brilliant red; his breast white; his nose black; and his tail was as bushy as a
plume. But when the even of this day was come, Smirre's coat hung in loose
folds. He was bathed in sweat; his eyes were without lustre; his tongue hung far
out from his gaping jaws; and froth oozed from his mouth.
Even in the afternoon Smirre was already so exhausted that he grew delirious. He
saw nothing before his eyes but flying geese. He made leaps for sun-spots which
he saw on the ground; and for a poor little butterfly that had come out of its
chrysalis too soon.
The wild geese flew and flew, unceasingly. All day long they continued to
torment Smirre. They were not moved to pity because Smirre was spent, fevered,
and out of his head. They continued without a let-up, although they understood
that he hardly saw them, and that he jumped after their shadows.
When Smirre Fox finally sank down on a pile of dry leaves, weak and powerless
and almost ready to give up the ghost, they stopped teasing him.
"Now you know, Mr. Fox, what happens to the one who dares to come near Akka of
Kebnekaise!" they shouted in his ear; and with that they left him in peace.
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Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers
Rebekah Neely and Ann Youmans.
Chapter III.
"Chapter III." 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. 45-84.
CHAPTER THREE
THE WONDERFUL JOURNEY OF NILS
ON THE FARM
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.
VITTSKÖVLE
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
