When Freya heard this, her rage turned to tears and lamentations, and she declared that it would be death to her to send her to the gloomy halls of Giantland, whence she could never hope to revisit the flowery meads and grassy slopes of Asgard. And the Asas, unable to bear the sight of her grief, with one voice declared that they would never spare her from the Home of Bliss. Then there stepped forward Heimdall, the watchman who sits on guard over the Rainbow Bridge by night and day. Now Heimdall had the gift of seeing into the future, and the Asas were always ready to hear his words, well knowing them to be wise. “My plan is this,” said he. “Let Thor borrow the clothes of Freya and put a thick veil over his face; and let him go thus to Thrym’s castle and pass for his bride. And if he cannot by some means manage to get hold of the hammer when he is there—why, he must give it up altogether.” At this suggestion the Asas clapped their hands with approval—all, indeed, save Thor, who looked most glum, and was extremely unwilling to agree to the plan. “Dress me as a bride!” he grumbled. “A pretty maiden I shall make. Ready enough am I to fight, but I will not make myself a laughing-stock if I know it.” But the Asas besought him to give way, while Loki twitted him with cowardice. Fair Freya, too, appealed with tearful eyes; and so at length, with great reluctance, the Thunderer agreed to do what they wished. Fortunately the maiden Freya was very tall, but even so it was with some difficulty that they managed to cover the burly form of Thor with her robes. He insisted, moreover, upon wearing his own shirt of mail and his girdle of strength; and these took much drapery to hide. Great was the laughter in the halls of Asgard that night as the Battle Maidens brushed and curled Thor’s long yellow hair, and set a jewelled headdress upon it; and finally, when the maidens proceeded to cover up his thick heard and angry eyes with a silken veil, the mirth of the Asas was unrestrained. To complete the disguise the maidens hung round his neck the famous necklet, which had now been re-strung, and finally Frigga, the wife of All-Father Odin, secured at his girdle the great bunch of keys proper to brides at a wedding in the Northland. While this was being done, Loki, more than all, had been convulsed with merriment at the success of his mischief-making. The very sight of Thor’s disgusted looks, and of his great hands clenched with rage under the delicate veil, nearly killed him with laughter; and when all was ready he declared himself unable to lose an atom of the fun in store. “Let me go with you,” he implored. “See, I will dress myself as your hand-maiden. Ah, you had better agree, for without me to prompt you, you will never play your part.”