IN THE southwest corner of Småland lies a parish called Sonnerbo – a rather smooth and even country. And one who sees it in winter, when it is covered with snow, cannot imagine that there is anything under the snow but garden-plots, rye-fields and clover-meadows, as is generally the case in flat countries. But, in the beginning of April when the snow melts away in Sonnerbo, it becomes apparent that under it lie only dry, sandy heaths, bare rocks, and big, marshy swamps. There are fields here and there, to be sure, but these are so small that they are scarcely worth mentioning; and there are also little red or gray farmhouses hidden away in some birch-coppice – almost as if they were afraid to be seen.
Where Sonnerbo Parish touches the boundaries of Halland, there is a sandy heath which is so far-reaching that he who stands at one end of it cannot look across to the other. Nothing except heather grows on the heath, and it wouldn't be easy to coax other growths to thrive there. To start with, one would have to uproot the heather; for it is thus with heather: although it has only a little shrunken root, small shrunken branches, and dry, shrunken leaves, it fancies itself a tree. Therefore, it acts just like real trees – spreads itself out in forest fashion over wide areas; holds faithfully together, and causes all foreign growths that wish to crowd in upon its territory to die out.
The only place on the heath where the heather is not all-powerful is a low, stony ridge which crosses it. There you'll find juniper bushes, mountain ash, and a few large, fine oaks. At the time that Nils travelled around with the wild geese, a little cabin stood there, with a bit of cleared ground around it. But the people who once lived there for some reason or other had moved away. The little cabin was empty now, and the ground lay unused.
On leaving the cabin the tenants had closed the damper, fastened the window-hooks, and locked the door. But no one had thought of the broken window-pane which was only stopped up with a rag. After the showers of a couple of summers, the rag had moulded and shrunk, and, finally, a crow had succeeded in poking it out.
The ridge on the heather-heath was really not so desolate as one might think, for it was inhabited by a large crow-folk. Naturally, the crows did not live there all the year around. They moved to foreign lands in the winter; in the autumn they travelled from one grain-field to another all over Götaland, and picked grain; during the summer, they spread themselves over the farms in Sonnerbo Parish, and lived upon eggs and berries and birdlings; but every spring, at nesting time, they came back to the heather-heath.
The one who had poked the rag from the window was a crow-cock named Garm Whitefeather; but he was never called anything but Fumle or Drumle, or out and out Fumle-Drumle, because he always acted awkwardly and stupidly, and wasn't good for anything except to be made fun of. Fumle-Drumle was bigger and stronger than any of the other crows, but that didn't help him in the least; he was – and remained – a butt for ridicule. Nor did it profit him that he came of very good stock. By rights he should have been leader for the whole flock, since this honour from time immemorial had belonged to the oldest Whitefeather. But long before Fumle-Drumle was born, the power had gone from his family, and it was now held by a cruel wild crow named Wind-Rush.
This transference of power was due to the fact that the crows on crow-ridge had decided to change their manner of living. Possibly there are many who think that everything in the shape of crow lives in the same way; but such is not the case. There are entire crow-folk who lead respectable lives – that is to say, they eat only grain, worms, caterpillars, and dead animals; and there are others who lead a regular bandit's life, who throw themselves upon baby hares and small birds, and who plunder every bird's nest they set eyes on.
The ancient Whitefeathers had been strict and temperate; and so long as they had led the flock, the crows had been compelled to conduct themselves in such a way that other birds could speak no ill of them. But the crows were numerous, and poverty was great among them. They didn't care to go the whole length of living a strictly moral life, so they rebelled against the Whitefeathers, and gave the power to Wind-Rush who was the worst nest-plunderer and robber that could be imagined – if his wife, Wind-Air, wasn't worse still. Under their government the crows had begun to lead such a life that now they were more feared than pigeon-hawks and leech-owls.
Naturally, Fumle-Drumle had nothing to say in the flock. The crows were all of the opinion that he did not in the least take after his forefathers, and that he wouldn't do as a leader. No one would have noticed him, if he hadn't constantly committed fresh blunders. A few, who were quite sensible, said that perhaps it was lucky for Fumle-Drumle that he was such a bungling idiot; otherwise Wind-Rush and Wind-Air would hardly have allowed him, who was of the old chieftan stock, to remain with the flock.
