Very early next morning Helga’s father went to the town, and as soon as he was well out of the way the girl held up her glove and Sigurd was himself again. Then she took him all over the house to amuse him, and opened every room, for her father had given her the keys before he left; but when they came to the last room Sigurd noticed one key on the bunch which had not been used and asked which room it belonged to.” Helga grew red and did not answer. “I suppose you don’t mind my seeing the room which it opens?” asked Sigurd, and as he spoke he saw a heavy iron door and begged Helga to unlock it for him. But she told him she dared not do so, at least if she did open the door it must only be a very tiny chink; and Sigurd declared that would do quite well. The door was so heavy, that it took Helga some time to open it, and Sigurd grew so impatient that he pushed it wide open and walked in. There he saw a splendid horse, all ready saddled, and just above it hung a richly ornamented sword on the handle of which was engraved these words: “He who rides this horse and wears this sword will find happiness.” At the sight of the horse Sigurd was so filled with wonder that he was not able to speak, but at last he gasped out: “Oh, do let me mount him and ride him round the house! Just once; I promise not to ask any more.” “Ride him round the house!” cried Helga, growing pale at the mere idea. “Ride Gullfaxi! Why father would never, never forgive me, if I let you do that.” “But it can’t do him any harm,” argued Sigurd; “you don’t know how careful I will be. I have ridden all sorts of horses at home, and have never fallen off not once. Oh, Helga, do!” “Well, perhaps, if you come back directly,” replied Helga, doubtfully; “but you must be very quick, or father will find out!” But, instead of mounting Gullfaxi, as she expected, Sigurd stood still. “And the sword,” he said, looking fondly up to the place where it hung. “My father is a king, but he has not got any sword so beautiful as that. Why, the jewels in the scabbard are more splendid than the big ruby in his crown! Has it got a name? Some swords have, you know.” “It is called ‘Gunnfjoder,’ the ‘Battle Plume,’” answered Helga, “and ‘Gullfaxi’ means ‘Golden Mane.’ I don’t suppose, if you are to get on the horse at all, it would matter your taking the sword too. And if you take the sword you will have to carry the stick and the stone and the twig as well.” “They are easily carried,” said Sigurd, gazing at them with scorn; “what wretched dried-up things! Why in the world do you keep them?”