Thursday, March twenty-fourth.
JUST at that time a thing happened in Skåne which created a good deal of discussion and which even got into the newspapers, but which many believed to be only a fable, because they were not able to explain it.
It was about like this: A lady squirrel had been captured in the hazelbrush along the shores of Vomb Lake, and carried to a farmhouse close by. All the folks on the farm, both young and old, were delighted with the pretty creature with the bushy tail, the wise, inquisitive eyes, and the natty little feet. They were going to amuse themselves all summer watching its nimble movements, its ingenious way of shelling nuts, and its droll play. They immediately made ready an old squirrel-cage, with a little green house and a wire cylinder-wheel. The little house, which had both doors and windows, the lady squirrel was to use as a dining-room and bedroom. Therefore they placed therein a bed of leaves, a bowl of milk, and some nuts. The cylinder-wheel she was to use as a playhouse, where she could run and climb and swing round.
The people thought they had arranged things very comfortably for the lady squirrel, and they were astonished because she didn't seem to be contented; but, instead, sat there, downcast and moody, in a corner of her room. Every now and again, she would let out a shrill, agonized cry. She did not touch the food; and not once did she swing round on the wheel. "It's probably because she's frightened," said the farmer folk. "To-morrow, when she feels more at home, she will both eat and play."
Meanwhile, the women folk on the farm were making preparation for a feast; and the very day the lady squirrel was captured, they were busy with an elaborate bake. They had had bad luck with something: either the dough wouldn't rise, or they had been dilatory, for they were obliged to work till long after dark.
Naturally there was a great deal of excitement and bustle in the kitchen, and probably no one there took time to think about the squirrel, or to wonder how she was faring. But there was an old grandma in the house who was too aged to take a hand in the baking; this she herself understood, but all the same she did not relish the idea of being left out of the game. She felt rather downhearted; therefore she did not go to bed but seated herself by the sitting-room window to look out.
They had opened the kitchen door on account of the heat; and through it a clear ray of light streamed into the yard; which made it so light out there that the old woman could see all the cracks and holes in the plastering on the wall opposite. She also saw the squirrel-cage, which hung just where the light fell clearest. And she noticed how the squirrel ran from her room to the wheel, and from the wheel to her room, all night long, without stopping an instant. She thought it a strange sort of unrest that had come over the animal; but she believed, of course, that the strong light kept it awake.
Between the cowhouse and the stable there was a broad, covered carriage-gate; this too came within the light-radius. As the night wore on, the old grandma saw a tiny creature, no bigger than a hand's breadth, cautiously stealing his way through the gate. He was dressed in leather breeches and wooden shoes like any other workingman. The old grandma knew at once that it was the elf, and she was not the least bit frightened. She had always heard that the elf kept himself somewhere about the place, although she had never seen him before; and an elf, to be sure, brought good luck wherever he appeared.
As soon as the elf came into the stone-paved yard, he ran straight up to the squirrel-cage. And since it hung so high that he could not reach it, he went over to the storehouse after a rod; placed it against the cage, and swung himself up – in the same way that a sailor climbs a rope. When he had reached the cage, he shook the door of the little green house as if to open it; but the old grandma didn't move; for she knew that the children had put a padlock on the door, as they feared that the boys from the neighbouring farms would try to steal the squirrel. The old woman saw that when the boy could not get the door open, the lady squirrel came out to the wire wheel, where they held a long conference. And when the boy had listened to all that the imprisoned animal had to say to him, he slid down the rod to the ground, and ran out through the carriage-gate.
The old woman didn't expect to see anything more of the elf that night, nevertheless, she remained at the window. In a few moments he returned. He was in such a hurry that it seemed to her as if his feet hardly touched the ground; and he rushed right over to the squirrel-cage. The old woman, with her far-sighted eyes, saw him distinctly; and she also saw that he carried something in his hands; but what it was she couldn't imagine. That which he carried in his left hand he laid down on the pavement; but that which he held in his right hand he took with him to the cage. He kicked so hard with his wooden shoes on the little window that the glass broke. And he pushed toward the lady squirrel that which he held in his hand. Then he slid down, took up what he had laid upon the ground, and climbed to the cage with that also. The next instant he ran off again with such haste that the old woman could hardly follow him with her eyes.
