one bright eye, and a face beaming like the dawn in summer;
and upon his head he wore a sky-blue hood bespangled with
golden stars, and over his shoulder was thrown a cloak of
ashen gray.

"Would you choose a horse, Sir Siegfried?" asked the
stranger.

"Indeed I would," answered he. "But it is hard to make a
choice among so many."

"There is one in the meadow," said the man, "far better than
all the rest. They say that he came from Odin's pastures on
the green hill-slopes of Asgard, and that none but the
noblest shall ride him."

"Which is he?" asked Siegfried.

"Drive the herd into the river," was the answer, "and then
see if you can pick him out."

And Siegfried and the stranger drove the horses down the
sloping bank, and into the rolling stream; but the flood was
too strong for them. Some soon turned back to the shore;
while others, struggling madly, were swept away, and carried
out to the sea. Only one swam safely over. He shook the
dripping water from his mane, tossed his head in the air,
and then plunged again into the stream. Right bravely he
stemmed the torrent the second time. He clambered up the
shelving bank, and stood by Siegfried's side.