base of the bill, which spoils their appearance.
Close to the shore, sea-gulls and sea-swallows moved forward in the water, and
fished. "What kind of fish are you catching?" asked a wild goose. "Stickleback ­
Öland stickleback. It's the best stickleback in the world," said a gull. "Won't
you taste of it?" And he flew up to the goose with his mouth full of the little
fishes, and wanted to give her some. "Ugh! Do you think that I eat such filth?"
said the wild goose in disgust.
The next morning it was just as cloudy. The wild geese walked about on the
meadow and fed; but the boy had gone to the seashore to gather mussels. There
were plenty of them; and when he thought that the next day, perhaps, they would
be in some place where they couldn't get any food at all, he determined that he
would try to make himself a little bag, which he could fill with mussels. He
found an old sedge on the meadow which was strong and tough; and out of this he
began to braid a knapsack. He worked at it for several hours, but when finished
he was well satisfied with it.
At dinner time all the wild geese came running and asked him if he had seen
anything of the white goosey-gander. "No, he has not been with me," said the
boy. "We had him with us all along until just lately," said Akka, "but now we no
longer know where he's to be found."
The boy jumped up, and was terribly frightened. He asked if any fox or eagle had
put in an appearance, or if any human being had been seen in the neighbourhood.
But no one had noticed anything dangerous. The goosey-gander had probably lost
his way in the mist.
But to the boy the misfortune was just as great no matter how the white one had
been lost, and he started off immediately to hunt for him. The mist shielded
him, so that he could run wherever he wished without being seen, but it also
prevented him from seeing. He ran southward along the shore ­ all the way down
to the lighthouse and the mist cannon on the island's extreme point. There was
the same bird confusion everywhere, but no goosey-gander. He ventured over to
Ottenby estate, and he searched every one of the old, hollow oaks in Ottenby
grove, but he found no trace of the goosey-gander.
He searched until it began to grow dark. Then he had to turn back to the eastern
shore. He walked with heavy steps and was fearfully blue. He didn't know what
would become of him if he couldn't find the goosey-gander. There was no one whom
he could spare less.
But what was that big, white object coming toward him in the mist if it wasn't
the goosey-gander? He was all right, and very glad that at last he had been able
to find his way back to the others. The mist had made him so dizzy, he said,
that he had wandered around on the big meadow all day long. The boy threw his
arms around his neck, for very joy, and begged him to take care of himself and
not wander away from the others. And he promised, positively, that he never
would do so again. No, never again.
But the next morning, when the boy was walking along the beach looking for
mussels, the geese came running and asked if he had seen the goosey-gander. No,
of course he hadn't. "Well, then, the goosey-gander was lost again. He had gone
astray in the mist, just as on the day before."
The boy ran off in great alarm and began to search. He found one place where the
Ottenby wall was so tumble-down that he could climb over it. Later he went about
on the shore ­ which gradually widened and became so large that there was room
for fields and meadows and farms ­ then up on the flat highland, which lay in
the middle of the island, where there were no buildings except windmills, and
where the turf was so thin that the white cement shone through it.
Meanwhile, he could not find the goosey-gander; and as it was drawing on toward
evening, and the boy must return to the beach, he couldn't believe anything but
that his travelling companion was lost. He was so depressed, he did not know
what to do with himself.
He had already climbed over the wall again, when he heard a crash close beside
him. As he turned to see what it was that had fallen, he distinguished something
that moved on a stone-heap close to the wall. He stole nearer, and saw the
goosey-gander come trudging wearily over the stone-heap, with several long
fibres in his mouth. The goosey-gander did not see the boy, and the boy did not
call to him, but thought it advisable to find out first why the goosey-gander
time and again disappeared in this manner.
And he soon learned the cause of it. Up in the stone-heap lay a young gray
goose, who cried with joy when the goosey-gander came. The boy crept near to
them, so that he heard what they said. Then he found out that the gray goose was
wounded in one wing, so that she could not fly, and that her flock had flown
away and left her all alone. She was near death's door with hunger, when the
white goosey-gander heard her call, the other day, and sought her out. Ever
since, he had been carrying food to her. Both of them hoped that she would be
well before his flock left the island, but, as yet, she could neither fly nor
walk. She was very much worried over this, but he comforted her with the thought
that he shouldn't travel for a long time. At last he bade her good-night, and
promised to come the next day.
The boy let the goosey-gander go; and as soon as he was gone, he, in turn, stole
up to the stone-heap. He was angry because he had been deceived, and now he
wanted to say to that gray goose that the goosey-gander was his property. He was
going to take the boy up to Lapland, and there would be no talk of his staying
here on her account. But now, when he saw the young gray goose close to, he
understood not only why the goosey-gander had gone and carried food to her for
two days, but also why he had not wished to mention the fact that he had helped
her. She had the prettiest little head; her feather-dress was like soft satin,
and her eyes were mild and pleading.
When she saw the boy, she wanted to run away; but the left wing was out of joint
and dragged on the ground, so that it interfered with her movements.
"You mustn't be afraid of me," said the boy, and didn't look nearly so angry as
he had intended to appear. "I'm Thumbietot, Morten Goosey-gander's comrade," he
announced. Then he stood there, and didn't know what he wanted to say.
Occasionally one finds something among animals which makes one wonder what sort
of creatures they really are. One is almost afraid that they may be transformed
human beings. It was something like this with the gray goose. As soon as
Thumbietot said who he was, she lowered her neck and head very charmingly before
him, and said in a voice so sweet that he couldn't believe it was a goose that
spoke: "I am very glad that you have come here to help me. The white
goosey-gander has told me that no one is so wise and so good as you."
