he depth of the sand, and when at
length they reached it, they found an immense sand-heap piled up
before the door of the church--the drifting sand had closed up all
entrance to its interior. The clergyman read a prayer, and then said
that, as God had locked the doors of that holy house, they must go
elsewhere and erect another for His service.

They sang a psalm, and retired to their homes.

Joergen could not be found either at Skagen or amidst the sand-hills,
where every search was made for him. It was supposed that the wild
waves, which had rolled so far up on the sands, had swept him off.

But his body lay entombed in a large sarcophagus--in the church
itself. During the storm God had cast earth upon his coffin--heavy
piles of quicksand had accumulated there, and lie there even now.

The sand had covered the lofty arches, sand-thorns and wild roses grow
over the church, where the wayfarer now struggles on towards its
spire, which towers above the sand, an imposing tombstone over the
grave, seen from miles around--no king had ever a grander one! None
disturb the repose of the dead--none knew where Joergen lay, until
now--the storm sang the secret for me among the sand-hills!

_The Mud-king's Daughter._

The storks are in the habit of relating to their little ones many
tales, all from the swamps and the bogs. They are, in general,
suitable to the ages and comprehensions of the hearers. The smallest
youngsters are contented with mere sound, such as "krible, krable,
plurremurre." They think that wonderful; but the more advanced require
something rational, or at least something about their family. Of the
two most ancient and longest traditions that have been handed down
among the storks, we are all acquainted with one--that about Moses,
who was placed by his mother on the banks of the Nile, was found there
by the king's daughter, was well brought up, and became a great man,
such as has never been heard of since in the place where he was
buried.

The other story is not well known, probably because it is a tale of
home; yet it has passed down from one stork grandam to another for a
thousand years, and each succeeding narrator has told it better and
better, and now we shall tell it best of all.

The first pair of storks who related this tale had themselves
something to do with its events. The place of their summer sojourn
was at the Viking's loghouse, up by _the wild morass_, at Vendsyssel.
It is in Hjoeri