Loki was bruised and sore enough when he got on his feet again to hate the giant who handled him so roughly, with all his heart, but he was not unwilling to keep his promise to steal the Apples, if only for the sake of tormenting the other gods.  But how was it to be done?  Idun guarded the golden fruit of immortality with sleepless watchfulness.  No one ever touched it but herself, and a beautiful sight it was to see her fair hands spread it forth for the morning feasts in Asgard.  The power which Loki possessed lay not so much in his own strength, although he had a smooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who had no thought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong themselves.

Not long after all this happened, Loki came carelessly up to Idun as she was gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box which held them.

“Good-morning, goddess,” said he.  “How fair and golden your Apples are!”

“Yes,” answered Idun; “the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.”

“I never saw anything like them,” continued Loki slowly, as if he were talking about a matter of no importance, “until the other day.”

Idun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her face.  She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew no earthly trees, however large and fair, bore the immortal fruit.

“Where have you seen any Apples like them?” she asked.

“Oh, just outside the gates,” said Loki indifferently.  “If you care to see them I’ll take you there.  It will keep you but a moment.  The tree is only a little way off.”

Idun was anxious to go at once.

“Better take your Apples with you, to compare them with the others,” said the wily god, as she prepared to go.

Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with her all that made it heaven.  No sooner was she beyond the gates than a mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely prisoner.

Loki, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened.  The next morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun.  Day after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come.  Little by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of the gods, and they themselves became old and haggard.  Their strong, young faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks passed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and hollow.  Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his beautiful wife was gone he knew not whither.