YOUNG FOLKS’ LIBRARY OF CHOICE LITERATURE.

LEGENDS OF NORSELAND

EDITED BY
MARA L. PRATT,
Author of “American History Stories,” etc.
Illustrated by A. CHASE

EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY.
BOSTON.
NEW YORK. CHICAGO.

Copyrighted
By EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
1894.

CONTENTS.

LEGENDS OF NORSELAND.

I.

THE BEGINNING.

In the beginning, when the beautiful and sunny world was first made, there stood, in the very midst of all its beauty, Mt. Ida—a mountain so high, so far away up among the snowy clouds, that its summit was lost in the shining light of the rays of the sun.

At its base, stretching away to the north, the south, the east, and the west, as far as even the eyes of the gods could reach, lay the soft, green valleys and the great, broad plain beyond. Encircling the whole great plain, and curling lovingly around in all the little bends and bays of the distant shore, lay the deep blue waters; and beyond the waters, hidden in the distant mists, rose the great mountains in which the frost giants dwelt.

On the top of Mt. Ida, the gods had built their shining city, Asgard; and from its golden gateway to the valley below was stretched the richly-colored, rainbow bridge, with its wonderful bars of red and yellow and blue, orange and green, indigo and purple.

And in this shining city, where the gods dwelt, there was no sorrow, no grief, no pain of any kind. Never was the sun’s light shut off by heavy clouds; never did the cruel lightnings flash, nor came their blights upon the harvest fields; never did the heavy rains fall, nor did the cold winds sweep down upon this shining city.

But alas, there came a time when a shadow fell upon this city that shone so like a golden cloud resting upon the mountain peak. For the Fates, the three cruel sisters, came and took up their abode at the foot of the wonderful tree of Life, whose roots were in the earth, and whose branches, reaching high above the shining city, protected it from the sun’s fierce heat and strong white light. And from that time even the gods themselves were no longer free from care and sorrow.

Envy sprang up among the children of the great god, Odin; sickness, and even death, fell upon them; and the frost giants waged war with them,—a war that would never cease in all the ages that were to come, until that day when the sun’s light went out forever, and the dark reign of Ragnarok fell upon the earth.

It was a beautiful earth that lay stretched out at the foot of Mt. Ida. The fields were rich with grain; the trees were loaded with fruits; the sun shone warm and bright; but there were no harvesters, no gatherers of the fruit, no children to run and frolic in the sunshine.

“The fair earth is desolate,” said Odin to himself, as he looked down from his golden temple. “There should be people there, not gods and goddesses like us here upon Mt. Ida, but beings less powerful than we, beings who can love and enjoy, and whose children shall fill the earth with their happy voices. And the care of all these beings shall be mine.”

As he spoke, he, the All Father, passed down the rainbow bridge, out into the rich, green valley below.

As he passed on beneath the trees, he saw standing together, their branches bending towards each other, a straight, strong Ash and a gentle, graceful Elm.

“From these trees,” said Odin to himself, “will I create the Earth people. The man I will name Ask, and the woman, Embla. It is a beautiful, sunny world: they should be very happy in it. How their children shall delight in the broad fields and the sunny slopes! And no harm shall come to them; for I, the All Father, will watch over them in all the age’s to come.”

II.

YGDRASIL.

At the base of Mt. Ida stood Ygdrasil, the wonderful tree of Life. Never before nor since was there another such a tree. It had never had a beginning; it had never been young.

Not even the oldest man, not even the gods themselves could say, “I remember when this great tree was a tender sapling, I remember when it sent forth its first tiny leaves, and how it rocked, and swayed, and shivered, and bent its timid head as the cold ice king swept over it.”

For there had never been a time since the beginning of the world when Ygdrasil had not stood there, tall and strong, one great root reaching down, down through the earth to the home of the dead, another stretching away, no one could tell how far, till it reached the home of the terrible giants, so fierce and cruel, so strong, and withal so wise, that even the gods themselves dreaded them and stood ever in terror of their approach.

And its branches? So broad, so far reaching, so numerous were these, that they spread themselves protectingly over the whole earth, their top-most leaves rustling and whispering together above the golden palace of the gods, far up on the summit of the cloud-hidden Ida.

Nor was this all. Hidden among the dense leaves lived a great white eagle. No one knew whence he came; no one had ever looked upon him; but there he sat, ages upon ages, singing forever the story of the creator of the earth and the wonderful deeds of the gods who dwell in the shining city of Asgard. The leaves of the tree sang sunset songs, and whispered to each other secrets, sometimes sad, sometimes gay, which even the gods, with all their wisdom, could not understand.

At the foot of the tree, away down at the end even of the deepest, farthest root, lay the Well of Wisdom. Its waters were black. Sometimes they were very bitter, and few there were who had the courage and the perseverance to search out the hiding-place of this wonderful spring. Then, too, it was guarded by a grim old giant, Memory, who so loved this well, and so dreaded the approach of man or god to its waters, that he would not allow them even to touch their lips to it, until they had sworn to surrender to him whatever thing was dearest in life to them.