Now, on the other hand, they were rather friendly toward him, and willingly took him along with them on their marauding explorations, where all could observe how much more skilful and daring they were than he.
None of the crows knew that it was Fumle-Drumle who had pecked the rag out of the window; for had they known of this, they would have been very much astonished. Such a thing as daring to approach a human habitation they had never credited him with. He had kept this very carefully to himself, and he had his own good reasons for doing so. Wind and Air always treated him well in the daytime, and when the others were around. But one dark night, when the comrades were perched on the night branch, he was attacked by a couple of crows and nearly murdered. After that every night, when it was dark, he moved from his usual sleeping quarters into the empty cabin.
Now one afternoon, when the crows on the crow-ridge had put their nests in order, they happened upon a remarkable find. Wind-Rush, Fumle-Drumle, and a couple of the others had flown down into a big hollow in one corner of the heath. The hollow was nothing but a gravel-pit, but the crows could not be satisfied with such a simple explanation; they flew down into it continually, turning over every single sand-grain to get at the reason why human beings had dug it. While the crows were pottering around down there, a mass of gravel fell from one side. They rushed up to it, and had the good fortune to find amongst the fallen stones and stubble a large earthen crock, which was locked with a wooden clasp. Naturally, they wanted to know if there was anything in it, and tried to peck holes in the crock and to bend up the clasp, but had no success.
They stood perplexed looking at the crock, when they heard some one say: "Shall I come down and assist you crows?" They glanced up quickly. On the edge of the hollow sat a fox blinking down at them. He was one of the prettiest foxes as to both colour and form that they had ever seen. The only fault with him was that he had lost an ear.
"If you wish to do us a service, we will not say nay," said Wind-Rush, as he and the others flew up from the hollow. Then the fox jumped down in their place, pecked at the jar, and pulled at the lock – but he couldn't open it either.
"Can you make out what there is in it?" said Wind-Rush. The fox rolled the jar back and forth, and listened carefully. "It must be silver money," said he.
This was more than the crows had expected. "Do you think it can be silver?" they gasped, their eyes ready to pop out of their heads with greed; for remarkable as it may sound, there is nothing in the world which crows love so much as silver.
"Hear how it rattles!" said the fox, rolling the crock around once more. "Only I can't understand how we shall get at it." "That will surely be impossible," said the crows. The fox stood rubbing his head against his left fore-leg, and pondered: Now perhaps he might succeed, with the help of the crows, in mastering that little imp who was always eluding him. "Oh! I know some one who can open the crock for you," said the fox. "Then tell us! Tell us! cried the crows; and they were so excited that they tumbled down into the pit. "That I will do, if you'll first promise me that you will agree to my terms," he said.
Then the fox told the crows about Thumbietot, and said that if they could only bring him to the heath he would open the crock for them. But in payment for this counsel, he demanded that they should deliver Thumbietot to him as soon as he had got the silver money for them. The crows had no reason to spare Thumbietot, so accepted the proposal at once; but it was not so easy to find out where Thumbietot and the wild geese were stopping.
Wind-Rush himself started away with fifty crows, and said that he should soon return. But one day after another passed without the crows on the crow-ridge seeing a shadow of him.
Wednesday, April thirteenth.
THE wild geese were up at daybreak, in time to get themselves a bite of food before starting out on their journey toward Östergötland. The island in Goose Bay, where they had slept, was small and barren, but in the water all around it were water-weeds upon which they could eat their fill. It was worse for the boy, however. He couldn't manage to find anything eatable.
As he stood there, hungry and drowsy, looking around in all directions, his glance fell upon a pair of squirrels playing upon the wooded point, opposite the rock island. He wondered if the squirrels had any of their winter supplies left, and asked the white goosey-gander to take him over to the point that he might beg them for a couple of hazelnuts.
The white one promptly swam across the bay with the boy, but as luck would have it, the squirrels were having so much fun chasing each other from tree to tree that they didn't bother about listening to him. Instead they drew farther into the grove. He hurried after them, and was soon out of the goosey-gander's sight – the latter stayed behind and waited on the shore.
The boy was wading forward between some white anemone-stems – which were so high that they reached to his chin – when he felt some one from behind catch hold of him, and try to lift him up. He faced about and saw that a crow had gripped him by the shirt-band. He tried to jerk himself loose, but before he could do so, another crow rushed up, caught him by the stocking, and knocked him over.
