et to come might be the best of all, God willing.

Early in the spring, when the storks were again about to journey
northward, beautiful Helga took off her golden bracelets, scratched
her name on them, and beckoned to the stork-father. He came to her,
and she placed the golden circlet round his neck, and begged him to
deliver it safely to the Viking's wife, so that she might know that
her foster-daughter still lived, was happy, and had not forgotten her.

"It is rather heavy to carry," thought stork-papa, when he had
it on his neck; "but gold and honor are not to be flung into the
street. The stork brings good fortune--they'll be obliged to
acknowledge that at last."

"You lay gold, and I lay eggs," said stork-mamma; "with you it
is only once in a way, I lay eggs every year But no one appreciates
what we do; I call it very mortifying."

"But then we have a consciousness of our own worth, mother,"
replied stork-papa.

"What good will that do you?" retorted stork-mamma; "it will
neither bring you a fair wind, nor a good meal."

"The little nightingale, who is singing yonder in the tamarind
grove, will soon be going north, too." Helga said she had often
heard her singing on the wild moor, so she determined to send a
message by her. While flying in the swan's plumage she had learnt
the bird language; she had often conversed with the stork and the
swallow, and she knew that the nightingale would understand. So she
begged the nightingale to fly to the beechwood, on the peninsula of
Jutland, where a mound of stone and twigs had been raised to form
the grave, and she begged the nightingale to persuade all the other
little birds to build their nests round the place, so that evermore
should resound over that grave music and song. And the nightingale
flew away, and time flew away also.

In the autumn, an eagle, standing upon a pyramid, saw a stately
train of richly laden camels, and men attired in armor on foaming
Arabian steeds, whose glossy skins shone like silver, their nostrils
were pink, and their thick, flowing manes hung almost to their slender
legs. A royal prince of Arabia, handsome as a prince should be, and
accompanied by distinguished guests, was on his way to the stately
house, on the roof of which the storks' empty nests might be seen.
They were away now in the far north, but expected to return very soon.
And, indeed, they returned on a day that was rich in joy and gladness.

A marriage was being celebrated