This was a heavy price to pay for wisdom, and few there were who cared to pay it. “Will you give me your children?” “Will you give me your freedom?” “Will you give me your health?” “Will you give me your tongue, your ears, your eyes?” the old giant would ask of the mortals who came to drink of the waters of the Well of Wisdom.

And always, when the mortals heard these questions, they grew pale and trembled with fear. “Go back to your homes,” the old giant would thunder, “you desire wisdom it is true; but you are not willing to pay the price for it.” Then the mortals would hurry away, their hearts beating with fear, their ears ringing with the thunderous tones of the terrible giant, who, since the earth was made, had sat at the foot of Ygdrasil guarding the secrets from all the world.

ODIN, THE “ALL FATHER.”

III.

ODIN AT THE WELL OF WISDOM.

As Odin looked down from his home in Asgard and saw the people he had made from the ash and the elm trees, he sighed to himself and said, “These are my children. It is I who created them. They are innocent and pure and sweet.”

“But, alas, how little they know of life. By and by there will come to them danger and sorrow. The Ice King, the cruel tyrant, will breathe upon them, and the harvests will shrivel before their eyes; the rivers will be frozen, the trees will be bare, and there will be no food for them. As the years roll on, little children will come; these children will grow into manhood and womanhood, and other little children will follow. They are but mortals. Sickness and death will be their share; for I could not make them like the gods.”

And as Odin thought of all these things his heart grew sad. Almost he wished he had not made these helpless beings from the ash and the elm. He looked down into the sunny valley, where as yet no sorrow nor suffering had come. “Poor children!” he sighed. “What a world of wisdom Odin must possess to protect and guide and teach these earth-people that he has made.”

Just then Ask and Embla paused and looked up towards the shining city; for the sigh from Odin’s heart had been so deep and long that the leaves of Ygdrasil had rustled, and a faint echo of it had swept even across the valley below.

“What is it that sweeps sometimes across the valley, and moves the trees and the leaves, and so gently fans our cheeks?” asked Embla.

“I often wonder,” answered Ask. “It is very pleasant. Perhaps it is a message from the good Odin who made us and who gave us this sunny valley to play in.”

Then on they ran, hand in hand, happy children as they were, and in a moment had forgotten all about it.

But Odin had not forgotten. “Frigg,” said he to his goddess wife, “it is granted to us as gods to possess great wisdom. Still there remain many things we do not know. Below in the valley there have sprung into being a man and a woman. They are like us, Frigg, but they are not very wise. They need our care, even as our own dear Baldur needed our care when he was a very little child. I shall go to the Giant Memory, who guards the Well of Wisdom, and he shall give me a draught from the wonderful water. Then shall I be the all-wise, all-loving All-Father these children of the valley need.”

“O, but the price this cruel Giant will ask of you!” sobbed Frigg.

“I would give my life for them,” answered Odin tenderly. Then he turned from her, passed down the rainbow bridge to the valley, entered the great black, gaping cave and groped his way along the cold, dark passages that led to the Well of Wisdom.

Three times the sun rose, three times the sun set. Then, just as the earth and the shining Asgard lay bathed in the rich, golden sunset light, Odin came forth again, passed up the rainbow bridge, and entered the great hall of the gods. “It is Odin,” cried Frigg.

Yes, it is Odin, the same Odin. But with a face so joyous, so radiant, so happy! For Odin had drank from the Well of Wisdom. The way had been dark; the struggle with the great Giant had been hard. But Odin had conquered; and now the joy that belongs always to the wise was his forevermore.

IV.

ODIN AND THE ALL-WISE GIANT.

Away across the great sea of blue waters that curled about the shores of Midgard, the dwelling place of Odin’s earth-children, were the dark, frowning, rock-bound mountains, the castles of the terrible giants whom even the gods feared.

One of these giants, Vafthrudner, was known among them as the All-wise.

“He is our chief. He is wiser even than the gods of Asgard,” the giants sometimes would thunder across the wide blue sea. And indeed it was true; for none among the gods had yet been able to answer his questions; nor could they; neither could they ask of him one that he could not answer.

“We will bear the insolence of this giant no longer,” said Odin to Frigg. “I will go to him, and the race of giants shall know that at last Wisdom dwells not in Jotunheim but in the golden city of the gods,—the glorious, shining city of Asgard.”

“Who comes?” thundered Vafthrudner as Odin approached his mountain peak.

“It is I—a mere traveller. But as I chanced to be journeying through your country, I heard of your wonderful wisdom. In my own country, far away to the west, I too am accounted somewhat wise. Let us test each other and learn which of us is wiser.”

“Test each other! Learn which is wiser!” bellowed the great giant, his voice echoing and re-echoing across the sea, until the very walls of the golden hall upon Mt. Ida trembled and the earth-children in the valley below clung to each other in fear.