If Nils had at once cried for help, the white goosey-gander certainly could have saved him; but the boy probably thought that he could protect himself, unaided, against a couple of crows. He kicked and struck out, but the crows didn't let go their hold, and succeeded in rising into the air with him. To make matters worse, they flew so recklessly that his head struck against a branch. He got such a hard bump that it grew black before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes once more, he found himself high above the ground. He regained his senses slowly; at first he knew neither where he was, nor what he saw. When he glanced down, he noticed that under him was spread a tremendous big woolly carpet which was woven in greens and reds, and in large irregular patterns. The carpet was very thick and fine, but he thought it a pity that it had been so badly used. It was actually ragged; long tears ran through it and, in some places, large pieces were torn away. But strangest of all, it was spread over a mirror-floor; for under the holes and tears in the carpet shone bright and glittering glass.
And then, the boy saw the sun come rolling up in the heavens. Instantly, the mirror-glass under the holes and tears in the carpet began to shimmer in red and gold. It looked gorgeous, and the boy was charmed with the pretty colour-scheme, although he didn't exactly understand what it was that he saw. But now the crows descended and at once he understood that the big carpet under him was the earth, which was dressed in green cone-trees and brown, naked leaf-trees, and that the holes and tears were shimmering bays and little lakes.
He remembered that the first time he had travelled up in the air, he had thought that the earth in Skåne looked like a piece of checked cloth. But this landscape, which resembled a torn carpet – what country might this be?
He began to ask himself a lot of questions. Why wasn't he sitting on the goosey-gander's back? Why did a great swarm of crows fly around him? And why was he being pulled and knocked hither and thither so that he was about to break in two.
Then, all at once, the whole thing dawned upon him. He had been kidnapped by a couple of crows. The white goosey-gander was still on the shore, waiting, and to-day the wild geese were to travel to Östergötland. He was being carried southwest; this he understood because the sun's disc was behind him. The big forest-carpet which lay beneath him was surely Småland.
"What will become of the goosey-gander now, when I cannot look after him?" thought the boy, and he began to shout at the crows to take him back to the wild geese instantly. He was not at all uneasy on his own account for he believed that they were carrying him off simply in a spirit of mischief.
The crows didn't pay the slightest attention to his exhortations, but flew on as fast as they could. After a bit, one of them flapped his wings in a manner which meant: "Look out! Danger!" Soon thereafter they came down in a spruce forest, pushed their way between prickly branches to the ground, and put the boy down under a thick pine, where he was so well concealed that not even a falcon could have sighted him.
Fifty crows, with bills pointed toward him, surrounded him. "Now, crows, perhaps I may hear what your purpose is in carrying me off," said he. But he was hardly allowed to finish the sentence before a big crow hissed at him: "Keep still! or I'll bore your eyes out."
It was plain that the crow meant what she said; and there was nothing for the boy to do but obey. So he sat there and stared at the crows, and the crows stared at him.
The longer he looked at them, the less he liked them. Their feather-dresses were shockingly dusty and unkempt – as if they had never come in contact with water or oil. Their toes and claws were grimy with dried-in mud, and the corners of their mouths were covered with food drippings. These were very different birds from the wild geese – that he observed. He thought they had a cruel, sneaky, watchful, and bold appearance, just like cut-throats and vagabonds.
"I have certainly fallen in with a real robber-band," he remarked to himself.
Just then he heard the wild geese's call above him. "Where are you? Here am I. Where are you? Here am I."
He understood that Akka and the others were out searching for him; but before he could answer them, the big crow, who appeared to be the leader of the band, hissed in his ear: "Think of your eyes!" And there was nothing for him to do but keep still.
He heard their call once or twice more, then it died away. The wild geese did not know he was so near them. "Well, you'll have to get along by yourself, Nils Holgersson," he thought. "Now you must prove whether or not you have learned anything during these weeks in the open."
A moment later the crows gave the signal to break up; and since it was still their intention, apparently, to carry him along in such a way that one held onto his shirt-band, and one to a stocking, the boy said: "Is there not one among you strong enough to carry me on his back? You have already travelled so badly with me that I feel as if I were in pieces. Only let me ride! I'll not jump from the crow's back, that I promise you."
