the wise mamma goose by charlotte b. herr designs frances beem 1913 this little story is told and the little pictures were drawn for a good little child named: _______________ the wise mamma goose mamma goose was trying to think. she had left the barnyard because it was so noisy there that she could not collect her wits, and had hidden herself between the rows of tall red hollyhocks which border one side of the garden. here, at least, it was quiet. thinking had always been hard work for mamma goose. and besides, her family kept her so busy that she had no time for it anyway. there was always something to be done for the babies. for mamma goose had a whole dozen of the dearest little goslings, and she was very proud of them. they were soft, and round, and fluffy, like little yellow balls, and besides being prettier than any other babies in the barnyard, they were so bright, too, and knew as much as any gosling could be expected to know,--far more than little red hen's chicks, even though she did make such a fuss about them! the goslings could hunt for their breakfasts almost as well as their mother, while little red hen had to scratch up every thing her children ate. and as for the water--well, the chicks were simply not in it there! they did not like to be in the water at all, but the goslings loved their morning bath in the brook better than anything else in the whole day. yes, her goslings were by far the finer babies! mamma goose swelled with pride when she thought of it, and carefully smoothed her feathers. she could have been perfectly happy except for just one thing. she was afraid that before long something dreadful might happen to the goslings, and once more she settled herself to think. there was something wrong in the barnyard. what could it be that came each night when every one was sound asleep? and what was it that carried one of the chickens away each time so that, when the next morning came, there was always one less than there had been the day before? whatever it was, it made no noise. only, always the next morning some one was missing, and usually it was a little baby chick that was gone. the worst of it was that no one else knew any more about it than she did. to be sure, little bantam rooster had said it was the hawk. but then bantam always thought he knew everything, and was almost always wrong, so that nobody ever believed anything he said. besides, if it had been, the big white cock would have known it, for the big white cock knew everything. he was the king of the barnyard, and took care of them all. he had a bright red comb and beautiful, long, green tail-feathers, and mamma goose thought him the most wonderful being in the whole world. but something seemed to be wrong with him, too. he did not crow half so often as he used to, and his beautiful red comb did not stand stiff and straight any more. it drooped to one side and he looked very tired and very unhappy, as if he, too, had been trying to think. but if he did not know what it was that came night after night, then nobody knew. everything had been very different when old fido lived in his little house by the barnyard gate. nothing had ever happened to trouble them then. but old fido was gone now, and nobody knew about that either. one morning after breakfast he had trotted off behind the wagon, and nobody had seen him since. every one liked old fido, and they all missed him, but he had never come back and his little house stood empty all night long. some thought that he had gone to take care of the sheep who lived in the big field on the other side of the hill. but it was only little bantam rooster who said so. nobody knew. things had been better, though, before fido went away, for he had always stayed awake all night and watched to see that no harm came to any of them. then suddenly mamma goose had a thought, and a very bright idea it was, too. she would stay awake all night herself, and watch and see with her own eyes what it was that carried away the little chicks. as soon as she had made this plan she stopped thinking, for it was such hard work and the sun was getting very hot on her poor head. besides, the goslings had been in the water long enough. they never did know when to come out! so she waddled down to the brook to get them. then they all went for a walk in the meadow where the red clover-tops nod in the wind, and mamma goose did no more thinking that day. but when night came, she did not forget her plan. as soon as the sun had gone down behind the hill, the chickens all perched themselves along the roost with the big white cock at the end of the row, and soon they were all fast asleep. little red hen gathered her chicks under her wing to keep them cosy and warm, and then she, too, went to sleep. mamma goose tucked her babies in also, and spread her wings wide over them all, but she did not go to sleep. instead, she kept both eyes wide open and stared straight at the big white cock, that she might not go to sleep without knowing it. it was very hard to sit so long in the dark and keep awake. first one eye and then the other would close tight, but mamma goose would stretch them wide open again, and stare harder than ever at the big cock, and then she saw that the cock was watching, too, and that made it much easier. then it happened after a long time, when the moon had climbed high above the trees, and everything was very quiet, that a long, slim fox stole softly beneath the fence and came creeping--creeping across the barn yard. mamma goose was so frightened that she almost said "quack! quack!" out loud, but still she kept her eyes on the big white cock, and that was a great help. the fox was creeping softly toward the roost where the chickens slept in a row,--but not straight toward it. he was keeping as far away from old fido's house as he possibly could. although she was so frightened, mamma goose wondered why. she had always heard that the fox was afraid of old fido, but didn't he know that fido was far away? didn't he know that his little house was empty? it did not take the fox long, however, to creep softly past it, and in the morning another little chick was gone! but a new thought had come to mamma goose. if the fox would not go near old fido's house, then he could not find the goslings if they hid inside. it seemed to mamma goose the only thing to do, and a very sensible plan indeed. she would ask all the chickens to come in, too, and then they would all be safe! but when she went the next day to her best friends and told them about her plan, most of them only made fun of her, and all of them turned their backs on her. no one would listen! but mamma goose was not to be talked out of it. if the others wished to sit still and let the fox carry them away one at a time, that was one thing, but for her to do nothing to keep her little goslings safe,--that was quite another. so that very evening, when the sun had gone down behind the hill, and the chickens had perched themselves on the roost with the big cock at the end, mamma goose led all the little goslings into fido's house. every one laughed when she went in, but mamma goose had made up her mind, and she kept straight on as if she had not heard them! but the big white cock--he did not laugh at her! so every night mamma goose led her babies into fido's house, and every morning brought them out again safe and whole. but always a little chick was missing! then one night when the sun was sinking low, the big white cock flew up to the top of the fence and crowed. all the chickens listened then, while he told them that they were every one to go into old fido's house that night with mamma goose; for that was the only way to keep the fox from carrying them all away. now when the big cock said that they were to do anything, it was always done, and no words about it! so that night all the chickens went into fido's house. it was all they could do to get in, for the house was not large; and some of them were not polite and pushed against the others to make more room. but the big cock did all he could to keep them in order, and at last all the little chicks went to sleep. but the next morning when the farmer's boy came to scatter the corn for breakfast, he looked at the empty roost and did not know what to think! by and by, however, he found them and at first he only laughed, but after he had seen that no little chick was missing, he looked as if he were thinking, too. and that evening, when the sun had gone down behind the hill, the farmer's boy came back, and who do you think was with him?--old fido, wagging his tail, and looking as if he were very glad to get back! the big white cock and all the chickens were just as glad as he was, for now they knew that the fox would never come any more. mamma goose, too, was just as glad as the rest, for now she knew that she would never need to bother herself to think about the goslings again. but she didn't dream that anything more could happen, and she was too much surprised to think about anything at all, when old fido came trotting straight up to her, and wagged his tail just for her alone, and told her how glad he was that she had been wise enough to use his house, and had taken such good care of the chickens while he was gone, and what a sensible little goose he thought she was! you might almost have knocked mamma goose over with one of her own feathers! she couldn't imagine who had told him. but perhaps it was the big white cock. http://www.archive.org/details/foxgeesewonderfu00weiriala the fox and the geese; and the wonderful history of henny-penny. [illustration] with illustrations by harrison weir. portland: published by francis blake, no. 58 exchange street. the fox and the geese. there was once a goose at the point of death, so she called her three daughters near, and desired them all, with her latest breath, her last dying words to hear. "there's a mr. fox," said she, "that i know, who lives in a covert hard by; to our race he has proved a deadly foe, so beware of his treachery. "build houses, ere long, of stone or of bricks, and get tiles for your roofs, i pray; for i know, of old, mr. reynard's tricks, and i fear he may come any day." thus saying, she died, and her daughters fair,- gobble, goosey, and ganderee,- agreed together, that they would beware of mr. fox, their enemy. but gobble, the youngest, i grieve to say, soon came to a very bad end, because she preferred her own silly way, and would not to her mother attend. for she made, with some boards, an open nest, for a roof took the lid of a box; then quietly laid herself down to rest, and thought she was safe from the fox. but