But now the old grandma could no longer sit still in the cottage; but very slowly went out to the backyard and stationed herself in the shadow of the pump, to await the elf's return. And there was another who had also seen him and had become curious. This was the house cat. He crept along slyly, and stopped close to the wall, just two steps away from the stream of light. The two of them stood waiting long and patiently, on that chilly March night, and the old woman was just beginning to think about going in again, when she heard a clatter on the pavement, and saw the little mite of an elf came trotting along once more, carrying a burden in each hand, as he had done before. That which he bore squealed and squirmed. And now a light dawned on the old grandma. She understood that the elf had hurried down to the hazel-grove and had brought back the lady squirrel's babies; and that he was carrying them to her so they shouldn't starve to death.
The old grandma stood very still, so as not to disturb them; and it appeared as if the elf had not noticed her. He was just about to lay one of the babies on the ground so that he could swing himself up to the cage with the other one – when he saw the house cat's green eyes glisten close beside him. He stood there , bewildered, with a young one in each hand.
"THAT WHICH HE BORE SQUEALED AND SQUIRMED"
He turned and looked in all directions; presently he became aware of the old grandma's presence. He did not hesitate long but walked forward, stretched his arms as high as he could reach for her to take one of the baby squirrels.
The old grandma did not wish to prove herself unworthy of the confidence, so she bent down and took the baby squirrel and stood there and held it until the boy had swung himself up to the cage with the other one. Then he came back for the one he had entrusted to her care.
The next morning, when the farm folk came together for breakfast, it was impossible for the old woman to refrain from telling them of what she had seen the night before. They all laughed at her, of course, and said that she had been only dreaming. There were no baby squirrels this early in the year.
But she was sure of her ground, and begged them to take a look into the squirrel-cage, which they did. And there, on the bed of leaves, four tiny half-naked, half-blind baby squirrels, who were at least two days old.
When the farmer himself saw the young ones, he said; "Be it as it may with this; but one thing is certain, we, on this farm, have behaved in such a manner that we are shamed before both animals and human beings." And, thereupon, he took the mother squirrel and all her young ones from the cage, and laid them in the old grandma's lap. "Go thou out to the hazel-grove with them," said he, "and let them have their freedom back again!"
It was this event that was so much talked about, and which even got into the newspapers, but which the majority would not credit because they were not able to explain how anything like that could have happened.
Saturday, March twenty-sixth.
TWO days later, another strange thing happened. A flock of wild geese came flying one morning, and lit on a meadow down in Eastern Skåne not very far from Vittskövle manor. In the flock were thirteen wild geese, of the usual gray variety, and one white goosey-gander, who carried on his back a tiny lad dressed in yellow leather breeches, green vest, and a white woollen toboggan hood.
They were now very near the Baltic Sea; and on the meadow where the geese had alighted the soil was sandy, as it usually is on the seacoast. It looked as if, formerly, there had been flying sand in this vicinity which had to be held down; for in several directions large, planted pine-woods could be seen.
When the wild geese had been feeding a while, some children came walking along at the edge of the meadow. The goose on guard at once rose into the air with noisy wing-strokes, so the whole flock should hear that there was danger afoot. All the wild geese flew upward; but the white one waddled along on the ground unconcerned. When he saw the others flying he raised his head and called after them: "You needn't fly away from these! They are only a couple of children!"
The little creature, who had been riding on his back, sat down upon a knoll on the outskirts of the wood and picked a pine-cone to pieces, that he might get at the seeds. The children were so close to him that he did not dare run across the meadow to the white one, but concealed himself under a big, dry thistle-leaf, and at the same time he gave a warning-cry. The white one had evidently made up his mind not to let himself be scared. He waddled along on the ground all the while; and not once did he look to see in what direction they were going.