"Oh! you needn't think that we mind how you fare," snapped the leader. But now the largest of the crows, a dishevelled and uncouth one with a white feather in his wing, came forward and said: "It would certainly be best for all of us, Wind-Rush, if Thumbietot got there whole, rather than in sections. Therefore, I shall carry him on my back." "If you can do it, Fumle-Drumle, I have no objection," said Wind-Rush. "But don't lose him!"
Herewith much was already gained, and the boy actually felt contented. "There is nothing to be gained by losing my grit because I have been kidnapped by the crows," thought he. "I'll surely be able to manage those poor little wretches."
"IS THERE NOT ONE AMONG YOU STRONG ENOUGH TO CARRY ME ON HIS BACK?"
The crows continued to fly southwest, over Småland. It was a glorious morning – sunny and calm; and the birds down on the earth were singing their best love songs. In a high, dark forest sat the thrush himself with drooping wings and swelling throat, and he struck up a tune. "How pretty you are! How pretty you are! How pretty you are!" sang he. "No one is so pretty. No one is so pretty. No one is so pretty." As soon as he had finished this song, he began all over again.
But just then the boy rode over the forest; and when he had heard the song a couple of times, and marked that the thrush knew no other, he put both hands up to his mouth as a speaking trumpet, and called down: "We've heard all this before. We've heard all this before." "Who is it? Who is it? Who is it? Who makes fun of me?" asked the thrush, trying to catch a glimpse of the one who called. "It is Kidnapped-by-Crows who makes fun of your song," answered the boy. At that, the crow-chief turned his head and said: "Be careful of your eyes, Thumbietot!" But the boy thought, "Oh! I don't care about that. I want to show you that I'm not afraid of you!"
They travelled farther and farther inland with woods and lakes everywhere. In a birch-grove on a naked bough sat Mrs. Wood-Dove, before her stood Mr. Wood-Dove. He blew up his feathers, cocked his head, raised and lowered his body, until the breast-feathers rattled against the branch. All the while he cooed: "You, you, you are the loveliest in all the forest. No one in the forest is so lovely as you, you, you!"
But up in the air the boy rode past, and when he heard Mr. Dove he couldn't keep still. "Don't you believe him! Don't you believe him!" cried he.
"Who, who, who is it that lies about me?" cooed Mr. Dove, and tried to get a sight of the one who shrieked at him. "It is Caught-by-Crows that lies about you," replied the boy. Again Wind-Rush turned to the boy and commanded him to shut up, but Fumle-Drumle, who was carrying him, said: "Let him chatter, then all the little birds will think that we crows have become quick-witted and funny birds." "Oh! they're not such fools as that," said Wind-Rush; but he liked the idea just the same, for after that he let the boy call out as much as he liked.
They flew mostly over forests and woodlands. In one place they saw a pretty old manor-house with the lake before it, and the forest behind it. The old house had red walls and a turreted roof; great sycamores about the grounds, and big, thick gooseberry-bushes in the orchard. On top of the weathercock sat the starling, singing so loud that every note was heard by the wife, who sat on an egg in the heart of a pear tree. "We have four pretty little eggs," sang the staring. "We have four pretty little round eggs. We have the whole nest filled with fine eggs."
When the starling sang the song for the thousandth time, the boy rode over the place. He put his hands up to his mouth, as a pipe, and called to the starling: "The magpie will get them. The magpie will get them."
"Who is it that wants to frighten me?" asked the starling, and flapped his wings uneasily. "It is Captured-by Crows that frightens you," said the boy. This time the crow-chief didn't attempt to hush him up. Instead, both he and his flock were having so much fun that they cawed with satisfaction.
The farther inland they came, the larger were the lakes, and the more plentiful were the islands and points. And on a lake-shore stood a drake bowing before the duck. "I'll be true to you all the days of my life. I'll be true to you all the days of my life," vowed the drake. "It won't last until the summer's end," shrieked the boy. "Who are you?" called the drake. "My name's Stolen-by-Crows," shrieked the boy.
At dinner time the crows lighted in a food-grove. They walked about and procured food for themselves, but none of them thought of giving the boy anything. Then Fumle-Drumle came riding up to the chief with a dog-rose branch with a few dried buds on it. "Here's something for you, Wind-Rush," said he. "This is dainty food, and suitable for you." Wind-Rush sniffed contemptuously. "Do you think that I want to eat old, dry buds?" said he. "And I who thought you would be pleased with them!" said Fumle-Drumle; throwing away the dog-rose branch as if in despair. It fell right in front of the boy, and he wasn't slow in grabbing it and eating until he was satisfied.
