The goddess went through all the earth, begging each plant and stone and tree not to harm her son, who had brought them nothing but blessings. And every tree and shrub and tiny plant, and every rock and pebble, and every stream and little brook promised gladly. Only the mistletoe, which grows high up in the oak-tree and not upon the ground as other plants do, was forgotten.
Loke, who was a meddlesome god, always doing something wrong, found out that the mistletoe had not given the promise, and told Hoder.
Hoder thought that because it was so little and weak it could not really kill the god. So he shot an arrow tipped with a tiny twig of mistletoe at Balder.
The arrow pierced through and through the beautiful god, and he fell dead. Then the earth put off her green robe and grew silent and dark for a time.
But because Balder, the Beautiful, had once lived on earth, Hoder could only make it cold half the year and dark half the day.
And even now, if you listen, in the winter you can hear the wind moan through the trees which fling their great arms in grief. And on summer mornings very early, you will find the stones and the grass wet with weeping in the darkness.
But when the sun shines the tears are turned