Meanwhile, they turned from the path, and walked across the field, getting nearer and nearer the goosey-gander. When he finally did look up, they were right upon him. He was so dumbfounded, and became so confused that he forgot that he could fly, and tried to get out of their reach by running. But the children followed, chasing him into a ditch, where they caught him. The larger of the two stuck him under his arm and carried him off.
When the boy, who lay under the thistle-leaf, saw this, he sprang up as if to take the goosey-gander away from them; then he must have remembered how little and powerless he was, for he threw himself on the knoll and beat the ground with his clenched fists.
The goosey-gander cried with all his might for help: "Thumbietot, come and help me! Oh, Thumbietot, come and help me!" The boy began to laugh in the midst of his distress. "Oh, yes! I'm just the right one to help anybody, I am!" said he.
Anyhow he got up and followed the goosey-gander. "I can't help him," he said, "but I shall at least find out where they are taking him."
The children had a good start; but the boy had no difficulty in keeping them within sight until they came to a hollow where a brook gushed forth. But here he was obliged to run alongside it for some little time, before he could find a place narrow enough for him to jump over.
When he came up from the hollow the children had disappeared. He could see their footprints on a narrow path which led to the woods, and these he continued to follow.
Soon he came to a cross-road. Here the children must have separated, for there were footprints in two directions. The boy looked now as if all hope had fled. Then he saw a little white down on a heather-knoll, and understood that the goosey-gander had dropped this by the wayside to let him know in which direction he had been carried; and therefore he continued his search. He followed the children through the entire wood. The goosey-gander he did not see; but wherever he was likely to miss his way, lay a little white down to put him right.
The boy continued faithfully to follow the bits of down. They led him out of the wood, across a couple of meadows, into a road, and finally through the entrance of a broad avenue. At the end of the avenue there were gables and towers of red tiling, decorated with bright borders and other ornamentations that glittered and shone. When the boy saw that this was some great manor, he thought he knew what had become of the goosey-gander. "No doubt the children have carried the goosey-gander to the manor and sold him there. By this time he's probably butchered," he said to himself. But he did not seem to be satisfied with anything less than proof positive, and with renewed courage he ran forward. He met no one in the avenue – and that was well, for such as he are generally afraid of being seen by human beings.
The mansion which he came to was a splendid, old-time structure with four great wings which inclosed a courtyard. On the east wing, there was a high arch leading into the courtyard. Thus far the boy had run without hesitation, but when he was there he stopped. He dared not venture farther, but stood still and pondered what he should do next.
There he stood, with his finger on his nose, thinking, when he heard footsteps behind him; and as he turned around he saw a whole company march up the avenue. Hastily he stole behind a water-barrel which stood near the arch, and hid himself.
Those who came up were some twenty young men from a folk high-school, out on a pedestrian tour. They were accompanied by one of the instructors. When they were come as far as the arch, the teacher requested them to wait there a moment, while he went in and asked if they might see the old castle of Vittskövle.
The newcomers were warm and tired; as if they had been on a long tramp. One of them was so thirsty that he went over to the water-barrel and bent down to drink. He had a tin box, such as botanists use, hanging about his neck. He evidently thought it was in his way, for he threw it down on the ground. With that the lid flew open, and one could see that there were a few spring flowers inside.
The botanist's tin dropped just in front of the boy; and he saw that here was his opportunity to get into the castle and find out what had become of the goosey-gander. He quickly smuggled himself into the tin and concealed himself as well as he could under the anemones and colt's-foot.
He was hardly hidden when the young man picked up the tin, hung it around his neck, and slammed down the cover.
Then the teacher came back, and said that they had been given permission to enter the castle. At first he conducted the students only as far as the courtyard, where he stopped and began to talk to them about this ancient structure.
He told them of how the first human beings who had inhabited this country, had been obliged to live in mountain-grottoes and earth-caves; in the dens of wild beasts, and in the brushwood; and that a very long period had elapsed before they learned to build themselves huts from the trunks of trees; and afterward, how long they had been forced to labour and struggle, before they advanced from the log cabin, with its single room, to the building of a castle with a hundred rooms – like Vittskövle.