“Whichever one fails forfeits his life. You know that, I trust,” added Vafthrudner with a sneer.

“I know,” answered Odin quietly. “But let us begin. Night will come upon us, and I must reach my home while the Sun-god is still above us.”

“You will never see your home again; so it matters little whether we begin early or late. However, tell me, foolish, vain earth-child that you are, what river is it that flows between this home of the All-powerful giants and the home of the gods?”

“The name of that river is Ifing,” answered Odin. “And I can tell you more than that. Because it touches upon the shores of the city of the gods, the Ice King, Njord, has no power over it. His breath cannot freeze it. Year after year, Njord tries to imprison its sparkling waters that you giants may cross upon its crust and attack the shining city. But it will never freeze. You will never cross it. Asgard is forever safe.”

The giant dropped his mighty jaw. His eyes stared like great suns of fire. His terrible frame trembled. Down came his club upon the floor of his great castle.

Again Ask and Embla paled with fear as the valley shook beneath their feet.

“Who are you?” roared the All-wise giant. “Who are you that you know that river’s name? Who are you that you dare tell me I shall never cross to its farther shore?”

“It matters little who I am,” answered Odin, his eyes flashing, his beautiful figure growing taller and taller. “But listen now while I whisper into your ear my question.” And with a mighty stride Odin crossed to Vafthrudner’s throne, leaned forward, seized him by the shoulder, and hissed three words into the gigantic, cave-like ear.

What those words were, no man ever knew. Forever they shall remain a secret between Vafthrudner and the All-Father Odin.

The giant paled, staggered to his feet, groaned and fell. The walls of the great hall swayed to and fro. The lightning flashed, the thunder pealed from peak to peak. Odin had conquered. The All-Father was now the All-loving and the All-wise too. And as such, was ever after acknowledged by all living creatures,—gods and men, dwarfs and giants.

V.

THE STOLEN WINE.

Part I.

There had lain for ages upon ages, hidden away in the great rocky cellar of one of the giant’s castles, a cask of wine, which had been stolen from the gods.

Never before had the gods been able to learn what had become of it; what giant had stolen it, nor in what castle it was hidden.

But now that Odin had become All-wise, nothing could be concealed from him.

“I know at last where the wine lies hidden,” said Odin one day to his son, Thor; “and I shall set forth to find it.”

Thor brought down his hammer with a thud. “Let me go with you,” cried he, springing up. “And let me fell to the earth with one blow of my magic hammer the giant who has stolen, and has kept hidden all these ages our precious wine.”

“No;” answered Odin, “this time I must go alone. The wine is guarded day and night, and it will not be easy to bring it away, even when I have found it. But watch for me, dear son. One day there will come, beating its wings against the shining gates of our city, a great white eagle. Do not harm the eagle. Open the gates to him; for that eagle will be Odin, returning with the stolen wine to our city of Asgard.”

Then Odin put aside his sparkling crown and laid down his sceptre. His wonderful blue mantle, studded with stars and fastened always with a pale crescent moon, he also threw aside, and stepped forth in the garb of a common laborer. “It is in this guise that I shall win my way to the giant’s castle,” said Odin; and in a second he had passed out from the hall and was gone.

It was the giant, Suttung, that had stolen the wine, and it was in his castle that it had lain hidden all these years.

Now, of all the strong castles of all the giants, Suttung’s castle was the strongest. The cellar was cut into the solid rock. Moreover, three sides of the castle rose in solid walls of granite; while the fourth, no less firm and strong, was built of massive blocks bound with hoops and bars and bolts of strongest iron and steel.

Now, Suttung had a brother, Bauge, who was a giant farmer. He kept nine strong slaves, half giants themselves, to do his work for him.

As Odin approached the fields of Bauge’s farm, he saw the nine men hard at work.

“Your scythes are dull,” said he, as he drew near.

“Yes, but we have no whetstone to sharpen them upon,” answered the workmen, the great drops standing out upon their foreheads.

“I will sharpen them on mine,” said Odin, drawing one from his pocket.

“It is a magic whetstone!” cried the men as they saw it work. “Give it to us. We need it more than you. Give it to us. Give it to us.”

“Take it, then,” answered Odin, throwing it high in the air and walking off.

“It is mine! It is mine! Let me have it! Give it to me! I will have it! Out of the way! It shall be mine!” screamed and quarreled the nine men as they pushed and crowded, each one determined to catch the whetstone as it came down to earth.

At last it fell. Then a fiercer battle followed. The angry men fell upon each other. They dragged and pulled and threw each other to the ground. They pounded each other; they struck at each other with their scythes. On and on they fought. Hour after hour the battle waged; till at last the Sun-god, in sheer dismay at so unloving a sight, hid his face behind the hills, and the nine men lay dead upon the fields.

