awoke, flapped their wings, and prepared for flight. But Smirre was too quick
for them. He darted forward as though he'd been shot; grabbed a goose by the
wing and ran toward land again.
But this night the wild geese were not alone on the ice, for they had a human
being among them ­ little as he was. The boy had awakened when the goosey-gander
spread his wings. He had tumbled down on the ice and was sitting there, dazed.
He hadn't grasped the whys and wherefores of all this confusion, until he caught
sight of a little long-legged dog who ran over the ice with a goose in his
mouth.
In a minute the boy was after that dog, to take the goose away from him. He must
have heard the goosey-gander call to him: "Have a care, Thumbietot! Have a
care!" But the boy thought that such a little runt of a dog was nothing to be
afraid of, so he rushed ahead.
The wild goose that Smirre Fox was tugging along heard the clatter as the boy's
wooden shoes beat against the ice, and she could hardly believe her ears. "Does
that infant think he can take me away from the fox?" she wondered. And in spite
of her misery, she began to cackle right merrily, deep down in her windpipe. It
was almost as if she had laughed.
"The first thing he knows, he'll fall through a crack in the ice," thought she.
But dark as the night was, the boy saw distinctly all the cracks and holes there
were, and took daring leaps over them. This was because he had the elf's good
eyesight now, and could see in the dark. He saw both lake and shore just as
clearly as if it had been daylight.
Smirre Fox left the ice where it touched the shore. And just as he was working
his way up to the land-edge, the boy shouted to him: "Drop that goose, you
sneak!" Smirre didn't know who was calling to him, and wasted no time in looking
around, but increased his pace.
The fox made straight for the forest and the boy followed him, with never a
thought of the risk he was running. On the contrary, he was thinking all the
while about the contemptuous way in which he had been received by the wild geese
that evening; and he made up his mind to let them see that a human being was
something higher than all else created.
He shouted, again and again to that dog, to make him drop his game. "What kind
of a dog are you, who can steal a whole goose and not feel ashamed of yourself?
Drop her at once! or you'll see what a beating you'll get. Drop her, I say, or
I'll tell your master how you behave!"
When Smirre Fox saw that he had been mistaken for a scary dog, he was so amused
that he came near dropping the goose. Smirre was a great plunderer who wasn't
satisfied with hunting only rats and pigeons in the fields, but he also ventured
into the farmyards to steal chickens and geese. He knew that he was feared
throughout the district; and anything so idiotic as this he had not heard since
he was a baby.
The boy ran so fast that the thick beech-trees appeared to be running past him ­
backward, and he gained on Smirre. Finally, he was so close to him that he got a
hold on his tail. "Now I'll take the goose from you anyway," cried he, holding
on as tight as ever he could, but he hadn't strength enough to stop Smirre. The
fox dragged him along until the dry foliage whirled around him.
But now it began to dawn on Smirre how harmless was the creature that pursued
him. He stopped short, put the goose on the ground, and held her down with his
forepaws, so she couldn't fly away. He was just about to bite off her neck ­ but
he couldn't resist the desire to tease the boy a little. "Hurry off and complain
to the master, for now I'm going to bite the goose to death!" said he.
Certainly the one who was surprised when he saw what a pointed nose, and heard
what a hoarse and angry voice that dog which he was pursuing had, was ­ the boy!
But now he was so provoked because the fox had made fun of him that he never
thought of being frightened. He took a firmer hold on the tail, braced himself
against a beech trunk; and just as the fox opened his jaws over the goose's
throat, he pulled as hard as he could. Smirre was so astonished that he let
himself be pulled backward a couple of steps ­ and the wild goose got away. She
fluttered upward, feebly and heavily. One wing was so badly wounded that she
could barely use it. Besides, she could not see in the night darkness of the
forest, but was as helpless as the blind. Therefore she could in no way help the
boy. She groped her way through the branches and flew down to the lake again.
Then Smirre made a dash for the boy. "If I don't get the one, I shall certainly
have the other," said he; and you could tell by his voice how mad he was. "Oh,
don't you believe it!" said the boy, who was in the best of spirits because he
had saved the goose. He held himself fast by the fox-tail, and swung with it to
one side when the fox tried to catch him.
There was such a dance in that forest that the dry beech-leaves fairly flew!
Smirre swung round and round, but the tail swung too; while the boy kept a tight
grip on it, so the fox couldn't grab him.
The boy was so gay after his success that, in the beginning, he only laughed and
made fun of the fox. But Smirre was persevering ­ as old hunters generally are ­
and the boy began to fear that he would be captured in the end.
Then he caught sight of a little, young beech-tree that had shot up as slender
as a rod, that it might soon reach the free air above the canopy of branches
which the old beeches spread over it.
Quick as a flash, he let go of the fox-tail and climbed the beech tree. Smirre
Fox was so excited that he continued to dance around after his tail a long time.
"Don't bother with the dance any longer!" said the boy.
But Smirre couldn't endure the humiliation of his failure to get the better of
such a little tot, so he laid down under the tree, that he might keep a close
watch on him.
The boy didn't have any too good a time of it where he sat, astride a frail
branch. The young beech did not, as yet, reach the high branch-canopy, so the
boy couldn't get over to another tree, and he didn't dare to come down. He was
so cold and numb that he almost lost his hold around the branch; and he was
dreadfully sleepy; but he didn't dare fall asleep for fear of tumbling down.
My! but it was dismal to sit in that way the whole night through, out in the
forest! He had never before understood the real meaning of "night." It was just
as if the whole world had become petrified, and never could come to life again.
Then it commenced to dawn. The boy was glad that everything began to look like
itself once more; although the chill was even sharper than it had been during
the night.
