hough in fear, so the Storbuk steamed away. The Pony and his driver
were far behind when a roar from every human throat in Filefjeld told
that the Storbuk had passed the wire and won the race. And yet all this
was before the White Ren had reached the years of his full strength and
speed.

Once that day Rol essayed to drive the Storbuk. They set off at a good
pace, the White Buk ready, responsive to the single rein, and his mild
eyes veiled by his drooping lashes. But, without any reason other than
the habit of brutality, Rol struck him. In a moment there was a change.
The Racer's speed was checked, all four legs braced forward till he
stood; the drooping lids were raised, the eyes rolled--there was a
green light in them now. Three puffs of steam were jetted from each
nostril. Rol shouted, then, scenting danger, quickly upset the sled and
hid beneath. The Storbuk turned to charge the sled, sniffing and
tossing the snow with his foot; but little Knute, Sveggum's son, ran
forward and put his arms around the Storbuk's neck; then the fierce
look left the Reindeer's eye, and he suffered the child to lead him
quietly back to the starting-point. Beware, O driver! the Reindeer,
too, "sees red."

This was the coming of the White Storbuk for the folk of Filefjeld.

In the two years that followed he became famous throughout that country
as Sveggum's Storbuk, and many a strange exploit was told of him. In
twenty minutes he could carry old Sveggum round the six-mile rim of
Utrovand. When the snow-slide buried all the village of Holaker, it was
the Storbuk that brought the word for help to Opdalstole and returned
again over the forty miles of deep snow in seven hours, to carry
brandy, food, and promise of speedy aid.

When over-venturesome young Knute Sveggumsen broke through the new thin
ice of Utrovand, his cry for help brought the Storbuk to the rescue;
for he was the gentlest of his kind and always ready to come at call.

He brought the drowning boy in triumph to the shore, and as they
crossed the Vand-dam stream, there was the Troll-bird to sing:

Good luck, good luck,
With the White Storbuk.

After which he disappeared for months--doubtless dived into some
subaqueous cave to feast and revel all winter; although Sveggum did not
believe it was so.

III

How often is the fate of kingdoms given into child hands, or even
committed to the care of Bird or Beast! A She-wolf nursed the Roman
Empire. A Wren pecking crumb