It was about three hundred and fifty years ago that the rich and powerful built such castles for themselves, he said. It was obvious that Vittskövle was erected at a time when wars and robbers made it unsafe in Skåne. All around the castle was a deep trench filled with water; and across this there had been a bridge in bygone days that could be hoisted. Over the gate-arch there was a watch-tower which stands there even to this day; and all along the sides of the castle ran sentry-galleries, and in the corners stood towers with walls a metre thick. Yet this castle was not erected in the most savage war times; for Jens Brahe, who built it, had taken pains to make of it a beautiful decorative ornament. If they could see the big, solid stone structure at Glimminge, which was built only a generation earlier, they would readily see that Jens Holgersen Ulfstand, the builder, hadn't figured upon anything else than to build big and strong and secure – without bestowing a thought upon making it beautiful and comfortable. If they visited such castles as Marsvinsholm, Snogeholm and Övid Cloister – which were erected a hundred years or so later – they would find that the times had become less warlike. The gentlemen who built these places had not furnished them with fortifications; but had only taken care to provide themselves with great, splendid dwelling houses.
The teacher talked at length – and in detail; and the boy who lay shut up in the tin grew pretty impatient; but he must have lain very still, for the owner of the tin hadn't the least suspicion that he was carrying him along.
Finally the company went into the castle. But if the boy had hoped for a chance to crawl out of that tin he was mistaken; for the student carried it upon him all the while, and the boy was obliged to accompany him through all the rooms. It was a tedious tramp. The teacher stopped every other minute to explain and instruct.
In one room he found an old fireplace, and before this he stopped to talk about the different kinds of fireplaces that had been used in the course of time. The first indoors fireplace was a big, flat stone on the floor of the hut, with an opening in the roof which let in both wind and rain. The next was a big stone hearth with no opening in the roof. This must have made the hut very warm, but it also filled it with soot and smoke. When Vittskövle was built, the people had advanced far enough to open the fireplace, which, at that time, had a wide chimney for the smoke; but it also took most of the warmth up in the air with it.
If that boy had ever in his life been cross and impatient, he was given a good lesson in patience that day. It must have been a whole hour now that he had lain perfectly still.
In the next room they came to, the teacher paused before an old-time bed with its high canopy and rich curtains. Immediately he began to talk about the beds and bed places of olden days.
The teacher didn't hurry himself; but then he did not know, of course, that a poor little creature lay shut up in a botanist's tin only waiting for him to get through. When they came to a room with gilded leather hangings, he talked to them of how the people had dressed their walls and ceilings ever since the beginning of time. And when he came upon an old family portrait, he told them all about the different changes in dress. And in the banquet halls he described ancient customs of celebrating weddings and funerals.
Thereupon, the teacher talked a little about the excellent men and women who had lived in the castle; about the old Brahes, and the old Barnekows; of Christian Barnekow, who had given his horse to the king to help him escape; of Margareta Ascheberg who had been married to Kjell Barnekow and who, when a widow, had managed the estates and the whole district for fifty-three years; of banker Hagerman, a farmer's son from Vittskövle, who had grown so rich that he had bought the entire estate; about the Stjernsvårds, who had given the people of Skåne better ploughs, which enabled them to discard the ridiculous old wooden ploughs that three span of oxen were hardly able to drag. During all this, the boy lay still. If he had ever been mischievous and shut the cellar door on his father or mother, he understood now how they had felt; for it was hours and hours before that teacher got through.
At last the teacher went out into the courtyard again. And there he discoursed upon the tireless labour of mankind to procure for themselves tools and weapons, clothes and houses and ornaments. He said that an old castle like Vittskövle was a mile-post on time's highway. Here one could see how far the people had advanced three hundred and fifty years ago; and one could judge for one's self if things had gone forward or backward since their time.
But this dissertation the boy escaped hearing; for the student who carried him was thirsty again and stole into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. Now that the boy had been brought to the kitchen, he should have tried to look around for the goosey-gander. He had begun to move; and in so doing he happened to press too hard against the lid – and it flew open. Botanists' tin-lids are always flying open so the student paid no special heed to this, but pressed it down again. Then the cook asked him if he had a snake in the box.
