this was a fine opportunity of getting it into his
possession. So he bargained with the dwarfs, and they gladly promised
to give him the whole brew if only he would save them from their
perilous plight.

Suttung waited till they had had a good fright, and then, as the first
wave washed over them, he waded to the rock and lifted them off. He
took good care, however, not to give them their liberty until they had
handed over the three jars of Magic Mead.

The moment he had got the precious jars into his possession Suttung
hid them in a cave deep down in the centre of a mountain, and he set
his daughter, Gunlod, the Giant-Maiden, to keep watch and ward,
charging her to guard the cavern night and day, and to allow neither
gods nor men to have so much as a sip of the marvellous liquid.

Meantime, All-Father Odin had sent forth his ravens, Hugin and Munin,
to find out what had become of the wise Kvasir. For a while even they
were puzzled by his complete disappearance, but presently they heard
men talk of the Magic Mead that had been made from his blood, and so,
little by little, they learned the truth, and flying back to Odin,
they perched on his shoulders, and whispered it into his ears.

Now All-Father Odin was sorry for Kvasir, but he was still more vexed
to think that this wonderful gift of poetry should be in the hands of
his enemies, the giants. He began, therefore, to consider how he could
get it from them, for though he had drained the draught of wisdom in
speech and song, and nothing save a draught of the Magic Mead would
bring him that gift.

So once more All-Father Odin disguised himself as an aged wanderer,
pulled his grey hat well over his brows, threw his storm-hued cloak
around him, and journeyed to the Land of Giants.

Searching about for the home of Suttung, Odin presently passed by a
field where nine ugly serving-men were mowing hay. Now these were the
servants of Baugi, the brother of Suttung, as Odin very well knew; so,
after watching them for awhile, he called out:

"Hi, fellows! Your scythes are blunt. Would you like me to whet them
for you?"

Glad of an excuse to stop work, the men shouted, "Yes."

Then Odin took a whetstone from his belt and whetted the scythes till
they were sharp as razors.

The servants were much struck with the speed and skill with which this
was done, and they all called out together to ask if the whetstone was
for sale.

Odin replied that he was willing to sell it i