Odin, he of the nine-and-forty names, dwelt in bright Asgard with his fellow Æsir and Asynjar. Father of gods and men though he was, born though he was of a giant mother, there was bitter strife between him and the vast Frost and Mountain Giants, the seed of Ymir’s feet. They alone ventured openly to dispute his sovereignty.

Mightiest of the other twelve Æsir was the All-father’s eldest Earth-born son, Thor. Two goats of magical powers drew his chariot; iron gauntlets he had with which to grasp Miolnir, the hammer that none might withstand; when he girded about his loins the belt of strength, even his god-like might was doubled. He alone of all the gods must wade the mist-rivers and ascend into Asgard on foot, lest his flaming, thundering chariot destroy Bifrost, the trembling rainbow bridge over which all the rest of the celestial company rode daily to and from the judgment-seat below.

Many a Frost-giant had been dashed down into the gloom of Nifelhel by this Miolnir-hammer, which the dwarf artist Sindre had forged for the Asa god; but this monster race held the secrets of black sorcery, and in this way they were at times a match for the powers of Asgard.

So Thor discovered on a certain expedition.

One day he left his vast mansion Bilskirnir, with its five hundred and forty halls, and accompanied by Loki, set out towards Jotunheim. Northward they journeyed a whole day, in the goat-drawn car, till they came to Alfheim, where the sons of Ivalde guarded the southern shores of the great sea against the giants who dwelt beyond it, lest these attempt to attack Asgard from his side.

As was his custom, Thor stopped for the night at the house of Egil, the master archer, able to travel on his skiis over both snow and water: brother, too, he was to Volund, craftiest of smiths, who was later to forge the sword of victory, fatal even to the gods. There dwelt with Egil his foster-son Thialfi, who had been found as an infant on a tide-washed sandbar of the sea: he was swiftest of foot of all who lived in Midgard, the home of men; for in truth he was that same Frey who afterwards sat in Asgard. He and his sister Roska were very dear to Egil.

Right welcome was Thor to Egil. Yet when meal time came there was a scarcity of food for the company.

“Little shall that trouble us,” cried Thor, with his rumbling laugh that shook the hall. “The meat I like best is that which carries me when I do not carry it.”

Followed by Loki and the wondering Thialfi, he strode out into the darkness to where his strong-horned goats were stalled.

Smiling at the boy’s amazement, he killed the beautiful creatures, skinned them, cut up the carcasses with great care, and put the flesh into the kettles to stew. When the meal was ready, he invited all to join, and while Thialfi found it hard to forget the trim and graceful animals, so full of life and spirit, he had to admit that he had never before tasted such delicious fare.

“Eat your fill, everybody,” said Thor. “None need go hungry when Tanngniast and Tanngrisnir are on the board. But one caution I must give: not a bone must be broken. When we are through, let the boy gather every bone, sort out the two sets, and put one pile in each of the skins by the hearth yonder.”

When all were satisfied, Thor and Egil fell to talk, recounting their expeditions against the foes of the gods in Jotunheim, while Thialfi obediently gathered together the bones, and arranged them in the hides.

An evil smile flitted over the thin face of crafty Loki as he perceived that the two warriors had become completely absorbed in their tales of past exploits. Thor was now reminding Egil of that famous adventure when he himself, wounded in the forehead, had borne his companion with a frozen foot across the foggy Elivagar water and its magic terrors. He was lost to everything that went on around him, laughing aloud and smiting his great thigh as he lived over those moments of tense excitement.

As Thialfi knelt at the other end of the wide hearth, painstakingly striving to complete his task, he started at a low whisper from the shadow beyond.

“Did you like the meat?”

“Yes,” answered the boy in surprise, looking up. He could hardly see the features of his questioner, but the eyes gleamed, almost like the blaze from the burning logs in the fire-place.

“You have not tasted the best yet,” said the smooth voice. “The real strength and sweetness is in the marrow.”

Thialfi stared at him.

“Yes, that is like honey, and he who eats of it can go for days without any other nourishment. Nor can I imagine why he was so stingy as to withhold the best.”

Still the youth did not know what to say.

“Better try it,” continued Loki. “That long leg-bone there is just full of sweetness.”

“Oh no,” said Thialfi, involuntarily lowering his voice to the same pitch. “He forbade us to break any of them.”

