautiful maiden of sixteen. The casket was splendid， but the contents wereworthless. She was， indeed， wild and savage even in those hard， uncultivated times. Itwas a pleasure to her to splash about with her white hands in the warm blood of the horsewhich had been slain for sacrifice. In one of her wild moods she bit off the head of the blackcock， which the priest was about to slay for the sacrifice. To her foster-father she said oneday， “If thine enemy were to pull down thine house about thy ears， and thou shouldest besleeping in unconscious security， I would not wake thee; even if I had the power I wouldnever do it， for my ears still tingle with the blow that thou gavest me years ago. I have neverforgotten it.” But the Viking treated her words as a joke; he was， like every one else，bewitched with her beauty， and knew nothing of the change in the form and temper of Helgaat night. Without a saddle， she would sit on a horse as if she were a part of it， while itrushed along at full speed; nor would she spring from its back， even when it quarrelled withother horses and bit them. She would often leap from the high shore into the sea with all herclothes on， and swim to meet the Viking， when his boat was steering home towards theshore. She once cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair， and twisted it into a string for herbow. “If a thing is to be done well，” said she， “I must do it myself.”
the Viking's wife was， for the time in which she lived， a woman of strong character andwill; but， compared to her daughter， she was a gentle， timid woman， and she knew thata wicked sorcerer had the terrible child in his power. It was sometimes as if Helga acted fromsheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the threshold of the door， orstepped into the yard， she would seat herself on the brink of the well， wave her arms andlegs in the air， and suddenly fall right in. Here she was able， from her frog nature， to dip anddive about in the water of the deep well， until at last she would climb forth like a cat， andcome back into the hall dripping with water， so that the GREen leaves that were strewed onthe floor were whirled round， and carried away by the streams that flowed from her.
But there was one time of the day which placed a check upon Helga. It was the eveningtwilight; when this hour arrived she became quiet and thoughtful， and allowed herself to beadvised and led; then also a secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. And asusual， when the sun set， and the transformation took place， both in body and mind，inwards and outwards， she would remain quiet and mournful， with her form shrunk togetherin the shape of a frog. Her body was much larger than those animals ever are， and on thisaccount it was much more hideous in appearance; for she looked like a wretched dwarf，with a frog's head， and webbed fingers. Her eyes had a most piteous expression; she waswithout a voice， excepting a hollow， croaking sound， like the smothered sobs of a dreamingchild.
then the Viking's wife took her on her lap， and forgot the ugly form， as she looked intothe mournful eyes， and often said， “I could wish that thou wouldst always remain my dumbfrog child， for thou art too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty.” And the Vikingwoman wrote Runic characters against sorcery and spells of sickness， and threw them overthe wretched child; but they did no good.
“One can scarcely believe that she was ever small enough to lie in the cup of the water-lily，” said the papa stork; “and now she is grown up， and the image of her Egyptianmother， especially about the eyes. Ah， we shall never see her again; perhaps she has notdiscovered how to help herself， as you and the wise men said she would. Year after year have Iflown across and across the moor， but there was no sign of her being still alive. Yes， and Imay as well tell you that you that each year， when I arrived a few days before you to repair thenest， and put everything in its place， I have spent a whole night flying here and there overthe marshy lake， as if I had been an owl or a bat， but all to no purpose. The two suit ofswan's plumage， which I and the young ones dragged over here from the land of the Nile， areof no use; trouble enough it was to us to bring them here in three journeys， and now theyare lying at the bottom of the nest; and if a fire should happen to break out， and the woodenhouse be burnt down， they would be destroyed.”
“And our good nest would be destroyed， too，” said the mamma stork; “but you thinkless of that than of your plumage stuff and your moor-princess. Go and stay with her in themarsh if you like. You are a bad father to your own children， as I have told you already， whenI hatched my first brood. I only hope neither we nor our children may have an arrow sentthrough our wings， owing to that wild girl. Helga does not know in the least what she is about.We have lived in this house longer than she has， she should think of that， and we have neverforgotten our duty. We have paid every year our toll of a feather， an egg， and a youngone， as it is only right we should do. You don't suppose I can wander about the court-yard，or go everywhere as I used to do in old times. I can do it in Egypt， where I can be acompanion of the people， without forgetting myself. But here I cannot go and peep into thepots and kettles as I do there. No， I can only sit up here and feel angry with that girl， thelittle wretch; and I am angry with you， too; you should have left her lying in the water lily，then no one would have known anything about her.”