reynard, in taking an evening run, soon scented the goose near the pond; thought he, "now i'll have some supper and fun, for of both i am really fond." [illustration] then on to the box he sprang in a trice, and roused mrs. gobble from bed; she only had time to hiss once or twice, ere he snapped off her lily-white head. her sisters at home felt anxious and low when poor gobble did not appear, and goosey, determined her fate to know, went and sought all the field far and near. at last she descried poor gobble's head, and some feathers, not far apart; so she told ganderee she had found her dead, and they both felt quite sad at heart. now goosey was pretty, but liked her own way, like gobble, and some other birds. "'tis no matter," said she, "if i only obey a part of my mother's last words." [illustration] so her house she soon built of nice red brick, but she only thatched it with straw; and she thought that, however the fox might kick, he could not get in e'en a paw. so she went to sleep, and at dead of night she heard at the door a low scratch; and presently reynard, with all his might, attempted to jump on the thatch. but he tumbled back, and against the wall grazed his nose in a fearful way; then, almost mad with the pain of his fall, he barked, and ran slowly away. so goosey laughed, and felt quite o'erjoyed to have thus escaped from all harm; but had she known how the fox was employed, she would have felt dreadful alarm; for gobble had been his last dainty meat,- so hungry he really did feel,- and resolved in his mind to accomplish this feat, and have the young goose for a meal. so he slyly lighted a bundle of straws, and made no more noise than a mouse, then lifted himself up on his hind paws, and quickly set fire to the house. 't was soon in a blaze, and goosey awoke, with fright almost ready to die, and, nearly smothered with heat and with smoke, up the chimney was forced to fly. the fox was rejoiced to witness her flight, and, heedless of all her sad groans, he chased her until he saw her alight, then eat her up all but her bones. poor ganderee's heart was ready to break when the sad news reached her ear. "'t was that villain the fox," said good mr. drake, who lived in a pond very near. "now listen to me, i pray you," he said, "and roof your new house with some tiles, or you, like your sisters, will soon be dead,- a prey to your enemy's wiles." so she took the advice of her mother and friend, and made her house very secure. then she said,--"now, whatever may be my end, the fox cannot catch me, i'm sure." he called at her door the very next day, and loudly and long did he knock; but she said to him,--"leave my house, i pray, for the door i will not unlock; [illustration] "for you've killed my sisters, i know full well, and you wish that i too were dead." "o dear!" said the fox, "i can't really tell who put such a thought in your head: "for i've always liked geese more than other birds, and you of your race i've loved best." but the goose ne'er heeded his flattering words, so hungry he went to his rest. next week she beheld him again appear; "let me in very quick," he cried, "for the news i've to tell you'll be charmed to hear, and 'tis rude to keep me outside." but the goose only opened one window-pane, and popped out her pretty red bill; said she, "your fair words are all in vain, but talk to me here, if you will." "to-morrow," he cried, "there will be a fair, all the birds and the beasts will go; so allow me, i pray, to escort you there, for you will be quite charmed, i know." "many thanks for your news," said ganderee, "but i had rather not go with you; i care not for any gay sight to see,"- so the window she closed, and withdrew. in the morning, howe'er, her mind she changed, and she thought she would go to the fair; so her numerous feathers she nicely arranged, and cleaned her red bill with much care. she went, i believe, before it was light, for of reynard she felt much fear; so quickly she thought she would see each sight, and return ere he should appear. when the goose arrived she began to laugh at the wondrous creatures she saw; there were dancing bears, and a tall giraffe, and a beautiful red macaw. a monkey was weighing out apples and roots; an ostrich, too, sold by retail; there were bees and butterflies tasting the fruits, and a pig drinking out of a pail. ganderee went into an elephant's shop, and quickly she bought a new churn; for, as it grew late, she feared to stop, as in safety she wished to return. ere, however, she got about half the way, she saw approaching her foe; and now she hissed with fear and dismay, for she knew not which way to go. [illustration] but at last of a capital plan she bethought, of a place where she safely might hide; she got into the churn that she just had bought, and then fastened the lid inside. the churn was placed on the brow of a hill, and with ganderee's weight down it rolled, passing the fox, who stood perfectly still, quite alarmed, though he was very bold. for the goose's wings flapped strangely about, and the noise was fearful to hear; and so bruised she felt she was glad to get out, when she thought that the coast was clear. so safely she reached her own home at noon, and the fox ne'er saw her that day but after the fair he came very soon, and cried out, in a terrible way,-[illustration] "quick, quick, let me in! oh, for once be kind, for the huntsman's horn i hear; o, hide me in any snug place you can find, for the hunters and hounds draw near!" so the goose looked out, in order to see whether reynard was only in jest; then, knowing that he in her power would be, she opened the door to her guest. "i'll hide you," she said, "in my nice new churn." "that will do very well," said he; "and thank you for doing me this good turn, most friendly and kind ganderee." then into the churn the fox quickly got; but, ere the goose put on the top, a kettle she brought of water quite hot, and poured in every drop. [illustration] then the fox cried out, "o! i burn, i burn! and i feel in a pitiful plight;" but the goose held fast the lid of the churn, so reynard he died that night. * * * * * moral. mankind have an enemy whom they well know, who tempts them in every way; but they, too, at length shall o'ercome this foe, if wisdom's right law they obey. the wonderful history of henny-penny. one fine summer morning a hen was picking peas in a farm-yard, under a pea-stack, when a pea fell on her head with such a thump that she thought a cloud had fallen. and she thought she would go to the court and tell the king that the clouds were falling: so she gaed, and she gaed, and she gaed, and she met a cock, and the cock said,-"where are you going to-day, henny-penny?" and she said,-"oh, cocky-locky, the clouds are falling, and i am going to tell the king." and cocky-locky said,-"i will go with you, henny-penny." so cocky-locky and henny-penny they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they met a duck. so the duck said,-"where are you going to-day, cocky-locky and henny-penny?" and they said,-"oh, ducky-daddles, the clouds are falling, and we are going to tell the king." and ducky-daddles said,-"i will go with you, cocky-locky and henny-penny." so ducky-daddles, and cocky-locky, and henny-penny, they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they met a goose. so the goose said,-"where are you going to-day, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky and henny-penny?" and they said,-"oh, goosie-poosie, the clouds are falling, and we are going to tell the king." and goosie-poosie said,-"i will go with you, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, and henny-penny." so goosie-poosie, and ducky-daddles, and cocky-locky, and henny-penny, they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they met a turkey. so the turkey said,-"where are you going to-day, goosie-poosie, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, and henny-penny?" and they said,-"oh, turkey-lurky, the clouds are falling, and we are going to tell the king." and turkey-lurky said,-"i will go with you, goosie-poosie, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, and henny-penny." so turkey-lurky, and goosie-poosie, and ducky-daddles, and cocky-locky, and henny-penny, they gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they met a fox. so the fox said,-[illustration] "where are you going to-day, turkey-lurky, goosie-poosie, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, and henny-penny?" and they said,-"oh, mr. fox, the clouds are falling, and we are going to tell the king." and the fox said,-"come with me, turkey-lurky, goosie-poosie, ducky-daddles, cocky-locky, and henny-penny, and i will show you the road to the king's house." so they all gaed, and they gaed, and they gaed, till they came to the fox's hole; and the fox took them all into his hole, and he and his young cubs eat up first poor henny-penny, then poor cocky-locky, then poor ducky-daddles, then poor goosie-poosie, and then poor turkey-lurky; and so they never got to the king to tell him that the clouds had fallen on the head of poor henny-penny. * * * * * books published by francis blake, (late "blake & carter.") no. 58 exchange street, portland, me. town's first reader, town's second reader, town's third reader, town's grammar school reader, town's fourth reader, town's speller and definer, town's analysis, weld's old grammar, weld's new grammar, weld's parsing books, weld's latin lessons, smyth's elementary algebra, smyth's elements of algebra, key to each of smyth's algebras, smyth's trigonometry & survey'g, smyth's calculus, maine justice of the peace, maine townsman, caldwell's elocution, school testaments, 18mo. school testaments, 32mo. mechanic's own book. and many other school and miscellaneous books. * * * * * also the fox and the geese, 9 illustrations, price 8 cts. the story of the three bears, 6 illustrations, price 6 cts. the cat and the mouse, 6 illustrations, price 6 cts. the above in colored engravings at double price. f. b. also manufactures blank books of every description paged and unpaged, memorandum books, quarto blanks, &c., &c. paper hangings, wholesale & retail. a large assortment of miscellaneous books, suitable for towns or private libraries. agents, canvassers and booksellers supplied at a liberal discount from retail prices. all orders will receive prompt attention. francis blake, no. 58 exchange street, portland, me. next door to bank of cumberland [illustration: "good morning, mr. rabbit. can you tell me where i'll find two or three fat fish?"] aunt amy's animal stories the gray goose's story by amy prentice [illustration] with thirty-two illustrations and a frontispiece in colors by j. watson davis [illustration] the gray goose's story. by amy prentice. on pleasant afternoons your aunt amy dearly loves to wander down by the side of the pond, which lies just beyond the apple orchard, and there meet her bird or animal friends, of whom she has many, and all of them are ready to tell her stories. [illustration: the gray goose.] there it is she sees mr. frisky squirrel, old mr. plodding turtle, mr. bunny rabbit, and many others; but never until yesterday did she make the acquaintance of the gray goose, and then it was owing to master teddy's mischief that she found a new friend among the dwellers on the farm. your aunt amy was walking slowly along on the lookout for some bird or animal who might be in the mood for story-telling, when she heard an angry hissing, which caused her to start in alarm, thinking a snake was in her path, and, to her surprise, she saw two geese who were scolding violently in their own peculiar fashion. one was the gray goose, who afterward became very friendly, and the other, a white gander from the farm on the opposite side of the road. [illustration: an angry pair.] "what is the matter?" your aunt amy asked, as the geese continued to hiss angrily without giving any heed to her, and mrs. gray goose ceased her scolding sufficiently long to say sharply: "it's that mr. man's boy teddy; he never comes into the farm-yard without raising a disturbance of some kind, and i for one am sick of so much nonsense." your aunt amy looked quickly around; but without seeing any signs of the boy who had tried mrs. goose's temper so sadly, and, quite naturally, she asked: "what has he been doing now, and where is he?" "down in the meadow, or, he was there when mr. gander and i were driven out by his foolish actions," and mrs. goose continued to hiss at the full strength of her lungs. [illustration: mr. crow.] "if he is so far away your scolding will do no good, because he can't hear it," your aunt amy said, finding it difficult to prevent herself from actually laughing in the angry bird's face. "some of the other people on this farm can hear me, and thus know that i do not approve of such actions," mrs. goose replied sharply. "since mr. crow began to write poetry about young teddy, the boy thinks he can chase us around whenever he pleases. he'll kill mrs. cow's baby, if he isn't careful." "do you know mr. crow?" your aunt amy asked in surprise, for every bird or animal she had met seemed to be on friendly terms with the old fellow who spent the greater portion of his time in the big oak tree near the pond. "of course i know him," mrs. goose replied as she ceased scolding and came nearer your aunt amy, while mr. gander sat down close at hand as if listening to what was said. "teddy has been trying for nearly a week to use that poor calf as if the baby was a horse--that's what he's doing now, and mr. crow wrote some poetry about it. of course old mamma speckle must run straight to teddy boy with it, and since then he has been carrying on worse than ever." teddy and the calf. "oh yes, i'll repeat it if you like; but i'd rather you didn't tell teddy that you heard it, for he is already much too proud. this is the way it goes: young ted was a rider bold, who never did things by half, and so he hitched to his cart one day a strong and frolicsome calf. away he went, and on behind came a troop of merry boys, who tossed their caps, and screamed aloud, till the woods rang with the noise. but the steed was like his driver,- he wouldn't do things by half,- and never had ted a drive like that he had with his frolicsome calf. [illustration: the bold bare-back rider.] then ted tried another game, and mounted his sturdy steed; but the calf resolved he wouldn't bear that, so he ran with all his speed. ted learned to his great dismay, that it wouldn't do by half, when he wanted fun, to tamper with a strong and frolicsome calf. "that is exactly what he was doing with mrs. cow's baby when mr. gander and i were just the same as driven out of the meadow," mrs. goose said as she finished the verses. "what i'm hoping is, that mr. towser dog will help young calf out of his trouble." mrs. goose had hardly more than ceased speaking when mrs. cow's baby and mr. towser appeared in sight, walking slowly as if talking earnestly. mr. gander jumped up at once and went toward them, coming back a moment later as he said to mrs. goose: "young calf has given teddy boy a good tumble, and hopes he struck the little rascal with his left hind foot; but of that he can't be certain, because of being in such a hurry when he came away. mamma speckle has gone over to the pasture believing she may find mr. donkey there, and if she does, teddy boy and his friends will be glad to get away quickly." "i suppose young calf and mr. towser dog are waiting to hear what mr. donkey has to say about it," mrs. goose added, as she nodded to the dog and the calf, who were standing with their noses very near together, as if talking the matter over. "does mr. donkey often interfere when the animals of the farm get into trouble?" your aunt amy asked, and mrs. goose replied: [illustration: waiting to hear from mr. donkey.] "yes indeed; he's a very good friend to us all, but doesn't often have time to look after such matters, because mr. man seems to delight in finding work for him to do. he once actually killed a mr. weasel who was sneaking up to murder some of the chickens, and that proves him to be a very able fellow, for even mr. man himself believes it's a big thing to get the best of a weasel. "mr. towser dog is another good friend to all of us. he thinks very much of mr. man and his boy teddy; but at the same time he looks after all the animals and birds on the farm. i've got a piece of poetry about him that perhaps you'd like to hear?" "who wrote it, mrs. goose?" your aunt amy asked, and mr. gander spoke up quickly: "that's what none of us know; but mr. crow said he had nothing whatever to do with it. he don't like mr. towser dog, on account of some trouble the two of them had about mr. crow's digging up the corn just after mr. man had planted it. hello! there comes mr. donkey, and now you may be sure teddy boy won't worry mrs. cow's baby for quite a while." as mr. gander spoke a small, friendly looking donkey trotted up to where the dog and the calf were talking together, and old mr. gander seemed to think it necessary he should waddle over to hear what might be said. [illustration: mr. donkey comes trotting up to give advice.] "they'll spend a good half hour talking matters over," mrs. goose said as if displeased because of what she evidently believed was a waste of time. "if you want to hear the verses about mr. towser, i may as well read them to you now," and she drew out from beneath her wing a much soiled piece of paper, on which was printed the following lines: he was just a common dog, you see, with no particular line of ancestry to mark him out as a well-bred creature fine. [illustration: mr. towser dog.] he bayed at the moon as dogs do, and vented his gruff bow-wows, as he tagged my heels in the good old times when we went after the cows. he'd roll in the grass with the babies, or carry them on his back; he'd catch the ball the youngsters tossed, and follow the rabbit's track. a boy's own dog, and a friendly companion in peace or rows, as he tagged my heels in the good old times when we went after the cows. he could talk with a doggish lingo in his own peculiar way, and i could understand it all- whatever he had to say. he'd jump to my call at the moment, and utter his gruff bow-wows, as he tagged my heels in the good old times when we went after the cows. i told him all of my secrets, and he kept them without fail, with never a sign that he knew them but a wag of his short, stump tail. long years have passed since i heard them.- the sound of his gruff bow-wows, as he tagged my heels in the good old days when we went after the cows. "those are very good verses, mrs. goose," your aunt amy said when the last line had been read, and she replied as she plumed her feathers: "so i think, although mr. crow says they are foolish; but that's because he doesn't like mr. towser dog. what i admire about them is that they show what a good friend to a boy an animal can be. now if sammy boy had made friends with the calf, he wouldn't be in the house this very minute waiting for his broken arm to get mended." when sammy teased the calf. "how was that, mrs. goose?" your aunt amy asked. "it was something that began a long time ago on the next farm; but wasn't finished till last week. you see a little boy calf was born over there once upon a time, and no sooner did the poor little thing come into this world than sammy boy thought it great fun to drive him from his mother, beat him with a stick, pull his tail, and do all kinds of mean things. "'you're a mean, selfish, cruel boy,' the calf said to himself, when he was forced to put up with whatever sammy felt like doing to him. 'i'll get even with you if it takes me years to do it--you think i can't remember, because i don't talk the same way you do; but just wait and see!' "of course sammy didn't understand what the calf said, and he poked him all the harder with a big stick, laughing as if he thought it great fun. well, the years went on, and mr. calf grew to be big and strong. sammy also grew, but not as fast as the calf did, and the time came when he didn't dare pull his tail, or poke him with a stick. "one day when mr. calf was three years old, and the folks called him mr. bull, sammy went out to look at his pigeons, which he wickedly keeps shut up in a little box, and some one had left the pasture bars down. "mr. bull was standing near-by, and when he saw sammy he said to himself, as he lowered his head and stuck his tail straight up in the air: "'now's my chance! i'll show that boy how good it is to have those who are stronger try to be cruel.' "sammy had forgotten all about tormenting the calf; but i'm thinking he remembered it when he picked himself up on the other side of the farmyard fence, where mr. bull had tossed him. his arm was broken, and his clothes torn; but with all that he wasn't hurt any worse than the poor little calf was when sammy poked him with a stick, or pulled his tail." [illustration: mr. bull pays off old scores.] just at this time mr. gander came back to say that mr. donkey had promised to teach the boys, who had been riding mrs. cow's baby as if it was a horse, such a lesson that they wouldn't forget it very quickly. "he's going down into the meadow," mr. gander said, "and if those little rascals are yet there, he'll chase them from one end to the other, flinging up his heels, and making believe he is trying to kick them. by the time he gets through, i'll promise you they won't be so eager to pick upon a poor little youngster who isn't large enough to take care of himself." where mr. crow hid his apples. "they'll soon find out what a mistake they made, same as mr. crow did when he put his apples away for the winter," mrs. gray goose said in a tone of satisfaction, and it seemed only natural that your aunt amy should ask for an explanation. "mr. crow is a good deal like mr. fox," mrs. goose said in reply. "he thinks he's the wisest bird in this neighborhood, and that he can do whatever he pleases, just because he makes poetry. now this is one of mamma speckle's stories, and although she does dearly love to talk about other people, i have no doubt but it is true. [illustration: mr. crow picked up the best looking apples and dropped them in the pitcher.] "it seems that last fall, when the apples on the tree that stands near the well were ripening, mr. crow made up his mind that the best thing he could do would be to lay in a supply for the winter, as mr. bunny rabbit and mr. frisky squirrel were doing. he went over to the well early in the morning, before mr. man was out of bed, and saw the squirrels and rabbits carrying away one at a time. "'that's no way to do your harvesting,' he said, as if he knew just how everything should be done. 