In the meantime Loki disguised himself as an old woman, and went to Baldur’s mother. He said he marvelled that Baldur was not hurt, and then the mother told him of the promise which all things had made never to harm her son. “What! have all things promised this?” asked Loki. “Yes,” was the reply; “all things have promised except one weak little plant, the mistletoe, which grows far away, and which I did not think it worth while to ask.” Loki rejoiced in his evil heart when he heard this. He hurried to the place where the mistletoe grew, and plucked a twig of it, which by his magic he made into a spear. Then he came back to Asgard, where the gods were playing their game of throwing spears at Baldur. “Why do you not join in the game?” he asked one of the gods. “Because I am blind,” he replied. “For the honour of Baldur you should throw a spear at him,” Loki went on. “I have no spear to throw,” answered the blind god. Then Loki put into his hand the mistletoe spear, and helped him to aim it. The spear pierced Baldur through the heart, and he fell dead. Then there were grief and anger in Asgard; weeping and mourning were heard for the first time among the gods. Odin sent a message to the daughter of Loki, who ruled over the world of the dead, and asked her to set Baldur free. She replied that he would be set free if every living thing would weep for him; but if a single creature refused to weep, he could not return. Then the gods went through all the earth, and prayed all things living to weep for Baldur. One old woman alone refused, and so Baldur could not be set free. The old woman was no other than Loki, who had taken this form in order to hide himself. After the death of Baldur came a gloomy time in Asgard. The gods had fierce wars with the frost-giants, and were defeated. This time is called “the twilight of the gods.” But even then they looked forward to a better time which was to come, when Baldur should return, and all should be light and joy and peace. Thus the old Norsemen gave us the beautiful tale of Baldur, the sun-god. When the days are short in winter, the time of the mistletoe, Baldur is dead; but when spring returns, the war with the frost-giants is over, and Baldur returns with light and joy to the northern lands. A VANISHING ISLAND. Eynhallow—the “holy island”—lies in the middle of the fierce tideway that separates the Orcadian mainland from Rousay, the Hrolfsey of the Sagas. “Eynhallow frank, Eynhallow free, Eynhallow stands in the middle of the sea; With a roaring roost on every side, Eynhallow stands in the middle of the tide.”