When the sun finally came up, it wasn't yellow but red. The boy thought it
looked as if it was angry and he wondered what it was angry about. Perhaps it
was because the night had made it so cold and gloomy on earth while the sun was
away.
The sunbeams came down in great clusters, to see what the night had been up to.
It could be seen how all things blushed ­ as if they all had guilty consciences.
The clouds in the skies; the satiny beech-limbs; the little intertwined branches
of the forest-canopy; the hoar-frost that covered the brushwood ­ everything
grew flushed and red. More and more sunbeams came bursting through space, and
soon the night's terrors were driven away, and such a marvellous lot of living
things came forward. The black woodpecker, with the red neck, began to hammer
with its bill on the branch. The squirrel glided from his nest with a nut, sat
down on a branch and began to shell it. The starling came flying with a worm,
and the bulfinch sang in the tree-top.
Then the boy understood that the sun had said to all these tiny creatures: "Wake
up now, and come out of your nests! I'm here! Now you needn't be afraid of
anything."
The wild-goose call was heard from the lake, as the geese were preparing for
flight; and soon all the fourteen geese came flying through the forest. The boy
tried to call to them, but they flew so high that his voice couldn't reach them.
They probably believed the fox had eaten him up; and they didn't trouble
themselves to look for him.
The boy came near crying with chagrin; but the sun stood up there ­
orange-coloured and happy ­ and put courage into the whole world. "It isn't
worth while, Nils Holgersson, for you to be troubled about anything, as long as
I'm here," said the sun.
THE GOOSE-CHASE
Monday, March twenty-first.
EVERYTHING remained unchanged in the forest about as long as it takes a goose to
eat her breakfast. But just as the morning was verging on forenoon, a goose came
flying, all by herself, under the thick tree-canopy. She groped her way
hesitatingly between stems and branches, and flew very slowly. As soon as Smirre
Fox saw her, he left his Place under the beech tree, and sneaked up toward her.
The wild goose didn't avoid the fox, but flew quite close to him. Smirre made a
high jump for her but missed her; and the goose went on her way, down to the
lake.
It was not long before another goose came flying She took the same route as the
first one; and flew still lower and slower. She, too, flew close to Smirre Fox,
and he made such a high spring for her, that his ears brushed her feet. But she,
too, got away from him unhurt, and went her way toward the lake, silent as a
shadow.
A little while passed and then there came another wild goose. She flew still
slower and lower; and it seemed even more difficult for her to find her way
between the beech-branches. Smirre made a powerful spring! He was within a
hair's breadth of catching her; but that goose also managed to save herself.
Just after she had disappeared, came a fourth. She flew so slowly, and so badly,
that Smirre Fox thought he could catch her without much effort, but now he was
afraid of failure and decided to let her fly past, unmolested. She took the same
direction the others had taken; and just as she was right above Smirre, she sank
down so far that he was tempted to jump for her. He jumped so high that he
touched her with his tail. But she flung herself quickly to one side, and saved
her life.
Before Smirre was through panting, three more geese came flying in a row. They
flew just like the rest, and Smirre made high springs for all three, but he did
not succeed in catching one of them.
After that came five more geese; but these flew better than the others. And
although it appeared as if they wanted to coax Smirre to jump, he withstood the
temptation. After quite a long time came one lone goose. It was the thirteenth.
This one was so old that she was gray all over, without a dark speck anywhere on
her body. Apparently, she could use only one wing, for she flew so wretchedly
and crookedly that she almost touched the ground. Smirre not only made a high
leap for her, but he also pursued her, running and jumping all the way down to
the lake. But not even this time did he get anything for his trouble.
When the fourteenth goose came along, it looked very pretty because it was
white. And as the great wings moved, it glistened like a light in the dark
forest. When Smirre Fox saw this one, he mustered all his strength and jumped
halfway up to the tree-canopy. But the white one flew by unhurt like the rest.
Now it was quiet for a moment under the beeches. It looked as if the whole
wild-goose flock had flown past.
Suddenly Smirre remembered his prisoner and raised his eyes toward the young
beech-tree. And just as he might have expected ­ the boy had disappeared.
But Smirre didn't have much time to think about him; for now the first goose
came back again from the lake and flew slowly under the canopy. In spite of all
his bad luck, Smirre was glad that she had come back, and darted after her with
high leaps. But he had been in too much of a hurry, and hadn't taken time to
calculate the distance, so he landed at the side of the goose. Then there came
still another goose; then a third; a fourth; a fifth; and so on, until the wedge
closed in with the old ice-gray one, and the big white one. They all flew low
and slow. Just as they circled in the vicinity of Smirre Fox, they sank down ­
kind of inviting-like ­ for him to take them. Smirre ran after them and made
leaps a couple of metres high, but he couldn't manage to get hold of a single
one of them.
It was the most awful day that Smirre Fox had ever experienced. The wild geese
kept on travelling over his head. They came and went ­ came and went. Great
splendid geese, who had eaten themselves fat on the German heaths and grain
fields, circled all day through the woods, and so close to him that he touched
them many times; yet he was not allowed to appease his hunger with a single one.
The winter was hardly gone and Smirre recalled nights and days when he had been
forced to tramp around in idleness, with not so much as a hare to hunt; when the
rats hid themselves under the frozen earth; and when all the chickens were shut
up. But all the winter's hunger had not been as hard to endure as this day's
miscalculations.
Smirre was no young fox. He had had the dogs after him many a time, and had
heard the bullets whiz around his ears. He had lain in hiding, down in the lair,
while the dachshunds crept into the crevices and all but found him. But all the
anguish that Smirre Fox had been forced to suffer under that hot chase was as
nothing in comparison with what he suffered every time that he missed one of the
wild geese.
In the morning, when the chase began, Smirre Fox looked so stunning that the
geese were amazed when they saw him. Smirre loved display. His coat was a
