At the bottom of the river Rhine, about the dark rock where rested the invisible Rhinegold, there swam one morning before sunrise the Gold’s fair guardians, the three children of the Rhine. They were beautiful maidens, these three water-spirits, the most lovely of all the river people, and their names were Flosshilde, Woglinde, and Wellgunde. They were singing softly, and glancing constantly up to the rock’s crest, waiting for the appearance of the Rhinegold, which could only be seen when the sun had risen up above and sent its rays into the water to disclose the treasure. They sang a little rippling refrain that meant nothing except laughter and joy, and sounded very like the ripples of the water themselves: “Weia waga—” sang Woglinde, “Wavering waters, weaving and whirling, Walala weia!” And so they sang on, till their voices mingled so with the ripple that both voices and water became almost one in sound. Now, while these three lovely maids, seeming almost part of the water in their dresses of shimmering blue-green, with pale wreaths of river flowers in their hair, and their white arms looking frail as moonbeams as they raised them through the water—while they moved about the rock singing and laughing together, a strange, dark little man stood near watching them. He had risen out of a black chasm in one of the rocks, and he had come from far Nibelheim, through an underground passage. He had small eyes, his hair and beard were the color of ink, and he looked very wicked. Can you guess who he was? He shouted gruffly to the Rhine Maidens, and they, being much amused at his ugly appearance, drew near with laughter and mocking words. They led him wild chases in among the rocks, they played with him merry games of hide-and-seek—merry for them, but not at all so for him, for he was clumsy in motion compared with them, and he became very angry because he could not follow them over the rocks. “Smooth, slippery, slush and slime,” he grumbled. “The dampness makes me sneeze.” At last, just as he had become thoroughly angry, there appeared suddenly a strange brightness at the top of the rock—a wonderful golden light that glowed with ever-increasing brilliance down into the water. “Ah, see, sisters!” cried Woglinde. “The awakening sun laughs down into the depths.” “Yes,” said Wellgunde, with soft delight, “it greets the slumbering Gold!” “With a kiss of light the Gold is aroused!” said Flosshilde. And, joining hands, they swam excitedly about the rock, singing in bursts of gladness: “Weia waga, Weia waga, Rhinegold, Rhinegold, Glorious joy.” “You gliders,” questioned Alberich (for it was he), “what is this that gleams and glistens over yonder?” [Illustration: THE GLEAMING TREASURE]