When the crows were done eating, they began to chatter. "What are you thinking about, Wind-Rush? You are so quiet to-day," said one of them to the leader. "I'm thinking that once upon a time there lived in this district a hen who was very fond of her mistress; and in order to really please her, she went and laid a nest full of eggs, which she hid under the storehouse floor. The mistress of the house wondered, of course, where the hen was keeping herself such a long time. She searched for her, but did not find her. Can you guess, Longbill, who it was that found her and the eggs?"
"I think I can guess it, Wind-Rush, but when you have told about this, I will tell you something like it. Do you remember the big, black cat in Hinneryd's parish house? She was dissatisfied because they always took the new-born kittens from her, and drowned them. Just once did she succeed in keeping them concealed, and that was when she had laid them in a haystack out doors. She was pretty well pleased with those young kittens, but I believe that I got more pleasure out of them than she did."
Now they became so excited that they all talked at once. "What kind of a trick is that – to steal little kittens?" said one. "I once chased a young hare who was almost full-grown. That meant to follow him from covert to covert." He got no further before another took the words from him. "It may be fun, perhaps, to annoy hens and cats, but I find it still more remarkable that a crow can worry a human being. I once stole a silver spoon – "
But now the boy thought he was too good to sit and hear such gabble. "Now listen to me, you crows!" said he. "I say that you ought to be ashamed of bragging about all your wickedness. I have lived amongst wild geese for three weeks, and while with them I never heard or saw anything but good. You must have a bad chief, since he permits you to rob and murder in this way. You should really begin life anew, for I can tell you that human beings have grown so tired of your wickedness that they are doing everything in their power to root you out. And there will soon be an end to you."
When Wind-Rush and the crows heard this, they were so furious that they wanted to throw themselves upon him and tear him in pieces. But Fumle-Drumle laughed and cawed, and stood in front of him. "Oh, no, no!" said he, and seemed perfectly horrified. "What think you that Wind-Air will say if you tear Thumbietot in pieces before he has got that silver money for us?" "It has to be you, Fumle-Drumle, that's afraid of women-folk," said Rush. But, at any rate, both he and the others left Thumbietot in peace.
Shortly after that the crows moved on. Until now the boy had thought that Småland wasn't such a poor country after all. Of course it was woody and full of mountain-ridges, but alongside the islands and lakes lay cultivated grounds, and any real desolation he hadn't come upon. But the farther inland they went the fewer became the villages and cottages. Toward the last, he thought he was riding over a veritable wilderness of nothing but swamps and heaths and juniper-hills.
The sun had gone down, but it was still quite light when the crows reached the large heather-heath. Wind-Rush sent a crow ahead to say that he had met with success; and when it was known, Wind-Air, with several hundred crows from crow-ridge, flew to meet the arrivals. In the midst of the deafening cawing which the crows emitted, Fumle-Drumle said to the boy: "You have been so comical and so jolly during the trip that I am really fond of you. Therefore, I want to give you some good advice. As soon as we light, you'll be requested to do a bit of work which may seem very easy to you; but beware of doing it!"
Soon thereafter Fumle-Drumle put Nils down in the bottom of a sandpit. The boy flung himself on his back, and lay there as though he was simply done up. Such a lot of crows fluttered about him that the air rustled like a wind-storm, but he didn't look up.
"Thumbietot," said Wind-Rush, "get up now! You shall help us with a matter which will be very easy for you."
The boy didn't move, but pretended to be asleep. Then Wind-Rush took him by the arm and dragged him over the sand toward an earthen crock of old-time make that stood in the pit. "Get up, Thumbietot," said he, "and open this crock!" "Why can't you let me sleep!" yawned the boy. "I'm too tired to do anything to-night. Wait until to-morrow!"
"Open the crock!" said Wind-Rush, shaking him. "How shall a poor little child be able to open such a crock? Why, it's quite as large as I am myself." "Open it!" commanded Wind-Rush once more, "or it will be a sorry thing for you." The boy got up, tottered over to the crock, fumbled the clasp, and let his arms fall. "I'm not usually so weak," said he. "If you will only let me sleep until morning, I think that I'll be able to manage with that clasp."
