iking's wife was, for the time in which she lived, a woman of
strong character and will; but, compared to her daughter, she was a
gentle, timid woman, and she knew that a wicked sorcerer had the
terrible child in his power. It was sometimes as if Helga acted from
sheer wickedness; for often when her mother stood on the threshold
of the door, or stepped into the yard, she would seat herself on the
brink of the well, wave her arms and legs in the air, and suddenly
fall right in. Here she was able, from her frog nature, to dip and
dive about in the water of the deep well, until at last she would
climb forth like a cat, and come back into the hall dripping with
water, so that the green leaves that were strewed on the 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 evening twilight; when this hour arrived she became quiet
and thoughtful, and allowed herself to be advised and led; then also a
secret feeling seemed to draw her towards her mother. And as usual,
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 together in the shape of a frog. Her body was
much larger than those animals ever are, and on this account 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 was without a voice, excepting a hollow, croaking
sound, like the smothered sobs of a dreaming child.

Then the Viking's wife took her on her lap, and forgot the ugly
form, as she looked into the mournful eyes, and often said, "I could
wish that thou wouldst always remain my dumb frog child, for thou
art too terrible when thou art clothed in a form of beauty." And the
Viking woman wrote Runic characters against sorcery and spells of
sickness, and threw them over the 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 Egyptian mother, especially about the eyes.
Ah, we shall never see her again; perhaps she has not discovered how
to help herself, as you and the wise men said she would. Year after
year have I flown across and across the moor, but there was no sign of
her being still alive. Yes, and