ture great grief, and she rushed out of the house to view
Gilling's remains. As she passed through the door, the wicked dwarfs
rolled the millstone down upon her head, and killed her. According to
another account, the dwarfs invited the giant to go fishing with them,
and succeeded in slaying him by sending him out in a leaky vessel,
which sank beneath his weight.

The double crime thus committed did not long remain unpunished, for
Gilling's brother, Suttung, quickly went in search of the dwarfs,
determined to avenge him. Seizing them in his mighty grasp, the giant
conveyed them to a shoal far out at sea, where they would surely have
perished at the next high tide had they not succeeded in redeeming
their lives by promising to deliver to the giant their recently
brewed mead. As soon as Suttung set them ashore, they therefore
gave him the precious compound, which he entrusted to his daughter
Gunlod, bidding her guard it night and day, and allow neither gods
nor mortals to have so much as a taste. The better to fulfil this
command, Gunlod carried the three vessels into the hollow mountain,
where she kept watch over them with the most scrupulous care, nor
did she suspect that Odin had discovered their place of concealment,
thanks to the sharp eyes of his ever-vigilant ravens Hugin and Munin.

The Quest of the Draught

As Odin had mastered the runic lore and had tasted the waters of
Mimir's fountain, he was already the wisest of gods; but learning
of the power of the draught of inspiration manufactured out of
Kvasir's blood, he became very anxious to obtain possession of the
magic fluid. With this purpose in view he therefore donned his
broad-brimmed hat, wrapped himself in his cloud-hued cloak, and
journeyed off to Joetun-heim. On his way to the giant's dwelling he
passed by a field where nine ugly thralls were busy making hay. Odin
paused for a moment, watching them at their work, and noticing that
their scythes seemed very dull indeed, he proposed to whet them,
an offer which the thralls eagerly accepted.

Drawing a whetstone from his bosom, Odin proceeded to sharpen the
nine scythes, skilfully giving them such a keen edge that the thralls,
delighted, begged that they might have the stone. With good-humoured
acquiescence, Odin tossed the whetstone over the wall; but as the
nine thralls simultaneously sprang forward to catch it, they wounded
one another with their keen scythes. In anger at their respective
careles