“What nonsense. Why should you be so careful of that rubbish? You saw yourself what he did to the living animals: how could he really mind after that if just one picked bone were a little chipped? You’ll never have another chance to taste such fare as only those in Asgard know.”

“I don’t like to,” whispered the boy. “He might be angry.”

“Angry! He’ll never know. Why should he poke about and find a piece at the bottom of the pile? And if he should notice it, it would simply be an accident that might have happened a dozen times already.”

Thialfi hesitated.

“It makes no difference to me, of course,” went on the tempter. “But I don’t see why you should be deprived of the best part when it can’t possibly hurt anybody to take it. Besides, I’ve heard you were a wonderful runner, and I have an idea that the one who tastes of that marrow will find his powers marvellously increased.”

The youth’s eyes shone: he was proud of his ability to outstrip all with whom he had raced, and he could not resist this idea.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the pair still deep in their reminiscences. With a sudden impulse he thrust the leg bone beneath his skin coat, and went quietly out into the darkness. Gently he chipped off a piece of the bone and sucked out the marrow. It was delicious, as Loki had said, and his excited imagination made him fancy he could already feel a waxing of vigor in his muscles. Yet it was with a guilty feeling that he stole back and hid the fractured piece at the bottom of one of the piles. Well pleased was Loki, for he believed he had without danger to himself sown enmity between these two defenders of Asgard.

Presently all went to bed. Silence fell upon the great hall and the sleeping-rooms; but Thialfi trembled and started and tossed, a prey to terrifying dreams.

It was still dark within the hall when Thor rose, though outside the dawn light began to show in the east. He kindled the fire on the spreading hearth, and the leaping flames soon brightened the place. Thialfi awoke. From his couch he could see past the drawn skin curtain into the large apartment. A feeling of panic crept over him as he saw the huge distorted shadow which the fire threw against the wall, now shrinking, now shooting up to monstrousness. For the shadow was busy with something that lay beside the hearth—and the youth remembered only too well that all was not right with the contents of those skins.

Thor placed the two goats' pelts before him. He took out his great hammer, Miolnir, and waved it solemnly over the piles, muttering potent words. Thialfi stretched forward breathlessly to see.

What was his amazement when the bundles of dead bones began to stir. The hides moved and stretched and rounded. Before his unbelieving eyes the two trim goats stood up alive, vigorous and handsome as ever.

But no! One was not as he had been. The poor creature was lame; it limped, dragging one hind leg, as it moved.

Thialfi crouched down again, trembling, as he saw the big man bend swiftly to examine the injured leg.

Then there was a roar of anger which shook the beams. Everybody was running in. Miolnir was out once more, not to restore life this time—far from it: Thor was vowing vengeance and threatening to destroy his friend Egil and the whole household for the injury done to this cherished possession; his red hair stood out like flames about his massive head; he gripped the terrible hammer so hard that the joints of his fingers showed white in the firelight.

At that Thialfi dragged himself forward. Half dead with fear, he confessed what he had done, saying not a word of Loki’s tempting.

Egil, as much disturbed as his guest, protested his desire to make amends.

“Payment is due,” said he. “It is for you to state the price.”

The sight of the frightened youth had somewhat calmed Thor’s anger. This graceful, slender body was no fit object for Miolnir’s weight. Slowly his vast muscles relaxed.

“It is the law,” said he. “Let him pay who committed the fault: he and his sister shall be my bond-servants from this day forth.”

This punishment seemed mild enough to Thialfi; for he was secretly drawn to this open-faced mighty one whose blue eyes harbored no meanness, and who was clearly good-natured despite his sudden bursts of fierceness. Moreover, the prospect of roaming abroad with him was far from displeasing. As for the beautiful Roska—she had nothing to say about it. Anyhow, where Thialfi went was the place she would choose to be.

So peace was restored, and all sat down to the morning meal content, save crafty Loki.

Leaving the goats with Egil, Thor and his companions set forth on foot. The chill mists and unfathomed depths of the Elivagar sea had no terrors for him; but when they had passed over its expanse, they came to a strange and gloomy country surrounding the stronghold of the giants.

Endlessly the forest stretched away; and all day they wandered through its pathless mazes without sight of any human being. There was no sign of even beast or bird, and while swift-footed Thialfi, who carried Thor’s wallet, scoured the thickets on either side, all his wood-craft failed to discover anything in the way of food.

