“Who are you?” said Thor, standing on tiptoe, and stretching his neck to look up; “and why do you make such a noise as to prevent your neighbors from sleeping?”
“My name is Skrymir,” said the giant sternly; “I need not ask yours. You are the little Asa Thor of Asgard; but pray, now, what have you done with my glove?”
As he spoke he stooped down, and picked up the hall where Thor and his companions had passed the night, and which, in truth, was nothing more than his glove, the room where Loki and Thialfi had slept being the thumb.
Thor rubbed his eyes, and felt as if he must be dreaming. Rousing himself, however, he raised Miölnir in his hand, and, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the giant’s face, which seemed to be always changing, he said: “It is time that you should know, Skrymir, that I am come to Jötunheim to fight and conquer such evil giants as you are, and, little as you think me, I am ready to try my strength against yours.”
“Try it, then,” said the giant.
And Thor, without another word, threw Miölnir at his head.
“Ah! Ah!” said the giant; “did a leaf touch me?”
Again Thor seized Miölnir, which always returned to his hand, however far he cast it from him, and threw it with all his force.
The giant put up his hand to his forehead. “I think,” he said, “that an acorn must have fallen on my head.”
A third time Thor struck a blow, the heaviest that ever fell from the hand of an Asa; but this time the giant laughed out loud.