"No, I have only a few plants," the student replied. "It was certainly something that moved there," insisted the cook. The student threw back the lid to show her that she was mistaken. "See for yourself – if – "
But he got no further, for now the boy dared not stay in the box any longer, but with a bound he was on the floor, and out he rushed. There was hardly time for the maids to see what it was that ran, but they hurried after it, nevertheless.
The teacher still stood and talked when he was interrupted by shrill cries. "Catch him, catch him!" shrieked those who had come from the kitchen; and all the young students raced after the boy, who scurried away faster than a rat. They tried to intercept him at the gate, but it was not easy to get hold of such a little creature, so, luckily, he got out into the open.
The boy did not dare to run down toward the open avenue, but turned in another direction. He rushed through the garden into the backyard. All the while the people raced after him, shrieking and laughing. The poor little thing ran as hard as ever he could to get out of their way; but still it looked as though the people would catch up with him.
As he was hurrying along past a labourer's cottage, he heard a goose cackle, and saw a white down lying on the doorstep. There, at last, was the goosey-gander! He had been on the wrong track before. He thought no more of housemaids and men who were hounding him, but climbed up the steps into the hallway. Farther he couldn't have come, for the door was locked. He heard how the goosey-gander cried and moaned inside, but he couldn't get the door open. The hunters that were pursuing him came nearer and nearer, and, in the room, the goosey-gander cried more and more pitifully. In this direst of needs the boy finally plucked up courage and pounded on the door with all his might.
A child opened it, and the boy looked into the room. In the middle of the floor sat a woman who held the goosey-gander tight – to clip his quill-feathers. It was her children who had found him, and she didn't want to do him any harm. It was her intention to let him in among her own geese, as soon as his wings were clipped, so he couldn't fly away. But a worse fate could hardly have happened to the goosey-gander, and he shrieked and moaned at the top of his voice.
And a lucky thing it was that the woman hadn't started the clipping sooner. Now only two quills had fallen under the shears when the door was opened and the little pigmy stood on the threshold. But a creature like that the woman had never seen before. She couldn't believe but that it was Goa-Nisse himself; and in her terror she dropped the shears, clasped her hands – and forgot to hold on to the goosey-gander.
As soon as he felt himself freed, he ran toward the door. He didn't give himself time to stop; but, as he ran he grabbed the boy by the neckband and carried him along with him. On the stoop he spread his wings and rose up into the air; at the same time he made a graceful sweep with his neck and seated the boy on his smooth, downy back.
And off they flew – while all Vittskövle stood and stared after them
ALL that day, while the wild geese played with the fox, the boy lay and slept in a deserted squirrel nest. When he awoke, toward evening, he felt very anxious. "Well, now I shall soon be sent home! Then, after all, I'll have to exhibit myself before father and mother," thought he. But when he looked up and saw the wild geese, who lay bathing in Vomb Lake, not one of them said a word about his going. "They probably think the white one is too tired to travel home with me to-night," thought the boy.
The next morning the geese were awake at daybreak, long before sunrise. Now the boy felt sure that he'd have to go home; but curiously enough, both he and the white goosey-gander were permitted to follow the wild ones on their morning jaunt. The boy couldn't comprehend the reason of the delay, but he figured it out in this way, that the wild geese did not care to send the goosey-gander on such a long journey until both had eaten their fill. Come what might, he was only glad for every moment that should pass before he must face his parents.
The wild geese travelled over Övid Cloister estate, which was situated in a beautiful park east of the lake, and which looked very imposing with its great castle; it's well-planned court surrounded by low walls and pavilions; its fine old-time garden with covered arbours, streams and fountains; its wonderful trees, trimmed bushes, and its evenly mown lawns with their beds of beautiful spring flowers.
As the wild geese flew over the estate in the early morning hour there was no human being about. When they had carefully assured themselves of this, they sank toward the dog kennel, and shouted: "What kind of a little hut is this? What kind of a little hut is this?"