Darkness settled down upon them almost as soon as the sun disappeared. The question of a place to spend the night became urgent. Searching on all sides in the gathering dusk, they finally came upon a large structure with an entrance that took up the whole width of one end.

No one appeared or answered to their shouts; so they entered and lay down in the main hall, glad of any place to lay their heads after their exhausting day.

Towards midnight, when they were all slumbering soundly, they were rudely awakened by an earthquake which shook the whole building. Leaping to their feet, they staggered to and fro over the heaving floor, expecting each moment to feel the roof fall upon their heads. But the swaying stopped presently and Thor bade them seek some place of safety.

To the right they found a smaller chamber, without any door or curtain; and the three crept into the farthest corner of this and dropped down, trembling with fear. Thor, however, remained at the entrance. Holding Miolnir ready, he stayed on guard the rest of the night, listening to an extraordinary noise like a rushing wind which he could hear outside from time to time.

As soon as it was light, he stepped out of the building to investigate this roaring sound.

There, stretched out on the ground, was a monstrous creature, so huge that he looked like the fallen trunk of some primeval fir tree. He was fast asleep, and it was his snoring which had sounded like a howling winter gale.

Many a giant as Thor had seen and encountered, the bulk of this man-mountain made him pause in astonishment. Then he quietly girded about him the belt of strength, for if ever he needed to double his powers it was now.

Just then the giant opened his eyes, which looked like muddy lakes. He yawned, stretched himself and stood up—and his head was almost lost in the tops of the trees.

For the only time in his history Thor hesitated to join in open battle.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Skrymir,” said the other. His voice was like the bellow of the thunder, and Loki, Thialfi and Roska ran to the entrance and looked out at the reverberating sound.

“As for you,” continued the giant, “I know you well: you are Asa-Thor. But what have you done with my glove?”

With that he stretched down his big hand towards the awed group of three, which scattered before him; and they realized that the building in which they had lodged was the creature’s glove, the smaller room to which they had fled being the thumb.

“Shall we travel together?” asked Skrymir, smiling in a way that made Thor’s cheeks burn.

“As you will,” replied the latter.

Thereupon the giant sat down, opened a prodigious wallet, and fell to his breakfast; but Thor and his comrades drew apart by themselves and shared their scanty stock of provisions.

When they had finished—

“Here,” said Skrymir, “let me carry your food. It will not weigh me down.”

So saying, he thrust Thor’s wallet into his own and started off through the forest with such tremendous strides that they could hardly keep in sight of him.

All day long he led them at this pace amid the endless woods; and Roska for one was more than glad, despite her brother’s aid, when dusk brought him to a halt beside an ancient oak.

“We have loitered along slowly enough,” he said, “yet I suppose it is time to sleep. I am not hungry; you can take the wallet and get your own meal. If you need a roof over your heads, my glove is there.”

He stretched himself out and presently was snoring so that one could have heard him a mile away.

Dark and silent, Thor finally took the leather bag, to get out their food. His feelings were not smoothed when he found he could not untie the knots. In growing anger he worked away at the stubborn thongs, but he could make no impression on the hard knots. Then, his patience exhausted, he tried to break the fastenings. Still they defied his efforts.

Enraged at being thus trifled with, he grasped Miolnir, stepped forward, and dashed it at the giant’s head.

Skrymir stirred himself slightly.

“What was that—a leaf?” he asked sleepily. “Have you little ones supped yet? Have you gone to sleep?”

“We are just lying down,” muttered Thor. Puzzled and upset, he strode off and lay down under another oak.

But he could not sleep. The stertorous snores of the giant seemed to mock him.

Finally he sprang up again and walked cautiously back. The moonlight shone full on the giant’s bulky form. Heaving his hammer aloft, he launched it with such violence that the head buried itself in Skrymir’s skull.

“What’s happening?” called out the giant, rolling over. “An acorn dropped right on my head. How do you fare, Thor?”

“All right,” called back the other, stealing away behind the tree trunks. “I woke when you called out. There is plenty of time to sleep yet.”

Again all was quiet, except in Thor’s breast, where rage and humiliation contended in a turmoil. He forced himself to lie still, calming his burning wrath with the assurance that when the moment came for a third blow, he would take ample revenge for this disgrace. The creature did not exist who could treat Asa-Thor in this manner.

A long time he waited both to recover his poise and to be sure the other was really asleep again. At length, a little before daybreak, he rose softly, and again approached the slumbering giant.