She said this with such dignity, that the boy grew really embarrassed. "This
surely can't be any bird," thought he. "It is certainly some bewitched
princess."
He was filled with a desire to help her, and ran his hand under the feathers,
and felt along the wing-bone. The bone was not broken, but there was something
wrong with the joint. He got his finger down into the empty socket. "Be careful,
now!" he said; as he got a firm grip on the bone-pipe and fitted it into the
place where it ought to be. He did it rather quickly and well, considering it
was the first time that he had attempted anything of the sort. But it must have
hurt very much, for the poor young goose uttered a shrill cry, then sank down
among the stones without showing a sign of life.
The boy was terribly frightened. He had only wished to help her, and now she was
dead. He made a big jump from the stone-heap, and ran away. He thought it was as
though he had murdered a human being.
The next morning the air was clear and free from mist, and Akka said that now
they should continue their journey. All the others were willing to go, but the
white goosey-gander made excuses. The boy understood well enough that he didn't
care to leave the gray goose. Akka did not listen to him, but started off.
The boy jumped upon the goosey-gander's back, and the white one followed the
flock ­ albeit slowly and unwillingly. The boy was mighty glad that they could
fly away from the island. He was conscience-stricken on account of the gray
goose, and didn't want to tell the goosey-gander what had happened when he had
tried to cure her. It would probably be best if Morten goosey-gander never found
out about this, he thought, though he wondered, at the same time, how the white
one had the heart to leave the gray goose.
But suddenly the goosey-gander turned. The thought of the young gray goose had
overpowered him. It could go as it would with the Lapland trip: he couldn't go
with the others when he knew that she was alone and ill, and would starve to
death. A few wing-strokes and he was over by the stone-heap, but now there lay
no young gray goose between the stones. "Dunfin! Dunfin! Where art thou?" called
the goosey-gander.
"The fox has probably been here and taken her," thought the boy. But at that
moment he heard a sweet voice answer the goosey-gander. "Here am I,
goosey-gander; here am I! I have only been taking a morning bath." And up from
the water came the little gray goose ­ fresh and in good trim ­ and told how
Thumbietot had pulled her wing into place, and how she was entirely well, and
ready to go with them on the journey.
The drops of water lay like pearl-dew on her shimmery satin-like feathers, and
again Thumbietot thought that she was a real little princess.
[Next]
Chapter XII.
"Chapter XII." by Selma Lagerlöf (1858-1940), translated by Velma Swanston
Howard.
From: The Wonderful Adventures of Nils. by Selma Lagerlöf. New York: Doubleday,
Page & Company, 1922, pp. 149-153.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE BIG BUTTERFLY
Wednesday, April sixth.
THE geese flew ahead over the long island which lay distinctly visible under
them. The boy felt happy and light of heart during the trip. He was just as
pleased and contented now as he had been glum and depressed the day before, when
he roamed around on the island hunting for the goosey-gander.
He saw now that the interior of the island consisted of a barren high plain,
with a wreath of fertile land along the coast; and he began to comprehend the
meaning of something which he had heard the other evening.
He had just seated himself by one of the many windmills on the highland to rest
a bit, when a couple of shepherds came along with their dogs beside them, and a
large flock of sheep in their train. The boy was not afraid since he was well
hidden under the windmill stairs. But it so happened that the shepherds came and
seated themselves on the same steps, and then there was nothing for him to do
but keep perfectly still.
One of the shepherds was young, and looked about as folks do mostly; the other
was an old queer one. His body was large and knotty, but the head was small, and
the face had sensitive and delicate features. It appeared as though the body and
head didn't belong together.
He sat silent a while, gazing into the mist, with an unutterably weary
expression. Then he began to talk to his companion. Presently the other took
from his knapsack some bread and cheese, to eat his evening meal. He answered
almost nothing, but listened very patiently, as if he were thinking: "I may as
well give you the pleasure of chattering a while."
"Now I shall tell you something, Eric," said the old shepherd. "I have figured
out that in former days, when both human beings and animals were much larger
than now, that the butterflies, too, must have been uncommonly large. And there
was once a butterfly that was many miles long, and had wings as wide as seas.
Those wings were blue, and shone like silver, and so gorgeous that, when the
butterfly was out flying, all the other animals stood still and stared at it. It
had this drawback, however, that it was too large. The wings had hard work to
carry it. But probably all would have gone very well, if the butterfly had been
wise enough to remain on the hillside. But it wasn't; it ventured out over the
Baltic Sea. And it hadn't got very far before the storm came along and began to
tear at its wings. Well, it's easy to understand, Eric, how things would go when
the Baltic Sea storm began to wrestle with frail butterfly-wings. It wasn't long
before they were torn away and scattered; and then, of course, the poor
butterfly fell into the sea. At first it was tossed back and forth on the
billows, and then it stranded upon a few cliff-foundations just beyond Småland.
And there it lay ­ large and long as it was.
"Now I think, Eric, that if the butterfly had dropped on land, it would soon
have rotted and fallen apart. But since it fell into the sea, it was soaked
through and through with lime, and became as hard as a stone. You know, of
course, that we have found stones on the shore which are nothing but petrified
worms. Now I believe that it went the same way with the big butterfly-body. I
believe that it turned where it lay into a long, narrow mountain out in the
Baltic Sea. Don't you?"
He paused for a reply, and the other nodded to him. "Go on, so I may hear what
you are driving at," said he.
"And mark now, Eric, that this very Öland, where you and I live, is nothing else
than the old butterfly-body. If one only stops to think about it, one can see
that the island is a butterfly. Toward the north, the slender fore-body and the
round head can be seen, and toward the south the lower body, which first