'before you've taken two apples to your nest mr. man will be out here, and pick up all that are on the ground.' "'more will fall to-night, and to-morrow morning we can get another lot,' mr. bunny rabbit said, as he hopped off with a juicy apple in his mouth, and mr. frisky squirrel added with a laugh: "'it's better to make sure of two, than run the chances of not getting any.' "'watch me, and you'll see how to do the work in proper shape,' mr. crow said as if there was no one in all the world as wise as he. "one of the children had left a pitcher on the ground near the well, and mr. crow hopped around wonderfully lively, picking up the best looking apples and dropping them into the pitcher. "'why are you doing that?' mr. squirrel asked. "i'm going to pick up all the best apples, and put them in this pitcher. then i can come back at any time, when mr. man's family are not around, and carry them off. that will be much better than waiting a whole night just for two.' "well, mr. crow kept on picking up apples and dropping them in the pitcher as fast as ever he could, while mr. rabbit and mr. squirrel were well satisfied at getting safely off with two or three, and when mr. man came out to the well, the pitcher was almost full of the best looking apples, while mr. crow was all tired out with working so fast. "'hello!" mr. man said as he spied the pitcher of apples, and of course mr. crow had hidden himself when he saw the farmer coming. "some of my family have been busy this morning, and i thought i was the first one out of doors. this will save me a lot of work,' and he carried the pitcher into the house. "'i'm almost afraid i was too greedy,' mr. crow said with a flirt of his tail as mr. man walked away. 'perhaps it would have been wiser if i had been content to carry away a few at a time, as mr. rabbit and mr. squirrel did,' and away he flew to the oak tree without so much as a taste of apple after picking up so many." the second tragedy in the frog family. [illustration: old mr. frog's grandson.] "there goes that dandified young frog again, and this time i believe it is my duty to teach him that the wisest course any one can pursue, is to stay at home and attend to his own business, rather than roaming around to show his good clothes," mr. gander said, starting off as rapidly as his short legs would carry him, and, looking up, your aunt amy saw young mr. frog, dressed in his best, just coming out of his house. "well, did you ever?" mrs. goose exclaimed as mr. gander hurried away in pursuit of the frog. "wouldn't it be strange if mr. gander caught him?" "why would it be strange?" your aunt amy asked, knowing full well that geese often ate frogs, and mrs. goose replied: "it would be at least odd, because it was his own grandfather who was swallowed up by the lily-white duck, just after the cat and her kittens came tumbling into mrs. mouse's hall, although mr. crow says, in some poetry i've got of his, that one animal is always like others of his kind. if old mr. frog went down the throat of a duck, i don't know why his grandson shouldn't feel proud of being taken in by one of the goose family." while mrs. gray goose was talking, mr. gander had been running at full speed in pursuit of mr. frog, who was so busy trying to keep his hat on that he didn't pay any attention to what was happening behind him. a moment later mr. gander had overtaken the foppish young frog, and your aunt amy did not have time to call mrs. goose's attention to what was going on, before mr. frog disappeared down mr. gander's throat. [illustration: how young mr. frog disappeared.] "well, i never before believed that mr. gander would be so piggish!" mrs. goose exclaimed as her friend's bill closed upon the end of mr. frog. "to think that he hadn't the politeness to offer me a taste!" "he really didn't have the time," your aunt amy said laughingly, and then, to take mrs. goose's attention from what was really a greedy act, she asked about mr. crow's poetry concerning the likeness of one animal to another of its kind. searching for the impossible. "it's only a nonsense rhyme," mrs. goose replied with a sigh as she turned her eyes from mr. gander, who was twisting and squirming as if he had something inside of him which caused considerable pain. "i'll repeat it if you wish, and it wouldn't make me feel badly if old mr. gander came within an inch of dying. a whole frog is far too big a mouthful for a goose of his age." "it's certain he is being punished for his greediness," your aunt amy replied; "but it isn't well to rejoice while others are in trouble, even when they brought it upon themselves, as did mr. gander. suppose you repeat mr. crow's poetry?" mrs. goose snapped her bill together sharply as she turned her back on the suffering gander, and recited the following jingle: i'd love a goose that wears a shawl, or a gander in coat and hat; i'd just adore a tamed giraffe, or a literary cat. i'd like a goat with graceful curves, or a bear with manners neat; a chimpanzee in a cutaway, i think would be just sweet. [illustration: what would be hard to find.] i'd appreciate a gentle snake, or a dove whose ways were wild. a bluefish draped in petticoats, or a tiger nice and mild. a mackintosh upon an owl to me would be just fine. i'd like to know a kangaroo who'd ask me out to dine. an elk dressed up in uniform, i'd love beyond compare. i'd even like a flying lynx, or an educated hare. there's many more i'd love to have, but never can i find an animal but what he's like the others of his kind. "there's a deal of truth in the last three lines of that poetry," mrs. goose said with a sigh, casting one more reproachful glance at the suffering mr. gander. "i was up near mr. man's barn the other day, and there i saw two kittens making a most disgraceful spectacle of themselves; but yet they were exactly like all other cats i have ever seen. "it seems that their mother had caught a nice fat rat, and instead of eating it all herself, as mr. gander did the frog, she brought it to her kittens. now there was plenty of meat for both, and neither could have devoured the whole of it, yet those two youngsters stood there and snarled, and spit, and scratched at each other, instead of enjoying themselves in a friendly manner. "they made a most dreadful noise, therefore, of course, everybody oil the farm knew what was being done, and then the foolish things began to fight. just then, mr. brown owl, who spends a good deal of his time on our shed watching for mice, flew down and picked up the rat. [illustration: the selfish kittens.] "when the kittens made up their minds that it might be better to eat dinner than tear each other to pieces, mr. owl was eating the rat, and they were obliged to go hungry for that day at least. if a person is not only a glutton, but has beside a bad temper, he is very likely to miss many good things which he might enjoy without much labor. yet i don't like to see people too soft, and smiling too sweetly, for then i always think of the time when mr. wolf called on mrs. hog, professing to be such a great friend." a suspicious-looking visitor. "that is a story i have never heard," your aunt amy said, and mrs. goose looked up in surprise, as she replied: "why, it's as old as the hills, almost; i'll tell it because it may do you some good. once upon a time mrs. hog had seven of the dearest little babies you ever saw, and they were as fat as butter, for mr. man gave them all they wanted to eat. the family lived over on the north side of the farm, a long distance from the house, and the fence to mrs. hog's yard wasn't what it should have been when she had so many little ones to look after. every one, even mr. man himself said it ought to be mended; but it seems that what's everybody's business is nobody's business, therefore nothing was done. "one afternoon, when supper had been eaten and mrs. hog was clearing up the sty, mr. wolf poked his nose between the boards of the fence, and said sweet as honey: "'i am surprised, mrs. hog, to see that mr. man doesn't look after you better. the first thing you know some bad person will come along, and then one of the babies will be missing.' "'there's little fear of that, mr. wolf, while i'm around,' and mrs. hog showed her teeth. [illustration: mr. wolf wants to live with mrs. hog.] "'oh yes, i understand what you mean,' mr. wolf said, smiling all over his face as if he was the best friend mrs. hog ever had. 