His hands ran over the magic belt as if to draw from it the last bit of aid. Gripping Miolnir with both hands, he summoned up every power of his heaving muscles. The remembrance of his failures burned in his veins and seemed to double his strength and determination.

He whirled the irresistible Miolnir about his head, and brought it down with his utmost force upon the sleeper. To his grim satisfaction, he saw it smash into the giant’s cheek up to the very handle.

To his consternation, Skrymir sat up and appeared to brush something from his face.

“There must be birds roosting in this tree,” said he disgustedly. “How can one sleep when they are scratching moss and bark loose so that it falls over one’s head?”

He looked about.

“What! Are you awake, too, Thor? I suppose it is time to get up anyhow; for you say you want to get to Utgard. The city is not far now. I must warn you, though, of one thing. I have heard you whispering together as if you thought my size was something remarkable; but if you go to Utgard, you will see many far taller than I. So I counsel you against making much of yourselves, for Utgard-Loki’s men will have little patience with the boasting of such mannikins. Indeed, if you are wise, you will turn back at once. However, if you persist in your folly, your road lies east. I go northward, to those cliffs in the distance yonder.”

He threw his wallet over his shoulder and went off, unheeding Thor’s resentful glare.

Following his directions, the party presently passed out of the forest, and travelled over a wide plain.

Towards noon they came upon the city of Utgard. So lofty were its walls and buildings that their heads bent back on their necks as they gazed up to the pinnacles of the towers.

When they came close, they saw nobody; but a vast gate of ponderous bars closed the way. It was locked and bolted. After trying for some time to call a keeper, and then to unfasten the gate, Thor and his comrades squeezed between the bars and entered the silent city.

They went through one deserted street after another, till they saw before them a magnificent palace, whose door stood wide. Walking boldly in, they found themselves in a hall that dwarfed anything they had ever beheld. Sitting on benches were ranged two lines of men, the first glance at whom convinced the travellers that Skrymir had spoken truly.

Advancing to the raised seat, they saluted the ruler, Utgard-Loki. But the king gazed at them with a smile. Thor was by no means accustomed to such scornful treatment, and his companions could perceive his heat growing as this contemptuous silence continued.

At length the king spoke:

“It is tedious to ask for tidings of a long journey; yet if I mistake not, that little one there must be Asa-Thor.”

“Possibly,” he went on, addressing Thor directly, “you may be more than you appear. What can you do, you and these with you? No one stays in Utgard unless he can in some feat of skill or strength excel all others.”

“I have a feat,” spoke up Loki. “I can eat quicker than any here. I am ready to prove it against all.”

“That will be worth seeing, if you can make your boast good,” said the giant king. “It shall be put to the test.”

He called to one named Logi, sitting on a further bench. A trough filled with fresh meat was brought in, and placed between the two. At the signal, both began to eat, one from each end.

Loki strove his utmost, and yet when he reached the middle of the trough he met his antagonist there. Moreover, it was seen that while he had devoured all the flesh on his side, Logi had consumed flesh, bone and the trough to boot. There could be no gainsaying that the visitor was vanquished.

“And what can you do?” asked Utgard-Loki, looking at Thialfi.

“I can run,” said the youth.

“We shall soon see about that. Let us go outside to the course.”

The whole company went forth to a level stretch of plain. A slim youth whom they called Hugi took his place beside Thialfi. The latter, who had never been beaten in swiftness, smiled confidently.

The word was given. The two runners were off like arrows from the bow. But Thialfi could hardly credit his eyes when, before he had covered half the distance to the turning-point, he met Hugi coming back already.

“You will have to ply your legs better than that,” said Utgard-Loki, “if you expect to win in this company.”

A second course was run. Thialfi strained every nerve and muscle to the utmost. His heart beat as if it would burst through his ribs. Yet Hugi reached the goal when he was still a bowshot off.

“You run bravely,” remarked the king. “Still, it seems to me this match will not be yours. The third trial must decide.”

Once more they toed the mark and sped away. Thialfi did his best, but he was wearied with his last effort; his swift adversary crossed the finish line ere he had quite gone halfway.

The whole assemblage declared there was no need of further trial. Utgard-Loki turned to Thor.

“We have heard much of your prowess, Asa. What is your choice to prove to us that rumor’s tales are true?”