Instantly the dog came out of his kennel – furiously angry – and barked at the air.
"Do you call this a hut, you tramps! Can't you see that this is a great stone castle? Can't you see what fine terraces, and what a lot of pretty walls and windows and great doors it has, bow, wow, wow, wow? Don't you see the grounds, can't you see the garden, can't you see the conservatories, can't you see the marble statues? You call this a hut do you? Do huts have parks with beech-groves and hazel-bushes and trailing vines and oak trees and firs and hunting-grounds filled with game, wow, wow, wow? Do you call this a hut? Have you seen huts with so many outhouses around them that they look like a whole village? You must know a lot of huts that have their own church and their own patronage; and that rule over the district and the peasant homes and the neighbouring farms and barracks, wow, wow, wow? Do you call this a hut? To this hut belong the richest possessions in Skåne, you beggars! You can't see a bit of land, from where you hang in the clouds, that does not obey commands from this hut, wow, wow, wow!"
All this the dog managed to cry out in one breath; while the wild geese flew back and forth over the estate, and listened to him until he was winded. But then they cried: "What are you so mad about? We didn't ask about the castle; we only wanted to know about your kennel, stupid!"
When the boy heard this joke, he laughed; then a thought stole in on him which at once made him serious. "Think how many of these amusing things you would hear, if only you could go with the wild geese through the whole country, all the way to Lapland!" he said to himself. "And just now, when you are in such a bad fix, a trip like that would be the best thing you could hit upon."
The wild geese flew over to one of the wide fields, east of the estate, to eat grass-roots, and this they kept up for hours. In the meantime, the boy wandered in the great park which bordered the fields. He hunted up a beech-nut grove and began to look up at the bushes, to see if a nut from last fall still hung there. But again and again the thought of the trip came over him, as he walked in the park. He pictured to himself what a fine time he would have if he went with the wild geese. To freeze and starve: that he believed he should have to do often enough, but as a reward he would escape both work and study.
As he walked there, the old gray leader-goose came up to him and asked if he had found anything eatable. No, that he hadn't, he replied, and then she tried to help him. She couldn't find any nuts either, but she discovered a couple of dried blossoms that hung on a brier-bush. These the boy ate with a good relish. But he wondered what mother would say, if she knew that he had lived upon raw fish and old winter-dried blossoms.
When the wild geese had finally eaten all they could hold, they bore off toward the lake again, where they amused themselves with games until almost dinner time.
The wild geese challenged the white goosey-gander to take part in all kinds of sports. They had swimming races, running races, and flying races with him. The big tame one did his level best to hold his own, but the clever wild geese beat him every time. All the while, the boy sat on the goosey-gander's back and encouraged him, and he had as much fun as the rest. They laughed and screamed and cackled, and it was remarkable that the people on the estate did not hear them.
When the wild geese were tired of play, they flew out on the ice to rest a few hours. The afternoon they spent in much the same way as the forenoon. First, a couple of hours feeding, then bathing and play in the water, near the ice-edge, until sunset, when they immediately arranged themselves for sleep.
"This is just the life for me," thought the boy as he crept in under the gander's wing. "But by to-morrow, I suppose I'll be sent home."
Before he fell asleep, he lay and thought that if he might go along with the wild geese he would escape all scoldings because he was lazy. Then he could cut loose every day, and his only worry would be to get something to eat. But he needed so little nowadays; and there would always be a way to get that.
So he pictured the whole scene to himself; what he would see, and all the adventures that he would be in on. Yes, it would be something different from the wear and tear at home. "If I could only go with the wild geese on their travels, I shouldn't grieve because I'd been transformed," thought the boy.
He wasn't afraid of anything – except being sent home; but not even on Wednesday did the geese say anything to him about going. That day passed in the same way as Tuesday; and the boy grew more and more contented with the outdoor life. He was thinking that here he had the lovely Övid Cloister-Park, which was as large as a forest, all to himself; and he wasn't anxious to go back to the stuffy cabin and the little patch of ground there at home.
