and his family heaped the glittering gold. They piled it as
loosely as they could, but when they had put on all the gold they had,
the greedy Fafner cried:--

"More, more! It is not high enough! Still I can see fair Freya's
shimmering hair. Throw on that shining helmet!"

"Put it on, Loki," commanded Wotan. "There, Fafner, is your pay. Freya
again belongs to me."

"Not yet!" cried Fafner, as he peeped through a space in the heap. "I
can see her eyes through here." Then, pointing to the ring on Wotan's
finger: "Bring that ring and put it in this space."

"Never!" cried Wotan.

Then Loki spoke. "The ring belongs to the Rhine-maidens, and Wotan is
going to return it to them. Already we have given you more than you
should expect, all that shining heap and the helmet besides."

"I will not give you any more!" roared Wotan. "Not all the mighty world
shall take this ring from my finger!"

"Then I shall be gone," said Fafner. "I was afraid you would not give me
enough gold. Freya is mine forevermore."

Wotan's family began to plead for Freya. "She is worth more to us than
all the gold in this world! Without her we must all wither and die!"

It was no use to resist. Wotan knew that he dared not lose Freya.

Taking the ring from his finger, he flung it upon the shining heap.

A SLAVE TO GOLD

Fafner gathered up the hoard--the hoard for which he had worked--the
hoard for which he had made so much trouble.

He carried it off to his own country. Now that he had it, he had no
thought of using it.

He wanted it merely for gold's sake; not for the sake of the great, good
things that might be done with it. The only thing he wished to do was to
keep others from getting it.

He heaped it up in a cave in the forest. Then he put on the helmet and
changed himself into a fierce, ugly dragon.

For the love of mere gold he was willing to give up being a splendid
giant, who roamed freely over the beautiful mountains, and to become a
hideous, twisting, squirming monster.

The rest of his life he would lie at the door of the cave and guard the
treasure. The treasure should lie there useless to all the world.

Fafner,--a slave to gold!

THE BEAUTIFUL VALHALLA

As Fafner carried away his treasure, a great storm gathered over the
mountain crest.

The sky grew black. The thunder rolled. Its echoes bounded on from cloud
to cloud, from peak to peak, then rumbled down the valleys to the sea.

Then the clouds drifted away.