“I will drink a draught with any of you,” growled Thor between his teeth.

“Excellent,” returned the king. He led the way back into the hall, and bade his cup-bearer bring the drinking-horn. It was borne forth.

“A good drinker,” remarked Utgard-Loki, “empties this at a single draught. Some men make two of it. The puniest of all can take it off in three.”

Thor looked at the horn critically. It did not appear of extra size, though the end stretched away behind the bearer. Moreover, he was very thirsty. So little doubt had he of emptying it at a draught, that he did not pause to take breath, but set it to his lips and pulled long and deeply.

He set it down with a clatter, thinking to ask for more. To his chagrin, he could hardly perceive any lowering of the liquor.

“Well!” exclaimed the king. “Surely that is not much for Asa-Thor to boast of. I would not have believed it if it had been told me. Perhaps, though, you were saving yourself for a second draught.”

Without answering, Thor seized the horn once more and quaffed a mighty draught. Yet on looking in, it seemed as if he had made less impression than before. Still the vessel could now be carried without spilling.

The king shook his head. “A man must use his own sort of skill. Certainly, though, you have left most of the task for your last attempt. I fear your reputation here will hardly match what you have in Asgard if this is a sample of your prowess.”

Too angry to speak now, Thor grasped the horn again. Tilting it back, he drank and drank till he thought he would burst with the effort. But when he could do nothing more, he found he had emptied only the top inch or two.

He handed the horn back to the cup-bearer.

“I see plainly,” said Utgard-Loki, “that what we have heard of you was a traveller’s tale. Still, do you wish to try something else? I confess it does not seem likely that you will bear away many prizes here.”

“I know,” Thor replied doggedly, “that such draughts would not be accounted small among the Æsir—but I will attempt another feat. What have you to propose?”

“We have a game here, a sort of childish exercise. Before witnessing this last performance, I would scarce have dared mention it to Asa-Thor. It is merely lifting my cat from the floor.”

A large gray cat walked out, its tail held high.

Thor looked at it, uncertain.

“He is large—for a cat,” said the king.

Stung to the quick, Thor stepped forward, put a hand under the beast’s belly and lifted hard.

The cat arched his back, not resisting at all. Heave and strain as he might, Thor could only get one paw off the floor.

“I imagined as much,” said Utgard-Loki. “Even my cat is too large for such a little one.”

“Little I may be,” cried Thor. “Yet let me see the man here who will wrestle with me at this moment.”

Utgard-Loki looked at the massive figures ranged along the benches.

“I see no one small enough for that. If you must wrestle, however—call old Elli, the nurse. She has thrown many a better man than you have yet proved yourself.”

In came a bent, withered, toothless old crone. At the king’s bidding, she grappled with the aroused Thor.

Violently he strove, till the muscles on his arms and legs stood out like ropes. Locking his mighty arms, he strained this way and that. The more he put forth his power, the firmer did the frail old woman seem to stand.

Then Thor began to feel an inexorable grip tightening upon himself. He struggled as if his very life hung on the issue. Yet his legs began to bend. Presently he was forced down upon one knee.

Old Elli released him and hobbled off. With heaving breast, dripping sweat, and vastly ashamed, Thor stood up before them.

“We need hardly further trial,” said Utgard-Loki. “Besides, it grows late. Show them to the guest seats.”

They were made welcome, and feasted that night with good cheer.

Next morning they prepared to depart. Utgard-Loki saw that they were bountifully provided with food and drink. He himself conducted them to the gate of the city.

“Well, Asa-Thor,” said he, as they were about to separate, “are you satisfied with your visit to Utgard? Have you seen more powerful rulers elsewhere on your journeys?”

“Truly,” replied honest Thor, “I have brought great shame upon the Æsir. Justly will ye say that I am one of little worth.”

“Hardly that,” said the giant king. “Now that you are outside of my city—which with my consent you will never enter again—I must tell you the truth. Had I imagined your powers and how near they would have brought me to disaster, you would by no means have seen the inside of it this time.

“Know, then, that I have deceived you all along with illusions.

“The wallet you could not open in the forest was bound with invisible iron wire. The least of the three strokes of your hammer would have ended my days: I brought before me a rocky mountain which you could not see; in this you will find three deep ravines, made by those blows.

“The contests here were illusions likewise.

“Though Loki ate like hunger, Logi who outmatched him was ardent fire itself.