It was an hour later when Odin reached the castle of Bauge.

“Can you give me shelter for the night?” he asked, as the giant appeared at the door of his castle.

“Yes, I can give you shelter; but you must look elsewhere for your breakfast. A strange thing has happened. My nine slaves, while at work in the field, have fallen in battle upon each other, and have killed each other. Not one of them is left alive to serve me.”

“They must have been idle, quarrelsome fellows,” answered Odin.

“They were, indeed,” answered Bauge; “but how shall I get my work done without them?”

“I will do the work for you,” answered Odin.

“You! There is but one of you, even if you were willing to try,” answered Bauge with but little interest.

“But I can do the work of any nine workmen that ever served you.”

The giant laughed. “A remarkable workman. Pray, do you ask the wages of nine men as well?”

“I ask no wages,” answered Odin. “I only ask that, as my pay when the work is done, you shall give me a draught of wine from the cask hidden in your brother’s cellar.”

Bauge stared. “How did you know there is a cask in my brother’s cellar?” he gasped.

“It is enough that I know it,” answered Odin coldly.

Bauge looked at Odin. “He is better than no man,” he thought to himself. “I may as well get what work from him I can, before he finds that no being on earth can enter that cellar or force my brother to give away one drop of that wine.”

“Very well, you may go to work,” he said aloud. “I cannot promise you that we can make our way into my brother’s cellar; but I will do what I can to help you.”

“That is all I ask,” answered Odin. “Now let me sleep, for I am tired; and if I am to do nine men’s work, I must have nine men’s sleep.”

“And must you have nine men’s food?” cried Bauge.

“I think it very likely,” answered Odin with a queer smile. “Now let me sleep.”

VI.

THE STOLEN WINE.

Part II.

“What is your name?” asked Bauge of his new workman when they set forth the next morning to the fields.

“You may call me Bolverk,” answered Odin.

“Will one name be enough for all nine of you?” said Bauge with a disagreeable curling of his upper lip.

“I will not burden your giant mind with more than one,” Odin answered,—a funny little twinkle in his eye.

The giant gave a furious grunt. He did not quite know whether his new workman was stupid, or, whether under all his seeming meekness, it might not be that he was making fun of him.

Well, Bauge set Bolverk to work, and then, lazy fellow that he was, stretched himself out on a mountain side to watch.

“That new workman of mine,” he bellowed, calling the attention of a neighbor giant to Odin at work in the field; “do you see him down there among the corn? He says he can do nine men’s work.”

“A workman usually thinks himself equal to any nine other workingmen,” roared back the neighbor. “Of course you have agreed to give him nine men’s wages?”

Then the two giants roared with laughter. They thought they had said a very bright thing, and very likely they had. It is only because you and I are mere earth-children that we do not think so too.

As the days went on, Bauge began to laugh less and to wonder more at his strange workman. He worked on quietly from sunrise till sunset. He did not seem to hurry in his work; he did not work over hours. But, strange to say, the work went on, as the workman had promised. No nine men could have done more or could have done it better.

It was harvest time when Odin came; the time when Frey, the god of the fields and of all that grows, glides around among his children and covers them over, or gathers in their wealth and beauty. Like the kind, loving father he is, he whispers to them now of Njord who so soon will come, sweeping across the earth, breathing his cold freezing breath upon all the world, and covering it over with the cold white sheet that kills the flowers and the fruits. He teaches his children to curl themselves up beneath the earth until the cruel Njord is gone. For Njord seeks to kill the tiny leaves and buds, and shrivel the radiant flowers, that, through all the long warm summer days, have lifted their faces so brightly to their good friend, the Sun-god.

Perhaps it was because Frey and Odin worked together that there were such rare crops, and that the harvesting went on so smoothly. Certain it was that all the fields were cleared, the cellars were filled, and all was ready for the long, cold months to come, when cruel Njord was king.

Even Bauge was in good humor. “You are indeed a wonderful workman,” he said to Odin, as the last cellar was fastened and he sat down to rest.

“You are kind,” answered Odin, the funny little twinkle coming again into his eyes. “Perhaps you would be willing to come with me now to your brother, that I may drink from the cask of wine that he keeps so closely guarded in his cellar.”

Bauge began to feel uncomfortable. “He will not allow either you or me to so much as look upon that wine. You cannot have it.”

“Bauge,” said Odin, growing very tall and godlike, his wonderful eyes flashing with a light like fire, “you promised to do all you could to help me. Come and do as I bid you.”

Bauge stared. His first thought was to kill the workman on the spot: but there was a something about him, he hardly knew what, that made him, instead, rise and follow Odin to the brother’s castle.

“Tell me which cellar holds the wine,” said Odin when they had reached the brother’s mountain.

“This one,” answered Bauge.

“Now take this augur. Make a hole with it through the solid wall.”

Bauge obeyed like one in a dream. It was a magic augur. How it worked! How the powdered stone flew in a cloud about his face!

