“You are very thirsty,” said the giantess again; this time louder, her voice filled with fear.
“Very,” answered Odin, still drinking on and on and on and on. Nor did he stop till every drop was gone and the cask stood dry and empty.
The young giantess, realizing all too late that the wine was stolen, ran to the cellar gateway, shouting as only a giant can shout for help.
The gateway flew open. In rushed the giants, Bauge and his brother.
“The wine! the wine!” they cried.
“Stolen, stolen!” sobbed the giantess, her sobs shaking even the solid cellar walls.
“The thief! The thief!” cried the giants. “Where is the thief?”
But there was no thief to be found. There stood the empty cask. But the thief? There was no living creature to be seen.
No living creature? I should not have said quite that. For there arose from a darkened corner of the cellar a beautiful, great white bird. Its wings brushed against the sides of the gateway as it passed. Then higher and higher, up, up, far, far away beyond the sea, above the clouds it soared, nor rested till its great wings beat against the golden bars of the shining gates of Asgard.
