saturday, june eighteenth.
the boy had been reminded of the old laplander's story because he himself was now travelling over the country of which he had spoken. the eagle told him that the expanse of coast which spread beneath them was westbottom, and that the blue ridges far to the west were in lapland.
only to be once more seated comfortably on gorgo's back, after all that he had suffered during the forest fire, was a pleasure. besides, they were having a fine trip. the flight was so easy that at times it seemed as if they were standing still in the air. the eagle beat and beat his wings, without appearing to move from the spot; on the other hand, everything under them seemed in motion. the whole earth and all things on it moved slowly southward. the forests, the fields, the fences, the rivers, the cities, the islands, the sawmills—all were on the march. the boy wondered whither they were bound. had they grown tired of standing so far north, and wished to move toward the south?
amid all the objects in motion there was only one that stood still: that was a railway train. it stood directly under them, for it was with the train as with gorgo—it could not move from the spot. the locomotive sent forth smoke and sparks. the clatter of the wheels could be heard all the way up to the boy, but the train did not seem to move. the forests rushed by; the flag station rushed by; fences and telegraph poles rushed by; but the train stood still. a broad river with a long bridge came toward it, but the river and the bridge glided along under the train with perfect ease. finally a railway station appeared. the station master stood on the platform with his red flag, and moved slowly toward the train.
when he waved his little flag, the locomotive belched even darker smoke curls than before, and whistled mournfully because it had to stand still. all of a sudden it began to move toward the south, like everything else.
the boy saw all the coach doors open and the passengers step out while both cars and people were moving southward.
he glanced away from the earth and tried to look straight ahead. staring at the queer railway train had made him dizzy; but after he had gazed for a moment at a little white cloud, he was tired of that and looked down again—thinking all the while that the eagle and himself were quite still and that everything else was travelling on south. fancy! suppose the grain field just then running along under him—which must have been newly sown for he had seen a green blade on it—were to travel all the way down to skåne where the rye was in full bloom at this season!
up here the pine forests were different: the trees were bare, the branches short and the needles were almost black. many trees were bald at the top and looked sickly. if a forest like that were to journey down to kolmården and see a real forest, how inferior it would feel!
the gardens which he now saw had some pretty bushes, but no fruit trees or lindens or chestnut trees—only mountain ash and birch. there were some vegetable beds, but they were not as yet hoed or planted.
"if such an apology for a garden were to come trailing into sörmland, the province of gardens, wouldn't it think itself a poor wilderness by comparison?"
imagine an immense plain like the one now gliding beneath him, coming under the very eyes of the poor småland peasants! they would hurry away from their meagre garden plots and stony fields, to begin plowing and sowing.
there was one thing, however, of which this northland had more than other lands, and that was light. night must have set in, for the cranes stood sleeping on the morass; but it was as light as day. the sun had not travelled southward, like every other thing. instead, it had gone so far north that it shone in the boy's face. to all appearance, it had no notion of setting that night.
if this light and this sun were only shining on west vemmenhög! it would suit the boy's father and mother to a dot to have a working day that lasted twenty-four hours.
sunday, june nineteenth.
the boy raised his head and looked around, perfectly bewildered. it was mighty queer! here he lay sleeping in some place where he had not been before. no, he had never seen this glen nor the mountains round about; and never had he noticed such puny and shrunken birches as those under which he now lay.
where was the eagle? the boy could see no sign of him. gorgo must have deserted him. well, here was another adventure!
the boy lay down again, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the circumstances under which he had dropped to sleep.
he remembered that as long as he was travelling over westbottom he had fancied that the eagle and he were at a standstill in the air, and that the land under them was moving southward. as the eagle turned northwest, the wind had come from that side, and again he had felt a current of air, so that the land below had stopped moving and he had noticed that the eagle was bearing him onward with terrific speed.
"now we are flying into lapland," gorgo had said, and the boy had bent forward, so that he might see the country of which he had heard so much.
but he had felt rather disappointed at not seeing anything but great tracts of forest land and wide marshes. forest followed marsh and marsh followed forest. the monotony of the whole finally made him so sleepy that he had nearly dropped to the ground.
he said to the eagle that he could not stay on his back another minute, but must sleep awhile. gorgo had promptly swooped to the ground, where the boy had dropped down on a moss tuft. then gorgo put a talon around him and soared into the air with him again.