'what i'm afraid of is that the little ones may get into trouble while you are out calling, and that would come near to breaking my heart, for i am very fond of them. now suppose i come here to live with you until they are large enough to take care of themselves?' "mrs. hog knew that if mr. wolf should try real hard to make trouble for her, he might be able to do it, so she didn't dare tell him just what she thought; but, going a little nearer him, to where one of the boards had been slipped aside at the top, she said: "'i'm afraid we haven't got room enough for you, mr. wolf. you can't even get your head between these boards.' "'indeed i can,' mr. wolf said, laughing to think how easily he was fooling mrs. hog, and he stuck his head through where the board was loose. "that was just what mrs. hog wanted him to do, and before he knew what had happened, she jammed the two boards together with her nose, holding mr. wolf by the neck in such a way that he couldn't do anything but howl, till one of the babies ran and told mr. towser dog to come and look after the visitor. "the next time you want to fool anybody you'd better find a foolish little pig, instead of an old hog like me, who knows that there's some mischief in the air when the wolves get to acting like one's best friends,' mrs. hog said, as mr. towser took mr. wolf by the throat to teach him better manners. "i think myself that it is better to be suspicious, as was the colored minister's rooster, than believe everything you are told, and make friends with the first one who holds out his hand." "tell me the story about the rooster," your aunt amy said as mrs. goose ceased speaking and turned to look at mr. gander, who still appeared to be in pain. when mr. booster was suspicious. "it is one of mr. crow's stories," mrs. gray goose said after another long look at the suffering gander; "but it agrees with what i said about the wisdom of being suspicious now and then. "it seems that once upon a time a colored man raised a nice flock of fowls; but his neighbors, who dearly loved stewed chickens or roasted turkey, came to dinner so often, that very soon one thin turkey and an old rooster, were all he had left. "just then two friends of the man's wife came to dinner, and, because he hadn't any meat in the house, there was nothing to do but catch and cook one of the lonesome looking pair. "mr. turkey gobbler saw the man coming, and flew up on the top of the barn, as he cried: "'i've got other business, and can't go to dinner with you, no matter how much you want me.' "'now he's after me!' mr. rooster cried, growing suspicious when the man caught him by the end of the tail and pulled nearly half the feathers out. "'get under the barn! get under the barn!' mr. turkey screamed, and mr. rooster shouted while he went across the yard as fast as his legs could carry him: "'give me a little time, and i'll win the race; but he's dangerously near.' "well, mr. rooster got under the barn nearly a minute before the man did, and there he stayed, paying no attention to the coaxing or threats, and, finally, discouraged and with his coat torn in two places, the man went into the house to tell his visitors that he couldn't have company to dinner that day. [illustration: a race for life.] "when he had got inside the house mr. rooster crept out from under the barn, and crowed up to mr. turkey: 'do you-think-he's-gone-for goo-o-o-d?' "and the suspicious mr. turkey gobbled back: "'doubtful! doubtful! doubtful! doubtful!' "that mr. rooster had a good deal more sense than our mr. dorking, who made such a fool of himself last summer. it isn't much of a story; but it shows how silly some people are," and once more mrs. goose looked at mr. gander. when the rooster found the moon. "i would like very much to hear the story," your aunt amy said, and she spoke the truth, for thus far mrs. goose had been most entertaining. "it's kind of you to say so," mrs. goose replied with a smirk. "if i keep on at this rate you'll think i like to talk as well as mamma speckle does; but i've heard of you so often from our people around here, that it seemed as if i must have a whole lot of stories to tell, else you'd say i wasn't much of anybody after all. but about mr. dorking rooster: it seems that one night he couldn't sleep, on account of having eaten too much, and for the first time in his life he saw the moon and the stars. "the next day, when he was going across the front yard, he saw one of those large rubber balls, painted in bright colors, such as mr. man's children use to play with in the house, and after looking it over carefully he decided that he knew what it was. [illustration: mr. dorking finds the moon.] "'this must be the moon i saw last night,' he said to himself; 'but it don't seem to shine as it did then. perhaps it doesn't give out any light till after sunset, so i'll wait till then to see it.' "so mr. dorking sat down and waited. the sun set, and black clouds covered the sky, but, yet the ball did not shine. all the other chickens had gone to roost hours before; but mr. dorking kept on watching. it began to rain; the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. the rooster was wet to the skin, and terribly frightened. "'i'll save the moon,' he cried, and picking up the ball in his beak, which wasn't an easy task, he ran as fast as he could to the hen-house; but when he got there the storm had cleared away. looking up, mr. dorking saw the moon in the sky, and throwing the ball into the house, he cried out to his wife: "'what kind of a thing is this, anyway? i've been lugging it around for an hour or more, and now there's another moon come to take its place.' "'come straight up here to your roost, you foolish old thing.' mrs. dorking said angrily. 'if you had half as much sense as mr. monkey, you could have taken the children and me on a picnic, instead of fooling your time away with a rubber ball.' "what did she mean by 'having as much sense as mr. monkey,'" your aunt amy asked, and mrs. goose replied: when mrs. monkey was dissatisfied. "oh, it was an idea she got from some of mr. crow's poetry. all the fowls on our farm have laughed at it time and time again. this is the way it goes: said old mrs. monk one morning, "look at me. i am tired of living in this cocoa tree, you have got to go to work and rent a flat, for i'll not live in this manner, mind you that." then when mister monkey heard all that she said, he thought of many trades, and scratched his head what on earth could monkeys do to bring in gold so a loving monkey wifey wouldn't scold? now what do you suppose the monkey did? do you think he climbed the cocoa tree and hid? no; upon a jungle trolley he is there hanging by his legs and tail collecting fare." mrs. goose would have been blind if she had not seen that your aunt amy thought the jingle was very foolish, and she hastened to say: [illustration: mr. monkey listening to his wife.] how bunny rabbit fooled grandfather stork. "i guess you think the same as does grandfather stork about some of mr. crow's verses. he says that nobody but foolish geese would listen to them, and yet there isn't anybody around here who doesn't like them. grandfather stork don't know everything there is to be learned in this world, else mr. bunny rabbit couldn't have fooled him the way he did." "i have never heard that mr. bunny rabbit fooled grandfather stork," your aunt amy said, and mrs. goose almost laughed when she replied: "then you haven't seen the old fellow lately, for he spends all his time running around the neighborhood telling of it. he thinks he was very smart, and i'm not saying but that it was more than one would have expected of him, for mr. bunny rabbit isn't the wisest animal living near the pond, by a good deal. poor old grandfather stork was the most harmless bird that ever lived. he had carried babies from one place to another till he was all worn out, and hadn't more than six feathers left on his head. "he hadn't a tooth to his bill, and seemed to have forgotten how to hunt for his dinner, so one day when he met bunny rabbit, he said to him as polite as could be: "'good morning, mr. rabbit. can you tell me where i'll find two or three fat fish near about here?' [illustration: grandfather stork waiting for his dinner.] "bunny scratched his nose as if he was doing a terrible lot of thinking, and then said, solemn as ever was squire owl: "'why, of course, mr. stork, and i always like to help a neighbor along. but times have changed since you were a young fellow. then you had to catch your own fish, or go without; but now the law is that after a bird has stood on one foot half an hour, two fish jump down his throat, and three more go the same way at the end of an hour. mr. robin red-breast forgot all about the new law the other day, and, because his left foot was sore, he stood on the right one till two big pickerel made a leap for his mouth. either of them was seven times as big as he is, and it's a wonder he wasn't killed.' "'dear me, is that so, mr. rabbit? now i really can't catch fish as i used to; but it comes quite natural for me to stand on one foot. i'll try to do you a favor some day, mr. rabbit.' "then grandfather stork stood up in the sun waiting for the fish to jump down his throat, and bunny rabbit ran off into the bushes, laughing till there was danger of splitting his sides; but he didn't keep it up very long, for just then down swooped mr. hawk, and bunny rabbit came very near taking an excursion in the air. "as it was, mr. hawk dug a great hole in his back, and nipped off a piece of his tail, before bunny could get under a wild-rose bush where he was safe. it was mr. crow who told grandfather stork that he had been fooled, and the poor old fellow looked so sorrowful when he hobbled away without having had any dinner, that i made up my mind i never would try to play such kind of jokes." "and you are right, mrs. goose," your aunt amy said decidedly. "it is a very foolish practice, and often causes much trouble. now bunny rabbit really told mr. stork a lie, even if it was in sport, and we all know how wrong that is." at this moment mr. grander came up, and when mrs. goose asked how he felt, he said: "i'm better, thank you. that frog was tough, and, to make matters worse, i accidentally swallowed his hat." "you were in too much of a hurry, mr. gander," mrs. goose said sharply. "perhaps you was afraid you might be asked to share him with some other goose." "well, there! i never stopped to think that you might like a piece," mr. gander said, as if he felt terribly sorry because of having been so selfish. "i'll spend all day to-morrow hunting for mr. frog's brother, and if i catch the fellow, you shall have the whole of him." "i'll hunt for my own frogs, thank you," mrs. goose replied as she straightened herself up angrily. "i never yet have asked others to find food for me, and i hope i don't live simply for the sake of eating, as does mrs. wild goose, who visited us not long ago." mr. gander gazed at mrs. gray goose sadly; but she refused even to look at him, and after a time he waddled slowly away, stopping now and then to snap at a grasshopper that jumped over his head. [illustration: mrs. gray goose is angry.] mrs. wild goose's visit. "what about mrs. wild goose making you a visit?" aunt amy asked, when she and the gray goose were alone once more. "it isn't what you might really call a story," mrs. goose replied. "i only spoke of it to remind mr. gander how he himself talked about those who think only of what can be eaten. not more than a month ago mrs. wild goose flew down into our yard, and one would have thought that she owned the entire farm, to hear her talk. "'this seems to be quite a comfortable place,' she said, walking around and poking her bill into every corner before she had spoken to any of us. 