On Wednesday he firmly believed that the wild geese thought of keeping him; but on Thursday he lost hope again.
Thursday began just like the other days; the geese fed on the broad meadows, and the boy hunted for food in the park. After a while Akka came to him, and asked if he had found anything to eat. No, he had not; and then she looked up a dry caraway herb, which had kept all its tiny seeds intact.
When the boy had finished eating, Akka said that she thought he ran around in the park altogether too recklessly. She wondered if he know how many enemies he had to guard against – he, who was so little. No, he didn't know anything at all about that. Then Akka began to enumerate them.
Whenever he walked in the park, she said that he must look out for the fox and the marten; when he came to the shores of the lake, he must think of the otters; when seated on the stone wall, he must not forget the weasels, who can creep through the smallest holes; and if he wished to lie down and sleep on a pile of leaves, he must first find out if the adders were not sleeping their winter sleep in the same pile. As soon as he came out into the open fields, he was to keep an eye out for hawks and buzzards; for eagles and falcons that soar in the air. In the bramble-bush he could be captured by the sparrow-hawk; magpies and crows were to be found everywhere, and in these he mustn't place too much confidence. As soon as it was dusk, he must keep his ears open and listen for the big owls, who flew along with such soundless wing-strokes that they could come right upon him before he was aware of their presence.
When the boy heard that there were so many who were after his life, he comprehended that it would be well-nigh impossible for him to escape. He was not especially afraid to die, but he didn't like the idea of being eaten up, so he asked Akka what he should do to protect himself from carnivorous animals.
Akka answered at once that the boy should try to get on good terms with all the smaller animals in the woods and fields: with the squirrel folk, and the hare family; with bullfinches and titmice and woodpeckers and larks. If he made friends with them, they could warn him against dangers, find hiding-places for him, and protect him.
But, later in the day, when the boy tried to profit by this counsel and turned to Sirle Squirrel to ask for his protection, it was plain that he did not care to help him. "You surely can't expect anything from me, or the rest of the small animals!" said Sirle. "Don't you think we know that you are Nils the goose boy, who tore down the swallow's nest last year, crushed the starling's eggs, threw baby crows in the marl-ditch, caught thrushes in snares, and put squirrels in cages? You just help yourself as best you can; and you may be thankful that we do not form a league against you, and drive you back to your own kind!"
This was just the sort of answer the boy would not have let go unpunished, in the days when he was Nils, the goose boy. But now he was only fearful lest the wild geese, too, had found out how wicked he could be. He had been so anxious lest he shouldn't be permitted to stay with the wild geese that he hadn't dared to get into the least little mischief since joining their company. It was true that he didn't have the power to do much harm now, but, little as he was, he could have destroyed many birds' nests and crushed many eggs, if he'd been a mind to. Now he had been good. He hadn't pulled a feather from a goose-wing, or given any one a rude answer; and every morning when calling upon Akka, he had always removed his cap, and bowed.
All day Thursday he kept thinking it was surely on account of his wickedness that the wild geese did not care to take him along up to Lapland. And in the evening, when he heard that Sirle Squirrel's wife had been stolen, and her children were starving to death, he made up his mind to help them. We have already been told how well he succeeded.
When the boy came into the park on Friday, he heard the bulfinches sing in every bush, of how Sirle Squirrel's wife had been carried away from her children by cruel robbers, of how Nils, the goose boy, had risked his life among human beings in taking the little squirrel children to her.
"And who is so honoured in Övid Cloister-Park now, as Thumbietot!" sang the bulfinch; "he, whom all feared when he was Nils the goose boy. Sirle Squirrel will give him nuts; the poor hares are going to play with him; the small wild animals will carry him on their backs, and fly away with him when Smirre Fox approaches. The titmice are going to warn him against the hawk, and the finches and larks will sing of his valour."
The boy was absolutely certain that both Akka and the wild geese had heard all this. And yet, the whole Friday passed without one word said as to his remaining with them.
Up until Saturday the wild geese had fed in the fields around Övid, undisturbed by Smirre Fox.
