“Well done!” answered Odin. “Well done! You cruel, cowardly, lying dwarfs! I myself saw you kill him. For shame! for shame!” and then Odin proceeded to pass sentence upon them all. Those who had been the most wicked, he said, were to live, henceforth, a long way underground, and were to spend their time in throwing fuel upon the great earth’s central fire; while those who had only been mischievous were to work in the gold and diamond mines, fashioning precious stones and metals. They might all come up at night, Odin said; but must vanish at the dawn. Then he waved his hand, and the dwarfs turned round, shrilly chattering, scampered down the palace-steps, out of the city, over the green fields, to their unknown, deep-buried earth-homes. But the light elves still lingered, with upturned, tearful, smiling faces, like sunshiny morning dew.
“And you,” said Odin, looking them through and through with his serious eyes, “and you——”
“Oh! indeed, Odin,” interrupted they, speaking all together in quick, uncertain tones; “Oh! indeed, Odin, we are not so very wicked. We have never done anybody any harm.”
“Have you ever done anybody any good?” asked Odin.
“Oh! no, indeed,” answered the light elves, “we have never done anything at all.”
“You may go, then,” said Odin, “to live among the flowers, and play with the wild bees and summer insects. You must, however, find something to do, or you will get to be mischievous like the dwarfs.”
“If only we had any one to teach us,” said the light elves, “for we are such foolish little people.”
Odin looked round inquiringly upon the Æsir; but among them there was no teacher found for the silly little elves. Then he turned to Niörd, who nodded his head good-naturedly, and said, “Yes, yes, I will see about it;” and then he strode out of the Judgment Hall, right away through the city gates, and sat down upon the mountain’s edge.
After awhile he began to whistle in a most alarming manner, louder and louder, in strong wild gusts, now advancing, now retreating; then he dropped his voice a little, lower and lower, until it became a bird-like whistle—low, soft, enticing music, like a spirit’s call; and far away from the south a little fluttering answer came, sweet as the invitation itself, nearer and nearer until the two sounds dropped into one another. Then through the clear sky two forms came floating, wonderfully fair—a brother and sister—their beautiful arms twined round one another, their golden hair bathed in sunlight, and supported by the wind.
“My son and daughter,” said Niörd, proudly, to the surrounding Æsir, “Frey and Freya, Summer and Beauty, hand in hand.”