cruelly taken his life away. Solemnly the gods debated how this ill
happening might be averted, and Freya, his mother, fear for her best
beloved hanging heavy over her heart, took upon herself the task of
laying under oath fire and water, iron and all other metals, trees and
shrubs, birds, beasts and creeping things, to do no harm to Baldur.
With eager haste she went from place to place, nor did she fail to
exact the oath from anything in all nature, animate or inanimate, save
one only.

"A twig of mistletoe, tender and fair, grew high above the field," and
such a little thing it was, with its dainty green leaves and waxen
white berries, nestling for protection under the strong arm of a great
oak, that the goddess passed it by. Assuredly no scathe could come to
Baldur the Beautiful from a creature so insignificant, and Freya
returned to Asgard well pleased with her quest.

Then indeed was there joy and laughter amongst the gods, for each one
tried how he might slay Baldur, but neither sword nor stone, hammer
nor battle-axe could work him any ill.

Odin alone remained unsatisfied. Mounted on his eight-footed grey
steed, Sleipnir, he galloped off in haste to consult the giant
prophetess Angrbotha, who was dead and had to be followed to Niflheim,
the chilly underworld that lies far north from the world of men, and
where the sun never comes. Hel, the daughter of Loki and of Angrbotha,
was queen of this dark domain.

"There, in a bitterly cold place, she received the souls
of all who died of sickness or old age; care was her
bed, hunger her dish, starvation her knife. Her walls
were high and strong, and her bolts and bars huge; 'Half
blue was her skin, and half the colour of human flesh. A
goddess easy to know, and in all things very stern and
grim.'"

Dasent.

In her kingdom no soul that passed away in glorious battle was
received, nor any that fought out the last of life in a fierce combat
with the angry waves of the sea. Only those who died ingloriously were
her guests.

When he had reached the realm of Hel, Odin found that a feast was
being prepared, and the couches were spread, as for an honoured guest,
with rich tapestry and with gold. For many a year had Angrbotha rested
there in peace, and it was only by chanting a magic spell and tracing
those runes which have power to raise the dead that Odin awoke her.
When she raised herself, terrible and angry from her tomb, he did