But Wind-Rush was impatient, and he flew at the boy and nipped him in the leg. The boy didn't care to suffer that sort of treatment from a crow. He jerked himself loose, ran a couple of paces backward, drew his knife from the sheath, and held it threateningly in front of him. "You'd better be careful!" he cried to Wind-Rush.
But Wind-Rush, too, was so enraged that he didn't dodge the danger. He rushed at the boy, just as if he were blind, and ran so straight against the knife that it entered through his eye into his head. The boy quickly drew the knife back, but Wind-Rush only struck out with his wings, then fell dead.
"Wind-Rush is dead! The stranger has killed our chieftain, Wind-Rush!" cried the nearest crows. And then there was a terrible uproar. Some wailed, others cried for vengeance. They all ran or fluttered up to the boy, with Fumle-Drumle in the lead. But Fumle-Drumle acted badly, as usual, fluttering and spreading his wings over the boy, and preventing the others from coming forward and running their bills into him.
The boy thought that now things looked bad for him. He couldn't run away from the crows, and there was no place where he could hide. Suddenly he happened to think of the earthen crock. He took a firm hold on the clasp and pulled it out. Then he hopped into the crock to hide there. But the crock was a poor hiding place, for it was filled almost to the brim with little, thin silver coins. The boy couldn't get far enough down, so he stooped and began to throw out the coins.
Until now the crows had fluttered around him in a thick swarm, pecking at him, but when he threw out the money they immediately forgot their thirst for vengeance, and hurried to gather the coins. The boy threw out handfuls and all the crows – yes, even Wind-Air herself – picked them up. And each one as he succeeded in picking up a coin ran off to the nest with the utmost speed to conceal it.
After the boy had thrown out all the silver pennies from the crock he glanced up. But one crow was left in the sand-pit. That was Fumle-Drumle, with the white feather in his wing; he who had carried Thumbietot. "You have rendered me a greater service than you yourself understand," said the crow in a tone very different from the one he had used hitherto, "and I want to save your life. Sit down on my back and I'll take you to a hiding-place where you will be safe to-night. To-morrow, I shall arrange it so that you can get back to the wild geese."
Thursday, April fourteenth.
THE following morning when the boy awoke, he was lying in a bed. When he saw that he was in a house with four walls around him, and a roof over him, he thought that he was at home. "I wonder if mother will come soon with some coffee," he muttered to himself where he lay, half awake. Then he remembered that he was in a deserted cabin on the crow-ridge and that Fumle-Drumle with the white feather had borne him there the night before.
The boy was sore all over after the journey he had made, and he thought it lovely to lie still while waiting for Fumle-Drumle, who had promised to come and fetch him.
Curtains of checked cotton hung before the bed. He drew them aside to look out into the cabin and instantly it occurred to him that he had never seen the mate to a cabin like this. The walls consisted of nothing but two rows of logs; then the roof began. There was no interior ceiling, so he could look clear up to the roof-tree. The cabin was so small that it appeared to be built for such as he rather than for real people. However, the fireplace and chimney were so large, he thought he had never seen larger. The entrance door was in a gable-wall at the side of the fireplace, and so narrow that it was more like a wicket than a door. In the other gable-wall he saw a low and broad window with many little panes. There was scarcely any movable furniture in the cabin. The bench by the wall and the table under the window were stationary – also the big bed where he lay, and the many-coloured cupboard.
The boy could not help wondering who owned the cabin, and why it was deserted. It certainly looked as though the people who had lived there expected to return. The coffee-urn and the gruel-pot stood on the hearth, and there was wood in the fireplace; in a corner stood the oven rake and baker's peel; the spinning-wheel was raised on a bench; on the shelf over the window lay oakum and flax; two skeins of yarn, a candle, and a bunch of matches.
Yes, it surely looked as if the people who had lived there intended to come back. There were bedclothes on the bed; and the walls were hung with long strips of cloth, upon which three riders named Kaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar were painted. The same horses and riders were pictured many times. They rode all around the cabin, and even up toward the joists.
But in the roof the boy saw something which brought him to his feet in a jiffy. Two big bread-cakes hung there upon a spit. They looked old and mouldy, but it was bread all the same. He gave them a knock with the oven-rake and one cake fell to the floor. He ate some of it, then filled his bag. It was incredible how good bread was, anyhow.
