the storks relate to their little ones a GREatmany stories， and they are all about moors andreed banks， and suited to their age and capacity.The youngest of them are quite satisfied with“kribble， krabble，” or such nonsense， and think itvery grand; but the elder ones want something witha deeper meaning， or at least something about theirown family.
We are only acquainted with one of the two longest and oldest stories which the storksrelate—it is about Moses， who was exposed by his mother on the banks of the Nile， and wasfound by the king's daughter， who gave him a good education， and he afterwards became aGREat man; but where he was buried is still unknown.
Every one knows this story， but not the second; very likely because it is quite an inlandstory. It has been repeated from mouth to mouth， from one stork-mamma to another， forthousands of years; and each has told it better than the last; and now we mean to tell itbetter than all.
the first stork pair who related it lived at the time it happened， and had their summerresidence on the rafters of the Viking's1 house， which stood near the wild moorlands ofWendsyssell; that is， to speak more correctly， the GREat moorheath， high up in the northof Jutland， by the Skjagen peak. This wilderness is still an immense wild heath of marshyground， about which we can read in the “Official Directory.” It is said that in olden times theplace was a lake， the ground of which had heaved up from beneath， and now the moorlandextends for miles in every direction， and is surrounded by damp meadows， trembling，undulating swamps， and marshy ground covered with turf， on which grow bilberry bushesand stunted trees. Mists are almost always hovering over this region， which， seventy yearsago， was overrun with wolves. It may well be called the Wild Moor; and one can easilyimagine， with such a wild expanse of marsh and lake， how lonely and dreary it must havebeen a thousand years ago. Many things may be noticed now that existed then. The reeds growto the same height， and bear the same kind of long， purple-brown leaves， with theirfeathery tips. There still stands the birch， with its white bark and its delicate， looselyhanging leaves; and with regard to the living beings who frequented this spot， the fly stillwears a gauzy dress of the same cut， and the favorite colors of the stork are white， withblack and red for stockings. The people， certainly， in those days， wore very different dressesto those they now wear， but if any of them， be he huntsman or squire， master or servant，ventured on the wavering， undulating， marshy ground of the moor， they met with the samefate a thousand years ago as they would now. The wanderer sank， and went down to theMarsh King， as he is named， who rules in the great moorland empire beneath. They alsocalled him “Gunkel King，” but we like the name of “Marsh King” better， and we will give himthat name as the storks do. Very little is known of the Marsh King's rule， but that， perhaps，is a good thing.
In the neighborhood of the moorlands， and not far from the GREat arm of the North Seaand the Cattegat which is called the Lumfjorden， lay the castle of the Viking， with its water-tight stone cellars， its tower， and its three projecting storeys. On the ridge of the roof thestork had built his nest， and there the stork-mamma sat on her eggs and felt sure herhatching would come to something.
One evening， stork-papa stayed out rather late， and when he came home he seemedquite busy， bustling， and important. “I have something very dreadful to tell you，” said he tothe stork-mamma.
“Keep it to yourself then，” she replied. “Remember that I am hatching eggs; it mayagitate me， and will affect them.”
“You must know it at once，” said he. “the daughter of our host in Egypt has arrived here.She has ventured to take this journey， and now she is lost.”
“She who sprung from the race of the fairies， is it?” cried the mother stork. “Oh， tell meall about it; you know I cannot bear to be kept waiting at a time when I am hatching eggs.”
“Well， you see， mother，” he replied， “she believed what the doctors said， and what Ihave heard you state also， that the moor-flowers which grow about here would heal her sickfather; and she has flown to the north in swan's plumage， in company with some otherswan-princesses， who come to these parts every year to renew their youth. She came， andwhere is she now!”
“You enter into particulars too much，” said the mamma stork， “and the eggs may takecold; I cannot bear such suspense as this.”