"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.
瞁hat 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