'i have seen better yards, of course; but a goose who has traveled as much as i have, learns to make the best of everything. it looks as if mr. man gave you all you wanted to eat.' "'so he does,' mr. dorking rooster said, and we have nothing to do but enjoy ourselves.' "'indeed!' mrs. wild goose cried. 'then i'll stay right here. the doctor says i mustn't move around very much, and the climate seems to agree with me.' "well, she was the greediest goose i ever saw. she would gobble up fully half of all the food that was brought into the yard, before one of us had time to swallow a single mouthful, and it did seem as if she couldn't get enough. even mr. gander, who has just shown how greedy he can be, said that it really made him feel faint to see her show of gluttony. "when mrs. wild goose had been with us about two weeks, betty, the housemaid, came into the yard with a cloth over her head, and a big apron on. all of us who lived there knew what it meant, and ran for dear life, with mrs. wild goose at our heels, as she shrieked: "'what is she going to do?' "'she's going to pull out our feathers with which to stuff pillows and beds for mr. man to sleep on,' mr. gander said. [illustration: mrs. wild goose goes away in a hurry.] "dear me, dear me, i never will put up with such treatment as that! i only came here for a change of air and food, and couldn't think of parting with my feathers!' "then, without stopping to thank us for the pleasant visit, off she flew to find another place where she could make a glutton of herself without having to pay or work. some birds seem to think, as did mrs. pea-hen, that they have nothing to do in this world but enjoy themselves; but i've lived long enough to know that we must do our full share of the work, if we want to take part in the play." "what did mrs. pea-hen believe," your aunt amy asked, and mrs. gray goose replied: when mrs. pea-hen abandoned the orphans. "she always has looked, and always will look first after her own comfort or pleasure, no matter how much others may suffer. any other bird on this farm would have been so ashamed, after doing what mrs. pea-hen has, that she'd never hold up her head again, and what i'm going to tell you isn't the first selfish thing she has done. "about four weeks ago mrs. pea-hen made a great fuss over wanting to bring up a family, and began to set on anything and everything she could find that looked like an egg. well, mr. man made a nice nest for her, and put in it thirteen white eggs. no hen could have asked for a better place in which to show what she was able to do, and whenever any of us went to call on her, mrs. pea-hen had a great deal to say about what she would do when her family came out of the shells. "i can't deny but that she sat there faithfully, and took proper care of the eggs, and, of course, out came thirteen as pretty little chickens as you could want to see. mrs. pea-hen seemed to be real proud because she had so many babies, and after the last one was hatched she called all of them out for a walk. "they came from the nest with considerable noise, such as all youngsters make, and no sooner did she hear the first peep than mrs. pea-hen turned around like a flash, looking at first one and then another until she had seen the whole brood. "'why, they are nothing but ordinary chickens!' she cried, and off she walked, paying no heed to the poor little things when they called after her for something to eat. "'are you going away and leave those dear little babies with no one to care for them?' mamma speckle asked angrily, and mrs. pea-hen replied, as if to say she didn't allow any one to meddle with her family affairs: "'of course i am! do you suppose a fowl of my standing in society would spend her time looking after a lot of common chickens?' [illustration: the hard-hearted mrs. pea-hen.] "'but they'll starve to death!' mamma speckle cried, as if she was almost heart-broken. "'that's no concern of mine. mr. man made me believe they were my own eggs, else i'd never sat on them a single hour,' mrs. pea-hen said, as she kept on walking away with never a look at the poor little babies, and mamma speckle called after her: "'you was so crazy to set that you would have tried to hatch out a nest full of stones, if you couldn't have found anything better!' "mrs. pea-hen tried to act as if she didn't hear what mamma speckle said; but she couldn't help it, for you know how loud the speckled hen talks. she never paid any attention to the babies, though, and the other fowls took care of them as best they could with babies of their own." alice questions mr. turtle. "say, of course you know a good deal more than any bird or animal on this farm, and i do wish you would tell me how long mr. turtle has lived?" that was a question which your aunt amy could not answer, and when she said as much, mrs. goose continued: "he claims to be very, very old, and to hear the stories he tells you'd think he had lived in every part of the world. he started a kind of a show last week, and calls it a 'zoo,' whatever that may be. a lot of birds and animals sit around to show themselves, and say it is a 'wonderful exhibition.' mr. man's little girl alice was out walking with her doll yesterday, and saw mr. turtle near the old maple tree selling tickets for the 'zoo.' this is what mr. crow declares she said to the old fellow: "they tell me, mr. turtle, you were born long years ago- five hundred years, the doctor says, and doctors ought to know. "he says that every year you live a scientist can tell because each birthday leaves a mark upon your rusty shell. "i've lots and lots of questions, then, to ask if you're so old, and if you will not answer them, please do not think me bold. "in fourteen ninety-two, when chris columbus westward sailed, when he discovered yankeeland, was he, then, later jailed? "did shakespeare write those dramas old, or did lord bacon's pen? when joan rambled in lorraine, were you out crawling then? "you must have known the virgin queen, and known sir walter, too; you've heard that story of the ring, what really did she do? [illustration: alice and mr. turtle.] "did pocahontas save the life of captain smith that day? did cromwell take the reins of state, as all the school-books say? "did washington cut down the tree that time in early may, and say 'i cannot tell a lie?' now answer me i pray." the turtle only looked around, and winked a lazy wink; he seemed to say, "don't bother me; it hurts my brain to think." "why is it that all of you who live near here, like mr. crow's poetry so well?" your aunt amy asked, when mrs. goose had come to an end of the lines, and she replied thoughtfully: "well, really now, i can't say. perhaps it's because he tells us it is the best ever written. why, i've even heard old mr. turtle repeating the verses, and if he has lived five hundred years, surely he ought to know whether they are good or bad. there's one thing i do know, though, which is, that there's no person within two miles of this pond that can tell as many good stories as mr. crow. he's got one about a lazy mr. horse that means a good deal, if you take the trouble to think it over. don't you want to hear it?" your aunt amy really enjoys hearing mr. crow's stories, and when she made such a statement, mrs. goose began the tale without delay. the lazy mr. horse. "'i don't see why i should work all the time, and others have nothing whatever to do,' said lazy mr. horse, one day. 'i would like to live a life of idleness as well as they.' "then he began to think it over, and decided to find some way to get rid of hauling the farm wagon day after day. it wasn't easy to do this, but after a time he hit upon a plan which seemed to be a good one. "'i'll make believe that i am sick,' he said, 'and then my master won't call on me for work.' "so he hung his head, leaned against the side of the stall, and tried to look as if it hurt him to breathe. when his master came into the stable, he said: "'hello, what can be the matter with this horse? he was well when i fed him yesterday; but now he seems to be nearly dead.' "then the master went out of the stable, and mr. horse said to himself with a grin: "'he has gone to get some medicine for me! the plan seems to be working well.' "soon the master came back, and with him was a great big black man, who carried an axe over his shoulder. "'that horse is very sick,' said the master. "'he certainly is,' replied the man with the axe. [illustration: mr. horse is well pleased.] "'and there's only one thing to be done,' said the master. "'only one thing,' added the man with the axe. "'well, jim,' said the master, 'hit him squarely between the eyes, and as hard as you can, for i don't want him flopping all around the place before he dies.' "'all right, sir,' answered the man, as he raised the axe. "by that time mr. horse began to suspect that his plan wasn't working as he thought it would, so he pricked up his ears, kicked up his heels, and tried to look as if there never had been anything the matter with him. "'that horse has gone crazy,' the master cried. "'he has indeed,' replied the man with the axe. "'we'll have to kill him anyway,' said the master. 