But Saturday morning, when they came out into the meadow, he lay in wait for them, and chased them from one field to another, so that they were not allowed to eat in peace. When Akka understood that he didn't intend that they should be left peace, she quickly came to a decision, rose into the air, and off she flew with her flock over Fårs' plains and Linderöds's hills. They did not stop until they had arrived in the district of Vittskövle.
But at Vittskövle the goosey-gander was stolen, and how it happened has already been related. If the boy hadn't used all his wits to help him he would never again have been found.
On Saturday evening, as the boy returned to Vomb Lake with the goosey-gander, he thought that he had done a good day's work, and wondered much what Akka and the wild geese would say to him. The wild geese were not at all sparing in their praises, but they did not speak the word he was longing to hear.
Then Sunday came around again. A whole week had gone by since the boy had become bewitched, and he was still just as little.
But he didn't appear to be giving himself any extra worry because of this. Sunday afternoon he sat huddled up in a big, fluffy osier-bush, down by the lake, and blew on a reed-pipe. All around him there sat as many finches and bullfinches and starlings as the bush could well hold – who sang songs which he tried to teach himself to play. But the boy was not at home in this art. He blew so false that the feathers raised themselves on all the little music-masters, who shrieked and fluttered in their despair. The boy laughed so heartily at their excitement, that he dropped his pipe. He tried it again, and this time too it went just as badly. Then all the little birds wailed: "To-day you play worse than usual, Thumbietot? You don't take one true note! Where are your thoughts, Thumbietot?"
"They are elsewhere," said the boy – and that was true. He sat there and pondered how long he should be allowed to remain with the wild geese; or if he should be sent home perhaps to-day.
Finally the boy threw down his pipe and jumped from the bush. He had seen Akka, and all the other wild geese, coming toward him in a long row. They walked so uncommonly slow and dignified-like that the boy immediately understood that now he should learn what they intended to do with him.
When they finally paused Akka said: "You may well have reason to wonder at me, Thumbietot, who have not said thanks to you for saving me from Smirre Fox. But I am one of those who would rather give thanks in deeds than in words. I have sent word to the elf that bewitched you. At first he didn't want to hear anything about curing you; but I have sent message upon message to him, telling him how well you have conducted yourself among us. He greets you, and says that as soon as you turn back home you shall be human again."
But think of it! Just as happy as the boy had been when the wild goose began to speak, just that miserable was he when she had finished. He didn't say a word, but turned away and wept.
²What in all the world does this mean?" said Akka. "It appears as though you were expecting more of me than I have offered you."
But the boy was thinking of the carefree days and the banter; of adventure and freedom and travel, high above the earth, that he should miss, and he actually bawled with grief. "I don't want to be human," said he. "I want to go with you to Lapland." "I'll tell you something," said Akka. "That elf is very touchy, and I'm afraid that if you do not accept his offer now, it will be difficult for you to coax him another time."
It was a strange thing about that boy – as long as he had lived, he had never cared for any one. He had not cared for his father or mother; not for the school teacher; not for his schoolmates; not for the boys in the neighborhood. All that they had wished to have him do – whether it had been work or play – he had only thought tiresome. Therefore there was no one whom he missed or longed for.
The only ones that he had come anywhere near agreeing with, were Osa, the goose girl, and little Mats – a couple of children who had tended geese in the fields, like himself. But he didn't care particularly for them either. No, far from it! " I don't want to be human," bawled the boy. "I want to go with you to Lapland. That's why I've been good for a whole week!" "I don't want to forbid you to come along with us as far as you like," said Akka, "but think first if you wouldn't rather go home again. A day may come when you will regret this."
"No," said the boy, "that's nothing to regret. I have never been so well off as here with you."
"Well then, let it be as you wish," said Akka.
"Thanks!" said the boy, and he felt so happy that he had to cry for very joy – just as he had cried before with sorrow.
"'I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN,' SAID HE"
This chapter has been put on-line as part of the
BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at the
Celebration of Women Writers.
Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Ann Youmans,
Danielle Rupinski, and
Amalia Donde.