“Hugi was thought: how could even swift Thialfi keep pace with him?

“The horn you tried to empty reached to the sea; when you come to the shore you will see your draughts have caused the ocean itself to ebb. When we saw you lift one of the cat’s paws from the floor, we were all terror-stricken: for the cat was in reality the great Midgard serpent which encompasses the whole earth. Nurse Elli was in fact old age—and never yet has man wrestled with her as have you.

“Therefore, let us never meet again. For in spite of all the marvels of your strength, you can never prevail against me because of my illusions.”

Wild with anger, Thor laid hold of Miolnir. But Utgard-Loki had vanished. He would have destroyed the city, but even that had disappeared, leaving only a smooth and verdant plain.

There was no help for it save to return to their own land; and in truth as the Asa reflected upon what had happened, he was not so ill pleased as before.

Especially did he recall his feat of lifting the Midgard serpent; and the remembrance of his incredible exploit fired him with a resolution to match himself once more against this monstrous world-encircling progeny of Loki.

It was not long thereafter when he determined to wait no more for this. So hastily did he set out that he took neither car, nor goats, nor followers.

In the semblance of a young man he travelled forth, and at dusk came to the dwelling of a giant named Hymir, who lived by the Elivagar water.

Here he passed the night. At the evening meal he alone ate two of the oxen Hymir had prepared.

“I shall have to go fishing tomorrow to feed you,” grumbled the host.

In the morning Hymir made his boat ready to go fishing. Thor offered to accompany him.

“Much use a midget like you would be,” returned the giant. “You can eat, of a certainty; but rowing is quite another matter. Worse than that, you would get cold and terrified if I go out to my fishing-grounds and stay as I am accustomed to.”

Sorely tempted to try Miolnir on the giant’s skull, Thor dissembled:

“I will row as far as you say. We shall see which wishes to turn back first. What bait do we use?”

“Get a bait for yourself,” returned the surly fellow.

Thor walked off to where the herd of oxen grazed. The leader was a huge coal-black bull. Seizing the beast by its horns, the Asa wrung off its head, carried it back to the boat and threw it in.

“Better if you had sat still,” grumbled Hymir.

They pushed the boat through the breakers and put out to sea, each rowing with a pair of oars. Thor was aft, and Hymir was amazed to see how the boat shot through the waves, even against the strong wind.

Before long the giant pulled in his oars.

“Here is where I catch flat fish,” said he.

“No, no; further out,” said Thor, pulling harder than ever.

“Stop!” cried Hymir after a while. “We are getting near the dwelling of the Midgard serpent.”

“Further out is better fishing,” declared Thor; and he rowed on in spite of his companion’s protests.

He stopped at last. Muttering, Hymir threw out his line. Presently he drew up a whale. Then another took hold.

Meanwhile Thor had taken out a line and hook, the size of which caused the giant to stare. Fastening the gory bull’s head on the hook, he dropped it far down into the depths, till it actually reached the bottom.

He did not have to wait long. Something far down there seized the bait. The line tautened. Thor jerked violently. When the monster felt the hook, it pulled so hard that Thor was forced to hold on to the rowing pins to avoid being dragged overboard.

Then the Asa’s spirit waxed high. He hauled at the line so that his feet went through the bottom of the boat and down to the ocean floor. Yet ever he pulled, so stoutly that presently the hideous head of the Midgard snake appeared above the surface.

Nothing daunted by the floods of venom which the beast spouted out at him, Thor darted fiery glances at his enemy, still striving to lift the head into the boat.

Hymir, however, terrified beyond measure and feeling the craft sink beneath him, took his knife out of the sheath and cut the line just as Thor launched his hammer.

The monster fell back and sank again to his immemorial abode.

We know not whether those speak truly who declare that Miolnir struck off its head at the bottom of the sea, or whether it still lies encircling the earth. But it is related among the exploits of Alexander the Great that being lowered in a glass cage to the depths of the ocean he beheld a prodigious monster going past, and sat for two days, watching its body ooze along all the time, before its “tail and hinder parts” appeared. Which sounds as if Thor had not made a thorough job of it.

Certain it is, however, that Hymir said no word till they were again at the shore. Then he muttered:

“Do your share: carry the whales in or make the boat fast.”

Whereupon Thor picked up boat, oars, whales and all, and bore the whole thing up the wooded hillside to the Jotun’s dwelling.