THE STORY OF NECKEN

And

ONE summer evening a priest was riding over a bridge that crossed a river, when he heard sweet sounds of music floating on the breeze. when he turned round to see where the notes could come from, he saw on the surface of the water a beautiful youth, with a red cap on his golden hair and a gold harp in his hand.

Then he knew that this was Necken, the spirit who lives in streams and fountains, and makes sweet music to beguile the traveller; and he said,

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Why do you play so merrily upon your harp, knowing that you have no soul and no hope of heaven? For sooner shall the staff in my hand grow green and blossom than you shall see salvation."

And when Necken heard this he was very sad, and threw his harp into the river and wept much. But the priest, thinking no more of the matter, rode on his way. But he had gone only a few paces when, behold! he noticed that the old staff

that he held in his hand was budding and putting forth beautiful leaves and flowers. And by this he understood that the Lord rebuked him for his unkind words to the water spirit, and he hastened back to the spot where Necken still sat mourning and weeping. And he said to him, "Behold! my staff has blossomed and grown green; so also shall hope blossom in the hearts of all whom God hath made."

And when Necken heard this he was very glad, and, seizing his harp, played the old sweet tunes the live-long night.

C.O.

L

THE WHITE BEAR AND THE TROLLS

ONCE upon a time there was a man in Finnmark who had caught a great white bear, which he thought he would take alive as a present to the King of Denmark. So he led it with him southwards, and on Christmas eve he came to the Dovrefell. And there he asked shelter from a cottager who was named Halvor.

"Gladly would I give you lodging and meat,' answered the man, "but, before Heaven, I cannot do so to-night. For it is well known that every Christmas eve a pack of trolls comes down upon us, so that we are forced to flit, and haven't a roof for our own heads, much less for strangers. Oh," said the man, "if that is all, you can easily lend me your house; my bear can lie under the stove, and I will sleep in the side room."

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He begged so hard that in the end Halvor gave him leave to stay there, and went away with all his family. But before they left they put everything ready for the trolls. The tables were laid,

and all kinds of good things were set upon them; rice porridge, fish, and sausages, just as if an important guest was expected.

Then the man went into the side room, and the white bear lay down under the stove. In a little while down came the trolls. Some were big, some were little; some had long tails, and some had no tails at all, and some had very long noses; and they ate and drank and tasted everything. Just then, one of the little trolls caught sight of the white bear, but he was not at all frightened, because he thought it was only a big cat. So he took a piece of sausage, and stuck it on a fork, and poked it against the bear's nose, crying

out

'Pussy, will you have some sausage?"

But the white bear was so angry at being taken for a cat that he rose up and growled, and hunted the whole pack of them out of doors, both great and small.

Next year Halvor was out in the wood on the afternoon of Christmas eve, cutting wood before the holidays; for he quite thought that the trolls would come again and drive him out of his cottage. And just as he was hard

at work, he heard a voice in the wood calling

out

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Halvor, Halvor !"

Well," said he, "here I am."

"Have you got your big cat with you still?"

Yes, indeed I have," answered Halvor," she's lying at home under the stove; and what is more, she has now got seven kittens, each one far bigger and fiercer than she is herself."

"Oh, then, we'll never come to see you again," called out the troll; and he kept his word, for since that time the trolls have never eaten their Christmas porridge with Halvor on the Dovrefell.