Loki asked no questions, but gladly gave the oath; and the giant flew back with him across the sea, and dropped him, torn and bleeding and lame, by the side of the fire, where Odin and Hoenir still lingered.  And the three made all haste to leave that cheerless place, and returned to Odin’s glad home in Asgard.

Some weeks after this, Loki, the Prince of Mischief-makers, went to Bragi’s house to see Idun.  He found her busied with her household cares, not thinking of a visit from anyone.

“I have come, good dame,” said he, “to taste your apples again; for I feel old age coming on apace.”

Idun was astonished.

“You are not looking old,” she answered.  “There is not a single gray hair upon your head, and not a wrinkle on your brow.  If it were not for that scar upon your cheek, and the arm which you carry in a sling, you would look as stout and as well as I have ever seen you.  Besides, I remember that it was only a year ago when you last tasted of my fruit.  Is it possible that a single winter should make you old?”

“A single winter has made me very lame and feeble at least,” said Loki.  “I have been scarcely able to walk about since my return from the North.  Another winter without a taste of your apples will be the death of me.”

Then the kind-hearted Idun, when she saw that Loki was really lame, went to the box, and opened it with her golden key, and gave him one of the precious apples to taste.  He took the fruit in his hand, bit it, and gave it back to the good dame.  She put it in its place again, closed the lid, and locked it with her usual care.

“Your apples are not so good as they used to be,” said Loki, making a very wry face.  “Why don’t you fill your box with fresh fruit?”

Idun was amazed.  Her apples were supposed to be always fresh,—­fresher by far than any that grow nowadays.  None of the Asas had ever before complained about them; and she told Loki so.

“Very well,” said he.  “I see you do not believe me, and that you mean to feed us on your sour, withered apples, when we might as well have golden fruit.  If you were not so bent on having your own way, I could tell you where you might fill your box with the choicest of apples, such as Odin loves.  I saw them in the forest over yonder, hanging ripe on the trees.  But women will always have their own way; and you must have yours, even though you do feed us on withered apples.”

So saying, and without waiting to hear an answer, he limped out at the door, and was soon gone from sight.

Idun thought long and anxiously upon the words which Loki had spoken; and, the more she thought, the more she felt troubled.  If her husband, the wise Bragi, had been at home, what would she not have given?  He would have understood the mischief-maker’s cunning.  But he had gone on a long journey to the South, singing in Nature’s choir and painting Nature’s landscapes, and she would not see him