'hit him quick before he tears down the stable!' "the man with the axe hit mr. horse one blow, and that settled the question, of his ever hauling the farm-wagon again. surely he made a fool of himself while trying to deceive others, and if the goose family had been punished as hard, there wouldn't be one of us alive to-day." "what do you mean by that?" your aunt amy asked in surprise, and mrs. gray goose replied softly, as if afraid others might hear her words: when the geese claimed to be cranes. "this is a story we geese don't often tell, and if mr. crow should get hold of it everybody around here would know how foolish some of our grandparents were. our family prides itself on having saved rome once upon a time, and it would never do to let people know how silly a few of us have been since then. of course you won't whisper it to bunny rabbit, or old mr. turtle! "one day a flock of geese, who had never seen a crane, were feeding in the meadow when two strangers came up, and asked the way to the nearest pond. they were fine-looking birds, and acted like strangers in our part of the country; besides, they didn't speak exactly as we do. "the leader of the flock was an old, bald-headed gander, who believed he knew more than all the rest of the world put together, so when the strangers asked the question, some of the geese wanted to know how they should answer. [illustration: the cranes asking the way to the nearest pond.] "'they look to be birds of importance,' mr. gander said, 'and may think we are of little account if we show ourselves willing to talk with strangers, so the best way is to hold our tongues. when the proper time comes i will show them that we are no fools.' "so all the geese held their tongues, while mr. gander stood back a little and looked wise. then the strangers asked the question again, without paying any attention to the inquisitive geese who were staring at them from head to foot. this time mr. gander thought he might venture to speak, and he said, talking way down in his throat as he had heard mr. man: "'the nearest pond is our private property, and we do not care to have strangers there until we know if they are birds of quality.' "'indeed, sir,' one of the strangers said. 'may i ask whether you are any one in particular?' "'we are cranes,' mr. gander replied, 'and when i tell you so you will understand that we like to be by ourselves.' "the strangers looked at each other in surprise a moment, and stepped back as if not knowing what to do, which made old mr. gander think he was wise in claiming to be something better than a common goose. finally one of the visitors asked: "'are all the cranes in this country like you?' "'why shouldn't they be?' mr. gander said gruffly. "'there is no reason that we know of, being strangers here; but the fact is that we also are cranes, who have just come over from africa, as you can tell by our black faces, and it surprises us to find such a different looking family here.' "just then two real cranes, who had been feeding on the shore of the pond, rose in the air, and, seeing the strangers, one of them cried: "'hello, brothers, why are you spending your time with those silly geese? come over to the pond where you'll find decent company!' "the cranes from africa didn't stay with the geese any longer, and, of course, they told what old mr. gander had said. since that time the cranes and the swans won't let one of our family come anywhere near them, even though the swans are our cousins, and all because that foolish old mr. gander was willing to tell a lie in order to make it appear that he was more important in the world than a common goose. i have no patience with a bird who is always trying to make himself out a little better than he really is. it's behavior that counts in this world, and whether you come from one family or another, you'll be treated well if you deserve it." "you are right, mrs. goose," your aunt amy said decidedly. "be contented in this world, and you are well off indeed." "so mr. pig thought," mrs. goose replied with a laugh. "if mr. man had been satisfied with a little, mr. pig would most likely have been killed." when mr. pig didn't go to market. "tell me the story," your aunt amy said, knowing very well that mrs. goose had one in mind, as indeed she had, for she told it as follows: "one day mr. man was taking mr. pig to market, when they came to a tree on which hung hundreds and hundreds of apples. "'i'd like to have an apple,' mr. pig said, as he looked up wistfully. "'i'd like to have a whole barrel,' mr. man cried greedily. "a little further down the road they saw a pear tree. "'i'd like to have a pear,' said the hungry mr. pig. "'i'd like to have a wagon-load of pears,' mr. man added. "presently they saw a grape-vine, and mr. pig sighed: "'i'd like to have a bunch of grapes.' [illustration: the two pigs.] "'i'd like to have a wine-press full of them,' mr. man said. "the two walked on until they came to a field filled with ripe melons. "'oh, how i wish i had one of those,' mr. pig whispered, and mr. man growled: "'i'd like to have a car-load.' "'look here, mr. man,' mr. pig cried, 'you're more of a hog than i am, and i think we're at the wrong ends of this rope.' "then mr. pig jumped suddenly, pulling the rope out of mr. man's hands, and, dashing between his legs, threw him to the ground. mr. pig ran right into the field, picked out a nice ripe melon and ate it, while mr. man got up, brushed his clothes, and went home." mrs. goose ceased speaking, as if she was at an end of her story-telling, and your aunt amy, unwilling to part with her new friend so soon, was trying to think of some word which would provoke such a remark as would give new life to the conversation, when she was really startled by a loud hissing, as if an angry goose was near at hand. much to her surprise, she saw that it was mrs. gray goose herself who was making the outcry, as she looked angrily toward the shore of the pond, where could be seen a goose and a gander dressed in clothing of the latest style. "what do you think of that?" mrs. gray goose cried. "isn't it really very foolish?" "indeed it is," your aunt amy replied emphatically. "when birds, animals, or human beings appear dressed in anything likely to attract attention, they show very poor taste, to speak mildly." [illustration: a foolish pair.] "that foolish goose would willingly go hungry in order to get something which would cause the ganders to look at her. instead of raising feathers and laying eggs, as is her work in this world, she goes rambling all over the neighborhood in some ridiculous fashion, and, i am sorry to say, she finds plenty of ganders who are ready to follow her. "she'll come to some such end as did young mr. rat, before many years have gone by, else i'm very much mistaken. how strange it is that some birds are never contented to do what nature intended should be their duty!" "i know of a number of human beings who act just as silly," your aunt amy replied. "will you tell me what happened to mr. rat of whom you spoke?" the disobedient rat. "surely i will," mrs. gray goose replied promptly, "for the story is one that teaches a lesson, even if it does come from mr. crow. it seems that once upon a time a young mr. rat said to his father, speaking as if he knew the ways of the world better than did those who had lived in it many years before he was born: "now that i'm of age, i'm going to take a partner, and go into business for myself.' "'very well,' his father replied mildly, for he was a wise old rat. 'i hope you will get an honest partner, and prosper in whatever you undertake.' "'i suppose you think i am going into business with some common rat,' the young fellow said with a sneer. 'i'm not going to choose my friends from among such people. i intend to take a kitten as a partner, and in such way get into the best society.' [illustration: the two partners.] "old mr. rat stroked his whiskers mournfully, as he looked tearfully at his son, and said: "'oh my son, my son! kittens grow to be cats, and cats eat rats; it would be much better for you to stay among your own kind.' "but the wilful young rat ran off with a flirt of his tail to a dear little, fluffy kitten, who was not much larger than himself, and asked if she would be his partner. "'i am willing,' little miss kitten said. 'what are we to do after we go into business?' "'why, when your mother takes you into the pantry to-night to teach you rat-catching, you are to warn me. as soon as your mother has gone out, you must call me with three mews, and i will come.' "well, all this was done as young mr. rat planned, and when old mrs. cat had gone out of the pantry, leaving miss kitten alone, young mr. rat scampered from his hole. without paying any attention to his partner, he pulled a big piece of cheese down from the shelf, and began eating it greedily. "'where do i come in on this business?' miss kitten asked. 'i'm your partner; but i don't like cheese.' "'get what you want then,' young mr. rat said sharply. 'you can't expect me to hunt around for things that i don't eat. have anything you please.' "'my mother once gave me a rat-tail to eat,' miss kitten replied thoughtfully. 'i believe i would rather have that than anything else,' and she looked longingly at young mr. rat's tail. "'oh, no indeed, you can't have that! perhaps i spoke too sharply about the cheese; but you can't have my tail.' "'yes, she can,' growled old mrs. cat from the door, where she had been listening. then she pounced upon young mr. rat and ate him, giving the tail to her kitten. there is a good lesson in that story, old mr. turtle says." "so there is, mrs. goose, and one needn't look long in order to find it," your aunt amy replied, and then she asked that question which had been in her mind ever since the bird began to talk. "have you ever heard about the mrs. goose who laid golden eggs?" the true story of the golden eggs. "indeed i have," mrs. goose replied quickly. "surely i ought to know all about her, for she was a great-great-grandmother of mine, and if i'm not mistaken, some of our family have her picture which mr. ape painted, when he set himself up as an artist. that is another case where discontent, when matters were going on as well as ever could have been expected, brought its punishment." "how can that be?" your aunt amy asked quickly. "the man killed the goose which was bringing in so much gold, and it surely seems as if she received the most severe punishment." "that would be right if the story, as mr. man tells it, was true," mrs. goose said sharply; "but it is not, and however it got so twisted i can't for the life of me understand. now if that goose was my great-great-grandmother, i ought to know all about it, and i do, for i've heard grandfather white goose tell it more times than i've got feathers in my left wing. "would you like to know how it all really happened? well, i'll tell you, and remember that i'm the one among all others on this farm who should know the exact truth. she was a gray goose, the one who laid the eggs, and looked very much like me, so grandfather says. the mr. man where she lived was very kind, and actually gave her a bedroom in his own house. no matter what she wanted to eat, he bought it for her, and all the eggs she laid he spread out on a kind of desk or table which had been built especially for them. "every morning when she had laid the egg, mr. man took her into the room where they were all spread out, and let her see him put it safely away. "now, so grandfather says, mrs. goose was petted so much, and had so many good things to eat, that she began to believe she was something wonderful, and i really suppose she was, being the only bird that ever laid golden eggs. but she got all puffed up with pride, and thought she ought to live without doing any kind of work, so one day while she was watching mr. man take care of the eggs, she saw a big knife hanging up, and asked why it was kept there. "'i did have it to kill geese with; but now, since you're the only goose i want, it isn't used.' mr. man said, and mrs. goose asked: "'is it sharp?' "'oh dear, yes, just like a razor,' mr. man said, still looking at the eggs. "'well, do you know i'm tired of doing so much work,' foolish mrs. goose said, 'and i've been thinking that you might fix things so i wouldn't be tied down to this egg-laying every day. surely _i_ ought to live in comfort.' [illustration: mrs. goose watches mr. man as he takes the golden eggs out of the basket.] "'that is what i intend you shall be able to do,' mr. man answered, for he wanted to keep her contented. 