years; why dost thou
disturb me?"

"I am Vegtam," answered Odin, "and I come to ask why the couches of Hel
are hung with gold and the benches strewn with shining rings?"

"It is done for Balder," answered the awful voice; "ask me no more."

Odin's heart sank when he heard these words; but he was determined to
know the worst.

"I will ask thee until I know all. Who shall strike the fatal blow?"

"If I must, I must," moaned the prophetess. "Hoder shall smite his
brother Balder and send him down to the dark home of Hel. The mead is
already brewed for Balder, and the despair draweth near."

Then Odin, looking into the future across the open grave, saw all the
days to come.

"Who is this," he said, seeing that which no mortal could have seen;
"who is this that will not weep for Balder?"

Then the prophetess knew that it was none other than the greatest of the
gods who had called her up.

"Thou art not Vegtam," she exclaimed, "thou art Odin himself, the king
of men."

"And thou," answered Odin angrily, "art no prophetess, but the mother of
three giants."

"Ride home, then, and exult in what thou hast discovered," said the dead
woman. "Never shall my slumbers be broken again until Loki shall burst
his chains and the great battle come."

And Odin rode sadly homeward knowing that already Niflheim was making
itself beautiful against the coming of Balder.

The other gods meanwhile had become merry again; for had not everything
promised to protect their beloved Balder? They even made sport of that
which troubled them, for when they found that nothing could hurt Balder,
and that all things glanced aside from his shining form, they persuaded
him to stand as a target for their weapons; hurling darts, spears,
swords, and battle-axes at him, all of which went singing through the
air and fell harmless at his feet. But Loki, when he saw these sports,
was jealous of Balder, and went about thinking how he could destroy him.

It happened that as Frigg sat spinning in her house Fensal, the soft
wind blowing in at the windows and bringing the merry shouts of the gods
at play, an old woman entered and approached her.

"Do you know," asked the newcomer, "what they are doing in Asgard? They
are throwing all manner of dangerous weapons at Balder. He stands there
like the sun for brightness, and against his glory, spears and
battle-axes fall powerless to the ground. Nothing can harm him."

"No," answered Frigg joyfully; "nothing