"go to sleep, thumbietot!" he cried. "the sunshine keeps me awake and i want to continue the journey."
although the boy hung in this uncomfortable position, he actually dozed and dreamed.
he dreamed that he was on a broad road in southern sweden, hurrying along as fast as his little legs could carry him. he was not alone, many wayfarers were tramping in the same direction. close beside him marched grain-filled rye blades, blossoming corn flowers, and yellow daisies. heavily laden apple trees went puffing along, followed by vine-covered bean stalks, big clusters of white daisies, and masses of berry bushes. tall beeches and oaks and lindens strolled leisurely in the middle of the road, their branches swaying, and they stepped aside for none. between the boy's tiny feet darted the little flowers—wild strawberry blossoms, white anemones, clover, and forget-me-nots. at first he thought that only the vegetable family was on the march, but presently he saw that animals and people accompanied them. the insects were buzzing around advancing bushes, the fishes were swimming in moving ditches, the birds were singing in strolling trees. both tame and wild beasts were racing, and amongst all this people moved along—some with spades and scythes, others with axes, and others, again, with fishing nets.
the procession marched with gladness and gayety, and he did not wonder at that when he saw who was leading it. it was nothing less than the sun itself that rolled on like a great shining head with hair of many-hued rays and a countenance beaming with merriment and kindliness!
"forward, march!" it kept calling out. "none need feel anxious whilst i am here. forward, march!"
"i wonder where the sun wants to take us to?" remarked the boy. a rye blade that walked beside him heard him, and immediately answered:
"he wants to take us up to lapland to fight the ice witch."
presently the boy noticed that some of the travellers hesitated, slowed up, and finally stood quite still. he saw that the tall beech tree stopped, and that the roebuck and the wheat blade tarried by the wayside, likewise the blackberry bush, the little yellow buttercup, the chestnut tree, and the grouse.
he glanced about him and tried to reason out why so many stopped. then he discovered that they were no longer in southern sweden. the march had been so rapid that they were already in svealand.
up there the oak began to move more cautiously. it paused awhile to consider, took a few faltering steps, then came to a standstill.
"why doesn't the oak come along?" asked the boy.
"it's afraid of the ice witch," said a fair young birch that tripped along so boldly and cheerfully that it was a joy to watch it. the crowd hurried on as before. in a short time they were in norrland, and now it mattered not how much the sun cried and coaxed—the apple tree stopped, the cherry tree stopped, the rye blade stopped!
the boy turned to them and asked:
"why don't you come along? why do you desert the sun?"
"we dare not! we're afraid of the ice witch, who lives in lapland," they answered.
the boy comprehended that they were far north, as the procession grew thinner and thinner. the rye blade, the barley, the wild strawberry, the blueberry bush, the pea stalk, the currant bush had come along as far as this. the elk and the domestic cow had been walking side by side, but now they stopped. the sun no doubt would have been almost deserted if new followers had not happened along. osier bushes and a lot of brushy vegetation joined the procession. laps and reindeer, mountain owl and mountain fox and willow grouse followed.
then the boy heard something coming toward them. he saw great rivers and creeks sweeping along with terrible force.
"why are they in such a hurry?" he asked.
"they are running away from the ice witch, who lives up in the mountains."
all of a sudden the boy saw before him a high, dark, turreted wall. instantly the sun turned its beaming face toward this wall and flooded it with light. then it became apparent that it was no wall, but the most glorious mountains, which loomed up—one behind another. their peaks were rose-coloured in the sunlight, their slopes azure and gold-tinted.
"onward, onward!" urged the sun as it climbed the steep cliffs. "there's no danger so long as i am with you."
but half way up, the bold young birch deserted—also the sturdy pine and the persistent spruce, and there, too, the laplander, and the willow brush deserted. at last, when the sun reached the top, there was no one but the little tot, nils holgersson, who had followed it.
the sun rolled into a cave, where the walls were bedecked with ice, and nils holgersson wanted to follow, but farther than the opening of the cave he dared not venture, for in there he saw something dreadful.
far back in the cave sat an old witch with an ice body, hair of icicles, and a mantle of snow!
at her feet lay three black wolves, who rose and opened their jaws when the sun approached. from the mouth of one came a piercing cold, from the second a blustering north wind, and from the third came impenetrable darkness.
"that must be the ice witch and her tribe," thought the boy.
he understood that now was the time for him to flee, but he was so curious to see the outcome of the meeting between the sun and the ice witch that he tarried.
the ice witch did not move—only turned her hideous face toward the sun. this continued for a short time. it appeared to the boy that the witch was beginning to sigh and tremble. her snow mantle fell, and the three ferocious wolves howled less savagely.
suddenly the sun cried:
"now my time is up!" and rolled out of the cave.
then the ice witch let loose her three wolves. instantly the north wind,
cold, and darkness rushed from the cave and began to chase the sun.
"drive him out! drive him back!" shrieked the ice witch. "chase him so far that he can never come back! teach him that lapland is mine!"
but nils holgersson felt so unhappy when he saw that the sun was to be driven from lapland that he awakened with a cry. when he recovered his senses, he found himself at the bottom of a ravine.
but where was gorgo? how was he to find out where he himself was?
he arose and looked all around him. then he happened to glance upward and saw a peculiar structure of pine twigs and branches that stood on a cliff-ledge.
"that must be one of those eagle nests that gorgo—" but this was as far as he got. he tore off his cap, waved it in the air, and cheered.
now he understood where gorgo had brought him. this was the very glen where the wild geese lived in summer, and just above it was the eagles' cliff.