“This is a very—” Bauge stopped. What had become of his workman? Not a soul was in sight. Odin had disappeared. And to this day the giant never knew what became of him, nor does his brother know who stole his wine from the cellar.

The stupid Bauge stood staring, now at the augur, now at the hole in the wall. He saw a little worm climb up the wall and disappear through the hole. That is all he ever saw or ever knew.

The little worm laughed to itself as it crept in out of sight. “You are very stupid, Bauge, not to know me.”

Reaching the inner side of the wall, the little worm stopped to look about. There stood the cask; and beside it sat the daughter of the giant. “Poor girl,” said Odin—I mean, said the worm—to himself. “It is a bitter fate to be doomed to sit forever in this wretched dungeon watching your father’s stolen treasure. But be happy. Soon you will be free. There will be no wine to watch.”

The young giantess must have heard his words. For she looked up. There, just in front of the hole, the ray of light falling full upon his golden hair, stood a most beautiful youth. He looked so kindly upon her, and his eyes were so full of pity!

Her heart went out to him at once.

“I am very tired,” said he gently. “So very tired. I have come a long, long distance. My home is far from here. I cannot tell you how far—but very, very far. If you would give me just one draught from the cask of wine.”

The poor girl, grateful for the sound of a friendly voice, and for the sight of a human face, arose and lifted the lid for him.

Odin leaned over the cask. He put his lips to the wine and drank.

“You are very thirsty,” said the giantess.

“Very,” answered Odin, drinking on and on.

“You are very thirsty,” said the giantess again.

“Very,” answered Odin, still drinking on and on and on.

“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.

VII.

LOKE’S THEFT.

Thor was the son of Odin. He was a brave young god; and when the frost giants came sweeping down upon the shining city, none were more brave to fight for the protection of Asgard, the beautiful home of the gods, than Thor, the son of Odin.

There was another son, Loke. A cruel, wicked, idle, evil-hearted god was he, the sorrow of his father Odin, the grief of his mother Frigg, and the terror of all the gods and goddesses.

Over this son the great Odin wept often bitter tears. More bitter still since he had drunk from the Well of Wisdom; for since then knowing, as he did, all things past and future, he knew that a day was yet to come, when, because of this wicked Loke, the light would go out from the earth; damp and cold and darkness would fall upon the shining city; the frost giants would overcome the gods; and there would come an end to all life. Nor was there any escape nor hope for any help. This fate, the Norns had decreed should be; and through the evil-hearted Loke it was to come.

In the golden hall of the gods dwelt Thor; and with him, his beautiful wife, Sif. Of all the goddesses there was none like her. Her eyes were of heaven’s own blue; and the light in them was borrowed from the stars. Her hair was of yellow, yellow gold; and as it lay massed above her pure white brow, it vied with the golden light of harvest time in softness and rich, deep color.

One happy peaceful day, when there was no danger abroad, and rest and peace had spread themselves above the halls of the city of Asgard, Sif lay sleeping. The Sungod’s covering of soft warm rays fell upon her, and the leaves of Ygdrasil had spread themselves above her in tender, loving protection.

Loke, the idle one, angry and revengeful, as he always was, when happiness and rest and peace had driven out sorrow and care, paced angrily up and down the golden streets, his deep black frowns darkening even the clear, white light of heaven.

He came upon the beautiful sleeping wife of Thor.

“I hate my brother,” he hissed through his cruel teeth. “And how proud he is of this golden hair of Sif’s.”

The wicked light flashed from his deep black eyes. Softly, like a thief, he crept towards the sleeping Sif. He seized the golden hair in his hand. A cruel smile shone over his evil face. “Boast now of your beauty, O Sif,” he sneered. “Boast now of your Sif’s golden hair, O Thor,” he growled. And with one great sweep of his shining knife, he cut from the beautiful head the whole mass of gold.

It was late when Sif awoke. The leaves of Ygdrasil were moaning for the cruel deed. The Sun was sinking sorrowfully below the distant mountain peaks.

“O my gold! my gold!” sobbed Sif. “O who has stolen from me in my sleep my gold? O Thor, Thor! You were so proud of the gold. It was for you I prized it,—my beautiful, beautiful gold!”

At that second the voice of Thor was heard. His heavy call echoed across the skies and pealed from cloud to cloud. He was angry; for he had heard Sif’s bitter cry and felt some harm had come to her.

“It is Loke that has done this,” he thundered; and again his voice rolled from cloud to cloud. The very mountain peaks across the sea in the country of the Frost giants rocked and reeled. The waters foamed and tossed; the scorching lightnings flashed from his eyes; the whole sky was as one great sheet of fire.

The earth-children trembled as they had never trembled before. Even Loke, shivering with fear, cowered behind the golden pillars of the great arched gateway.

“Forgive me, forgive me!” wailed he, as Thor flashed his great white light upon him.

