th, although he
had a smooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who
had no thought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong
themselves.

Not long after all this happened, Loke came carelessly up to Idun as she
was gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box
which held them.

“Good morning, goddess,” said he. “How fair and golden your Apples are!”

“Yes,” answered Idun; “the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.”

“I never saw anything like them,” continued Loke, slowly, as if he were
talking about a matter of no importance, “until the other day.”

Idun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her
face. She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew that no earthly
trees, however large and fair, bore the immortal fruit.

“Where have you seen any Apples like them?” she asked.

“Oh, just outside the gates,” said Loke, indifferently. “If you care to
see them, I’ll take you there. It will keep you but a moment. The tree
is only a little way off.”

Idun was anxious to go at once.

“Better take your Apples with you to compare them with the others,” said
the wily god, as she prepared to go.

Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with
her all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a
mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before
she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was
bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in
Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the
Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely
prisoner.

Loke, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of
the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next
morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day
after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come.
Little by little the light of youth and bea