He looked around the cabin once more, trying to discover if there was anything else he might find useful to take along. "I may as well take what I need, since no one else cares about it," thought he. But most everything was too big and heavy. All that he could carry might be a few matches, perhaps.
He clambered upon the table, and swung himself, with the help of the curtains, onto the window-shelf. While he stood there stuffing the matches into his bag, the crow with the white feather came in through the window. "Well, here I am at last," said Fumle-Drumle as he lit on the table. "I couldn't get here any sooner because we crows have elected a new chieftain in Wind-Rush's place." "Whom have you chosen?" said the boy. "Well, we have chosen one who will not permit robbery and injustice. We have chosen Garm Whitefeather, lately called Fumle-Drumle," he answered, drawing himself up until he looked absolutely regal. "That was a good choice," said the boy, and congratulated him. "You may well wish me luck!" said Garm; then he told the boy about the time they had had with Wind-Rush and Wind-Air.
During this recital the boy heard a voice outside the window which he thought sounded familiar. "Is he here?" inquired the fox. "Yes, he's hidden in there," answered a crow-voice. "Be careful, Thumbietot!" cried Garm. "Wind-Air stands outside with that fox who wants to eat you." More he didn't have time to say, for just then Smirre dashed against the window. The old, rotten window-frame gave way. The next second Smirre stood upon the window-table and Garm Whitefeather, who had no time to fly away, he instantly killed. Thereupon he jumped to the floor, and looked around for the boy. Thumbietot tried to hide behind a big oakum-spiral, but Smirre had already spied him, and was crouched for the final spring. Since the cabin was so small and so low, the boy realized that the fox would have no difficulty in reaching him. But at that moment the boy was not without weapons of defence. He quickly struck a match, set it to the oakum, and when it was aflame he threw it down upon Smirre Fox. As the fire enveloped the fox, he was seized with mad terror. He thought no more about the boy, but rushed wildly out of the cabin.
But it looked as if the boy had escaped one danger only to throw himself into a greater one. From the tuft of oakum which he had flung at Smirre the fire had spread to the bedhangings. He jumped down and tried to smother it, but now it blazed too violently. The cabin was soon filled with smoke, and Smirre Fox, who had remained just outside the window, began to grasp the state of affairs within. "Well, Thumbietot," he called out, "which do you choose now: to be broiled alive in there, or to come out here to me? Of course, I should prefer to have the pleasure of eating you; but in whichever way death meets you it will be dear to me."
The boy could not think but that the fox was right, for the fire was making rapid headway. The whole bed was now ablaze; smoke rose from the floor; and along the painted wall-strips the fire crept from rider to rider. The boy had jumped up into the fireplace and was trying to open the oven door, when some one inserted a key into the keyhole and slowly turned the lock. "It must be human beings coming." he thought. And in his dire dilemma he was not afraid, but only glad. He was already on the threshold when the door opened. Before him stood two children. How they looked when they saw the cabin in flames he took no time to find out, but rushed past them into the open.
He didn't dare run far. He knew, of course, that Smirre Fox lay in wait for him, and he understood that he must remain near the children. He turned round to see what sort of folk they were, but he hadn't looked at them a second before he ran up to them and cried: "Oh, good-day, Osa goose-girl! Oh, good-day, little Mats!"
For when the boy saw those children he forgot entirely where he was. Crows and burning cabin and talking animals had vanished from his memory. He was walking on a stubble-field in West Vemmenhög tending a goose-flock; and beside him, on the field, walked those same Småland children, with their geese. The instant he recognized them, he bounded to the stone-hedge and shouted: "Oh, good-day, Osa goose-girl! Oh, good-day, little Mats!"
But when the children saw such a little creature coming up to them with outstretched hands, they caught hold of each other, staggered back, and looked scared to death.
When the boy observed their terror he came to and remembered who he was. And then it seemed to him that nothing worse could happen than that those children should see how he had been bewitched. Shame and grief because he was no longer a human being overpowered him. He turned and fled – he knew not whither.
But a glad meeting awaited the boy when he came down to the heath. For there, in the heather, he spied something white, and toward him came the white goosey-gander, accompanied by Dunfin. When the white one saw the boy running with such speed, he thought that dreadful fiends were pursuing him. So he hastily flung him upon his back and flew off with him.
This chapter has been put on-line as part of the
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Celebration of Women Writers.
Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Carrie Snyder,
Amalia Donde and
Ingrid Olsson.
