le 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 again until the return
of spring. At length she opened the box, and looked at the fruit. The
apples were certainly fair and round: she could not see a wrinkle or a
blemish on any of them; their color was the same golden-red,--like the
sky at