“Out from your hiding place, O coward! Out! Out, or my thunderbolts shall strike you dead.”

“Spare me, spare me!” groaned Loke. “Only spare me, and I will go down into the earth where the dwarfs do dwell—”

“Go!” thundered Thor, not waiting for the wretched god to finish. “Go, and bring back to me a crown of golden threads, woven and spun in the smithies of the dwarfs, that shall be as beautiful, and ten thousand times more beautiful, than the golden crown you have stolen from the head of Sif. Go to them, tell them what you have done, and never again enter the shining gateway of the city of our Father Odin until you bring the crown.”

Loke slunk away, the thunders of the wrath of Thor slowly, slowly following him. The lightnings flashed dully across the skies. The low rumbling of thunder, distant but threatening, warned Loke that the wrath of Thor was not appeased, neither would it be, nor would there be any return to Asgard for the evil doer, until the crown of gold was won.

DWARFS FORGING CROWN FOR LOKE.

VIII.

THOR’S HAMMER.

It was away down in the underground caves, and beneath the roaring waters of the rivers, and deep in the hearts of the mountains that these dwarf workmen dwelt, and worked their smithies, and spun their gold and brass.

“Make me a crown of gold for Sif the wife of Thor,” snarled Loke, bursting in upon the workshop of the dwarfs.

The dwarfs were ugly little creatures, with crooked legs, and crooked backs. Their eyes were black, wicked little beads of eyes, and their hearts were malicious and sometimes cruel. But they were the willing and ready slaves of the gods; and so, at even this ill-natured command from Loke, they set themselves to work.

The coals burned and blazed; the forges puffed and blew; the little workmen moulded and turned and spun their gold. Hardly had the Sun-god lifted his head above the castles of the frost giants, hardly had his light fallen upon the rich colors of the rainbow bridge, when Loke came forth from the underground caves, the shining crown in his hand.

Quickly he rose high in the air and stood before the gates of the city.

“Have you brought the crown?” thundered Thor from within the gates.

“I have brought the crown,” answered Loke in triumph. “And more than that,” added he, when the gates had been opened to him, “I have brought as gifts from the dwarfs, a ship that will sail on land or sea and a spear that never fails. O there are no such workmen among any dwarfs as these who made the spear, the ship and the crown.”

“You boast of what you do not know,” croaked Brok, a little dwarf who stood near by.

“Who says I do not know?” cried Loke, turning sharply.

“I say you do not know,” croaked the little dwarf again, his beadlike eyes snapping angrily, his whole crooked frame quivering with rage. “I have a brother, a workman in brass and gold, who can make gifts more pleasing to the gods than any you have brought.”

Loke looked down upon the little dwarf in scorn. “Go to your brother,” he sneered, “and bring to us the wonderful things you think he can make. Bring us one gift more wonderful than these I have, or more acceptable to Odin and Thor, and I will give your brother my head to pay him for his efforts.” Then Loke roared with laughter, believing that he had made a rare, rich joke.

Hardly had the roars of laughter died away, when Brok, gliding down the rainbow bridge with a swiftness equalled only by the lightning, sprang into Midgard, and was making his way towards the great mountain, beneath which worked the forges of his brother, the master-workman—Sindre.

“Some one cometh,” said the dwarfs, pausing in their work to listen, their busy hammers in mid-air.

“Fear not,” answered Brok, his harsh voice echoing down the great halls. “It is I—Brok—and I come to demand of you that now, if never again, you do your best; for Loke boasts to the gods of Asgard that no dwarfs in all the caverns of the under-world can make one gift more wonderful or more acceptable to Odin than those he brings—a crown of gold, a ship that will sail on land or sea, and a spear that never fails!”

A terrible roar burst forth from the hosts of angry dwarfs. “We will see! We will see!” they thundered. And seizing their hammers they set to work. The great forges blazed. The sparks flew. The smoke poured forth from the mountain top. Loke, looking out from the shining city, trembled. Well did he know the workmanship of these dwarfs of Brok; and well did he know how rash had been his scornful promise to the angry little dwarf.

“We will make a hammer for Thor,” said Sindre, the greatest among the workmen in this under world; “a hammer, that when thrown from his mighty hand, shall ring through all the heavens. A trail of fire shall follow it. Its aim shall never fail; and it shall carry death and destruction wherever it falls.

“Blow thou the bellows, Brok; and I myself will mould the hammer from the red hot iron.”

With Brok at the bellows, the very mountain rocked, and Midgard for miles about was ablaze with the blaze of light from the mountain top.

“This shall not be,” snarled Loke. And rushing down from Asgard he crouched outside the great, black cave to listen.

“A hammer for Thor!” Those were the words he heard. The ugly face grew uglier. An instant, and there was no Loke at the cavern mouth; but instead, a poisonous, stinging gadfly, whose green back glistened, and whose shining wings buzzed and hummed with cruelty and revenge. There was a hard, ringing tone of defiance in their singing, and the tone was like that of the voice of Loke himself.

