wednesday, april thirteenth.

the wild geese were up at daybreak, so they should have time to get themselves a bite of food before starting out on the journey toward östergötland. the island in goosefiord, where they had slept, was small and barren, but in the water all around it were growths which they could eat their fill upon. it was worse for the boy, however. he couldn't manage to find anything eatable.

as he stood there hungry and drowsy, and looked around in all directions, his glance fell upon a pair of squirrels, who played upon the wooded point, directly opposite the rock island. he wondered if the squirrels still 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.

instantly the white one swam across the sound with him; but as luck would have it the squirrels had so much fun chasing each other from tree to tree, that they didn't bother about listening to the boy. they drew farther into the grove. he hurried after them, and was soon out of the goosey-gander's sight—who stayed behind and waited on the shore.

the boy waded forward between some white anemone-stems—which were so high they reached to his chin—when he felt that someone caught hold of him from behind, and tried to lift him up. he turned round and saw that a crow had grabbed him by the shirt-band. he tried to break loose, but before this was possible, another crow ran up, gripped him by the stocking, and knocked him over.

if nils holgersson had immediately cried for help, the white goosey-gander certainly would have been able to save 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 they soon succeeded in raising themselves into the air with him. to make matters worse, they flew so recklessly that his head struck against a branch. he received a hard knock over the head, 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 saw that under him was spread a tremendously 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 was a pity that it had been so badly used. it was actually ragged; long tears ran through it; in some places large pieces were torn away. and the strangest of all was that it appeared to be spread over a mirror floor; for under the holes and tears in the carpet shone bright and glittering glass.

the next thing the boy observed was that the sun unrolled itself in the heavens. instantly, the mirror-glass under the holes and tears in the carpet began to shimmer in red and gold. it looked very gorgeous, and the boy was delighted with the pretty colour-scheme, although he didn't exactly understand what it was that he saw. but now the crows descended, and he saw at once that the big carpet under him was the earth, which was dressed in green and brown cone-trees and naked leaf-trees, and that the holes and tears were shining fiords 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 country which resembled a torn carpet—what 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 to pieces?

then, all at once, the whole thing dawned on 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 going 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 began to call to the crows to take him back to the wild geese instantly. he wasn't at all uneasy on his own account. 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 spruce, where he was so well concealed that not even a falcon could have sighted him.

fifty crows surrounded him, with bills pointed toward him to guard him. "now perhaps i may hear, crows, what your purpose is in carrying me off", said he. but he was hardly permitted to finish the sentence before a big crow hissed at him: "keep still! or i'll bore your eyes out."

it was evident 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. it was dreadful how dusty and unkempt their feather dresses were—as though they knew neither baths nor oiling. 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.

"it is certainly a real robber-band that i've fallen in with," thought he.

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 had gone out to search 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 else for him to do but to keep still.

the wild geese may not have known that he was so near them, but had just happened, incidentally, to travel over this forest. he heard their call a couple of times more, then it died away. "well, now you'll have to get along by yourself, nils holgersson," he said to himself. "now you must prove whether 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 on to his shirt-band, and one to a stocking, the boy said: "is there not one among you so strong that he can 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 care how you have it," said the leader. but now the largest of the crows—a dishevelled and uncouth one, who had 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 half, and 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!"

with this, much was already gained, and the boy actually felt pleased again. "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 things."

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 struck up tune after 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 it 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, and tried 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!"

farther and farther inland they travelled; and there were woods and lakes everywhere. in a birch-grove sat the wood-dove on a naked branch, and before him stood the lady-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: "thou, thou, thou art the loveliest in all the forest. no one in the forest is so lovely as thou, thou, thou!"

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 his head toward 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, either," 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, but there were churches and parishes and little cabins in the outskirts of the forest. in one place they saw a pretty old manor. it lay with the forest back of it, and the sea in front of it; had red walls and a turreted roof; great sycamores about the grounds, and big, thick gooseberry-bushes in the orchard. on the top of the weathercock sat the starling, and sang 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 starling. "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: "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 and kowtowed 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," said 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 about 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 pretty 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 that you would be pleased with them!" said fumle-drumle; and threw away the dog-rose branch as if in despair. but it fell right in front of the boy, and he wasn't slow about grabbing it and eating until he was satisfied.

when the crows had eaten, 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 in this district there lived, once upon a time, 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 store-house 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 an accomplishment 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 listen to such gabble. "now listen to me, you crows!" said he. "i think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves to talk about all your wickedness. i have lived amongst wild geese for three weeks, and of them i have never heard or seen anything but good. you must have a bad chief, since he permits you to rob and murder in this way. you ought to begin to lead new lives, for i can tell you that human beings have grown so tired of your wickedness they are trying with all their might to root you out. and then there will soon be an end of you."

when wind-rush and the crows heard this, they were so furious that they intended 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 absolutely terrified. "what think you that wind-air will say if you tear thumbietot in pieces before he has gotten 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 went further. until now the boy thought that småland wasn't such a poor country as he had heard. 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 came, the fewer were the villages and cottages. toward the last, he thought that he was riding over a veritable wilderness where he saw nothing but swamps and heaths and juniper-hills.

the sun had gone down, but it was still perfect daylight when the crows reached the large heather-heath. wind-rush sent a crow on 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 holgersson down in the bottom of a sandpit. the boy flung himself down, rolled over, and lay there as though he was simply done up with fatigue. 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 to an earthen crock of old-time make, that was standing in the pit. "get up, thumbietot," said he, "and open this crock!" "why can't you let me sleep?" said 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 rushed forward and pinched the boy in the leg. that sort of treatment the boy didn't care to suffer from a crow. he jerked himself loose quickly, ran a couple of paces backward, drew his knife from the sheath, and held it extended in front of him. "you'd better be careful!" he cried to wind-rush.

this one too was so enraged that he didn't dodge the danger. he rushed at the boy, just as though he'd been blind, and ran so straight against the knife, that it entered through his eye into the head. the boy drew the knife back quickly, but wind-rush only struck out with his wings, then he fell down—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 he acted badly as usual. he only fluttered and spread his wings over the boy, and prevented the others from coming forward and running their bills into him.

the boy thought that things looked very bad for him now. he couldn't run away from the crows, and there was no place where he could hide. then he happened to think of the earthen crock. he took a firm hold on the clasp, and pulled it off. then he hopped into the crock to hide in it. but the crock was a poor hiding place, for it was nearly filled 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 and pecked at him, but when he threw out the coins they immediately forgot their thirst for vengeance, and hurried to gather the money. the boy threw out handfuls of it, and all the crows—yes, even wind-air herself—picked them up. and everyone who succeeded in picking up a coin ran off to the nest with the utmost speed to conceal it.

when the boy had thrown out all the silver pennies from the crock he glanced up. not more than a single crow was left in the sandpit. 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 understand," said the crow—with a very different voice, and a different intonation than the one he had used heretofore—"and i want to save your life. sit down on my back, and i'll take you to a hiding place where you can be secure for to-night. to-morrow, i'll arrange it so that you will get back to the wild geese."