“Yes,” answered Loke; “and still—it seems very strange—but outside the gate of our city, just on the outer walls, are growing apples, looking so like these I cannot tell them one from the other. Bring your apples with you and let us see if they are alike. If they should prove to be, then I will gather them for you, and we will put them all together in the golden casket.”
“How strange!” thought Idun innocently.
The Frost giant, in his great bird guise, wheeled round and round, impatiently awaiting the coming of Idun and the apples. Hardly had the gates closed upon her, when down he swooped, seized her in his great strong beak, and flew with her across the sea to his home among the mountains.
The days rolled on and on. The Sungod rose, and drove his chariot across the sky, and sank behind the distant purple hills a thousand times.
There was a gloom, a shadow over Asgard; for the gods were growing old. The life had gone out of their eyes; their smooth round faces had grown thin and peaked; their step was halting, and the feebleness of age was falling upon them.
“It is Loke who has done this,” thundered Thor one day, when, from old age and weakness, he had been defeated in a battle with the now ever youthful giants. “It is Loke who has done this, and we will bear it no longer. Look at Odin; even he grows weak and bent and trembling. He is like the old men in Midgard. He, Odin, the All-father.”
Thor’s indignation waxed stronger and stronger. He set forth in search of Loke. “I will not even wait for him to come,” he thundered, seizing his hammer and setting forth. “I shall find him, the evil-hearted, somewhere making mischief among the innocent people of Midgard,” said he.