“You shall drop the bellows,” buzzed the gadfly bitterly, as it alighted upon the neck of Brok.

It was a cruel sting; and its poison forced, even from the sturdy Brok, a cry of pain.

“I know you. It is Loke,” he cried; “but I will not drop the bellows though you sting me through and through and with a thousand stings!”

The gadfly buzzed with rage. Straight towards the hand upon the bellows it darted. Brok groaned again. His face grew pale; he quivered with the pain; still he held the mighty bellows and worked the roaring forge.

“You will not!” hissed the gadfly; and again it drove its poison sting, this time straight between the eyes of the suffering dwarf. And now Brok staggered. His hands relaxed their hold. Blinded with pain, he dropped the bellows. The blood ran down his face. The gadfly still hummed and buzzed.

“You have nearly spoiled it,” cried Sindre. “Why did you drop the bellows? See how short the handle is! And how rough! But it cannot be helped now; nor will its terror be any less to Loke. Ha, ha, I would have made it handsome; but there is a power in it that shall make even the gods tremble in all the ages to come. Hurry away with it, and place it in Thor’s mighty hands. And here are other gifts. Take them all, and bring me Loke’s head. He has promised. Surely even he must keep his word, wicked and deceitful though he is.”

Brok seized the hammer, and, with the gifts, hurried up through the dark cavern, out into the light of Midgard, up the rainbow bridge, and, with triumph in his swarthy face, sprang into the presence of the great god Odin.

Loke roared with laughter at the sight of the awkward, clumsy hammer; but there was a proud, confident look in the dwarf’s shining eyes that Loke did not like; and, coward that he was, his heart began already to fail him.

“Let us see the gifts,” said Odin, “that we may judge which workman among the dwarfs has proved himself most wonderful.”

“First of all,” said Loke, coming forward, “Here is the golden crown for Sif.”

Eagerly Thor seized the crown, and placed it upon poor Sif’s head.

“Wonderful! wonderful!” cried all the gods, for straightway the golden hair began to grow to Sif’s head, and in a second it was as if her golden locks had never been stolen from her.

“To you, O Odin,” said the dwarf, now coming forward, “I give this ring of gold. It is a magic ring; and each night it will cast off from itself another ring, as pure and as heavy, as round and as large as itself.”

“What is that,” sneered Loke, “compared with this? See, O Father Odin, I bring you a magic spear. Accept this, my second gift. It is a magic spear that never fails.”

“But behold my second gift,” interrupted Brok. “It is a boar of wonderful strength. It, too, is magic. No horse can run, no bird can fly with such speed. It travels both on land and sea; and in the night its bristles shine with such a light, that it matters not how dense the blackness, the forest or the plain will be as bright as noonday.”

“I, too, have a gift that will travel on land or sea,” cried Loke, pushing himself forward again. “See, it is a ship. And not only will it travel on land or sea, but it can lift itself and sail like a bird above the clouds and through the air.”

“It will be hard indeed to say which gift is greatest,” said Odin kindly.

“Look now, O, Odin, and Frigg and Thor and Sif and all the gods, at this the last of my three gifts. This hammer, O Thor, I bring to you, the god of thunder. Strike with it, and your thunders shall echo and re-echo from cloud to cloud as never they were heard before. Thrown into the air or at a foe, like Loke’s spear, it shall never miss its aim; but, more than that, it shall return always to the hand of Thor. No foe can conceal it, no foe can destroy it. It will never fail thee, O Thor, thou god of thunder.”

“But what a clumsy handle,” sneered Loke, who already began to fear the hammer was to win the favor of the gods.

“Yes,” answered Brok, “the handle is clumsy and it is short. But none knows better than you why it is so.”

Loke colored and moved uneasily. “Do not think,” continued Brok, “that I do not know it was you who sent the poisonous gadfly to sting and bite me as I worked at the blazing forge, pounding out the brass and gold from which this hammer is made.

“You thought to pain me into giving up this contest, you coward! you evil one! you boaster!

“When the handle was welded just so far, you drove the gadfly into my eye. I could not see to finish the work; but although the handle is short and clumsy, the magic power is there, and with it in his hand, no power in earth or among the frost giants even can overcome our great god Thor.”

A ringing shout of joy arose from the gods. Thor swung his hammer over his head and threw it far out against the clouds. The thunder rolled, the clouds filled with blackness, and the lightnings flashed, as the magic hammer, humming through the air, came back to the hands of Thor.

“Now give me my wager,” cried Brok. “I was promised the head of Loke.”

“Take it,” laughed Loke. “Take it.”

Brok drew near. “I will take it,” he hissed through his set teeth; “and a rich day will it be both in Midgard and in Asgard when your miserable head is bound down in the home of the dwarfs of the underground world.”

“But halt,” commanded Loke. “My head you may have; but you must not touch my neck. One drop of blood from that, and you forfeit your life.”

Brok stood for a moment white with anger. He knew that he was foiled. Then springing forward, he thundered, “I may not touch your neck; but see, I have my revenge.” And so, falling upon Loke, who struggled, but struggled in vain, he whipped from his mantle a thong and thread of brass; and before even Loke knew what had been done, he had sewed, firm together, the lying boasting lips of the evil god, Loke, the wicked-hearted son of Odin.

THOR.

XI.

THE THEFT OF THE HAMMER.

It was to the sweet and loving god Baldur that the earth owed its warmth and beauty, its rich fruit and its rare harvests. How the frost giants hated Baldur, and how they struggled year after year to wrest the earth from him!

They hated the warmth Baldur brought with him, for it destroyed their power. They hated the sweet flowers and the soft grass and the tiny leaves that everywhere peeped out when the winds whispered, “Baldur is coming, Baldur is coming.”

But no sooner had Baldur turned away and said, “Good-bye, dear Earth, for a little time, remember Baldur loves you and will come back again to you,” than the frost giants would creep out from their mountain gorges, and burst forth upon the fields and forests.

The tiny bubbling brooks they would seal with their cruel chains of ice; even the great rivers could not hold their freedom against the giant power.

Like angry fiends they would seize upon the leaves and tear them from the trees. The tiny flowers hung their heads and shriveled with fear when they approached; nor were the frost giants content until the whole earth lay brown and cold and barren beneath their hand. Then, all beauty swept away, they covered over all, their silent sheet of snow, and stood, grim sentinels, cold and hard, guarding their work of destruction and desolation.

There was deep silence when the frost giants reigned; no sound was heard save the sad moaning among the branches of the forest, as the firs and pine trees bent towards each other and whispered of the days when Baldur shone upon them.

But the frost giants never yet had conquered; never yet had Baldur failed to return to the trees and flowers and rivers and streams that he loved so well.

At his first step upon the ice, a crackling sound was heard—a sound which awoke the sleeping earth and warned the frost giants to flee to their mountains.

“Baldur has come! Baldur has come!” the birds and every living thing would cry; and a rustle and sound of music would thrill the waiting earth.

Then came always a mighty battle. The frost giants lashed the waters and rocked the trees. The winds shrieked, the sky grew cold and black. The snows fell and the driving rain beat against the earth. But Baldur, the quiet, firm, loving Baldur always conquered. How, he himself could hardly tell. He did not fight; he did not storm. He only bent his shining face over the struggling earth and waited.

Little by little, when their fury was spent, the frost giants, defiant but conquered, retreated. The great sheets of ice broke up, and the rivers rushed forth singing their mad songs of joy and freedom. The snows faded away, and one by one the little flowers peeped forth again.

All now was happiness and warmth and fragrance; the flowers bloomed; the fruits turned mellow; the sky grew warm; and the pines and fir trees breathed deep sighs of rest and contentment that once again sweet Baldur was among them.

And not only did the frost giants hate Baldur, but they hated Frey, who often robbed them of the fruits and flowers they loved to breathe their bitter breath upon and kill. Thor, too, they hated; for with his magic hammer, he now, more than ever, loved to bring forth the lightnings and the thunder, and to send down upon the earth refreshing showers of soft, warm rain.

As the frost giants scowled down from their icy castles, and saw the little flowers turn up their happy faces to drink in the sparkling drops, and heard the birds trill their happy songs, and smelled the rich fragrance of the damp firs and pines, they roared with anger and vexation.

“Let us revenge ourselves upon this insolent Thor who robs us of our rights,” they bellowed to each other across the great valleys that separated their giant peaks.

“We can do nothing so long as he holds the magic hammer,” growled one.

“We must steal the hammer from him,” shouted another.

“Steal the hammer! Steal the hammer!” shouted all the giants until the very skies echoed with the words.

“And I will be the one to steal it,” bellowed Thrym, the strongest and greatest giant of them all.

“And, moreover, I will go at once to the city of Asgard. The gods are asleep. With my great eye, I can see even now the hammer lying beside the sleeping Thor. Guard my castle. I am gone.”

THE THEFT OF THE HAMMER.

And putting on the guise of a great bird, Thrym spread his wings and flew across the black night to Asgard. The gods shivered in their sleep as he entered and breathed his breath upon the summer air of heaven, but knew not what had chilled them.

In the morning there was a heavy frost upon the gateways. There was a chill in the air. For Thrym, the frost giant, had crept in upon them. He had crept even to the hall in which the mighty Thor was sleeping. He had crept close beside the mighty god—and the magic hammer was gone.

THOR AND LOKE ON THE JOURNEY AFTER THE HAMMER.

XII.

THE FINDING OF THE HAMMER.

“My hammer! My hammer!” thundered Thor, awaking and finding it gone.

The gods in all Asgard awoke with a start.