'is there anything more you need, mrs. goose?' "'i want to live without doing any kind of work,' mrs. goose said, as if she was the most abused bird in the world. "'but then how could we get these beautiful eggs?' mr. man cried. 'surely you take as much pleasure in them as i do! "'all that may be; but it is a great exertion to lay one every day, and no sooner is the work finished than i think of the same task to be done on the morrow, until i'm on the verge of nervous prostration,' and mrs. goose waddled up and down the room as if she was a living skeleton, instead of the fattest bird that ever walked. "'but what can i do, my dear creature?' mr. man cried in real distress, for he was afraid she might refuse to lay any more golden eggs, and that would have nearly broken his heart. "'why not take that knife and cut through my feathers till you find an egg. i am quite fat on my stomach, and it wouldn't do me the least little bit of harm. then all i'd have to do would be to come in here, and let you take the egg out.' "well, mr. man said everything he could think of to persuade the foolish goose that it was best to let well enough alone; but she coaxed and scolded, and finally declared flatly that unless he did as she wanted, she'd go out of the egg business entirely. "of course, after that, mr. man couldn't do any less than what she asked for, and although he used the knife very carefully, mrs. goose died before he found a single egg. now that is the truth of the story, as my grandfather tells it," mrs. gray goose continued, "and there is no question in my mind but that it is as true as the one you have heard so many times." "it surely seems more reasonable," your aunt amy said thoughtfully, "for nobody but a goose could have even dreamed that it would be best to cut a bird open to get at the eggs more quickly." "that is very true," mrs. gray goose replied; "but you must bear in mind that we who wear feathers are not the only geese in the world. i could point out a good many who would feel insulted if we claimed relationship with them. mr. man's boy johnny makes a bigger goose of himself than i am, many a time, and it's no longer ago than yesterday, when mr. fido dog showed how near he came to being my cousin." "tell me the story," your aunt amy suggested, and mrs. goose began without delay: the race between mr. fido and mr. shanghai. "for a good many weeks the birds and animals on this farm have been trying to decide whether the two-footed or the four-footed were the swiftest, and last week, while we were talking the matter over, foolish mr. fido dog said, as he swelled his chest way out: "'it stands to reason that i could beat mr. shanghai in a race. i've got four good feet with spring soles, and he has only two poor scratchers that are all bones and claws. why, i could easily run from here to the pond, take a drink there, and be home again before he got as far as the fence.' "'my, how big you talk, just because you're allowed to sleep in the house!' mr. shanghai said. 'you forget my wings, mr. fido. perhaps they are worth just a little.' "'nonsense!' mr. fido said, turning up his lip till he showed a fine set of white teeth, and tilting his puggy nose. 'what good are your wings? why, i heard mr. man tell his boy tommy last night that wings were of no use to chickens, except to fly over the fence with.' "'well,' said mr. shanghai, scratching his topknot with his left claw, and looking wise, 'you see there are times when it's better to be on one side of the fence than the other.' "'that's a wise remark, mr. shanghai,' mr. fido snapped. 'you must have a great head; but what good will it do you in a race to the pond? come on! i'll show you what can be done. here's where four feet beats two feet--yes, and wings thrown in, if you want them.' "'what is the course?' mr. shanghai asked. "'a straight line to the pond. are you ready?' "'all ready!' said mr. shanghai, and off they went. "it was a close race to the barn-yard fence. mr. shanghai ran hard with his neck stretched out; but mr. fido went on easily, laughing to think how easy it would be to win. "but when he came to the fence mr. fido stopped. he couldn't get over, and it took quite a while to creep through. he wiggled and pushed anxiously; but mr. shanghai, spreading his big wings, flew over, and was at the pond a full minute before mr. fido got on the other side of the fence. [illustration: mr. shanghai wins the race] "when he went back mr. shanghai couldn't help laughing at mr. fido, and saying: 'now you can see that there are times when it is better to be on one side of a fence than another. you're as much out of place in a race with me, as the gosling was in the stork's nest.'" when mrs. goose's baby wasn't welcome. "what did he mean by that?" your aunt amy asked, and mrs. goose really laughed as she replied: "it was a silly trick mr. man's boy tommy played on mr. and mrs. stork, who had built a nest on the top of the farm-house chimney. i had nine babies, while the storks only hatched out one, and they were all exactly the same age. "tommy boy, who never has work enough to keep him out of mischief, thought it would be very funny to put one of my babies in the storks' nest, and leave their little one with me, so he got a ladder, and came very near breaking his bones in order to make the change while mrs. stork was away looking for food. "when she came back, there was my dear little gosling sitting up on his tail as if he expected to have his picture taken, trying to tell what tommy had done. "of course mrs. stork couldn't understand a word my dear little gosling said, because he didn't talk plain owing to having no teeth, and she sent in a hurry for her husband to come and find out what had happened to their baby. [illustration: baby gosling tries to explain.] "i got so nervous while the storks were trying to decide whether to kill my poor little gosling by pecking him, or throwing him out of the nest, that i nearly had a fit, and suppose i must have made a terrible noise, for mr. man came running up to learn what the matter was. it didn't take him many minutes to understand it all, when johnny was forced to undo the mischief, and take a sound whipping afterward, much to my delight and satisfaction." at this moment mr. gander came into view, evidently very much excited, and said something which your aunt amy could not understand. "i must go over to the oak tree, and you had better come too," mrs. gray goose said hurriedly. "mr. crow has just made up some new poetry, and is going to read it. can't you go with me?" your aunt amy was not in the mood for hearing any more of mr. crow's verses, after mrs. goose had recited so many, and she went slowly homeward, while mrs. gray goose followed mr. gander, hissing complaints as she waddled along, because he had not invited her to have a portion of the frog he swallowed whole. [illustration: mrs. gray goose complains.] the end. transcriber note text emphasis is dentoed as _italic_ and =bold=. u. s. department of agriculture. farmers' bulletin no. 64. ducks and geese: standard breeds and management. by george e. howard, _secretary of national poultry and pigeon association_. [illustration] washington: government printing office. 1897. letter of transmittal. u. s. department of agriculture, bureau of animal industry, _washington, d. c., september 24, 1897_. sir: i have the honor to transmit herewith, for publication as a farmers' bulletin, an article on ducks and geese, prepared by mr george e. howard, secretary of the national poultry and pigeon association. it comprises an enumeration of the standard breeds of ducks and geese, and contains suggestions for their management. the practical information contained in this bulletin will undoubtedly prove of value to persons engaged in raising ducks and geese, and its publication and widespread distribution are respectfully recommended. the illustrations were drawn by the author from original sketches and photographs, with the exception of three of the cross-bred geese, which are after the illustrations published by the rhode island experiment station, and the wild goose, which is after the illustration in wright's book of poultry. the author has received generous assistance in treating of the practical details from james rankin, a. j. hallock, george h. pollard, and others who are largely engaged an the raising of water fowls for market. respectfully, d. e. salmon, _chief of bureau_. hon. james wilson, _secretary_. contents. ducks. page. standard breeds of ducks 3 white pekin ducks (illustrated) 4 white aylesbury ducks (illustrated) 5 colored rouen ducks (illustrated) 8 black cayuga ducks (illustrated) 10 colored and white muscovy ducks (illustrated) 12 gray and white call ducks (illustrated) 14 black east indian ducks 15 crested white ducks (illustrated) 17 management of ducks 18 starting a plant (illustrated) 19 buildings for breeding ducks (illustrated) 20 brooding houses (illustrated) 22 supplying water (illustrated) 29 feeding 30 mixing feed 32 how much to feed 32 oyster shells and grit 33 killing and dressing for market (illustrated) 33 development of the duckling in the egg 34 natural incubation 36 artificial incubation 36 geese standard breeds of geese 38 gray toulouse geese (illustrated) 38 white embden geese (illustrated) 39 gray african geese (illustrated) 40 brown and white chinese geese (illustrated) 41 gray wild geese (illustrated) 43 colored egyptian geese (illustrated) 43 management of geese 44 mating and setting 45 feeding and dressing for market 47 cross breeding (illustrated) 48 ducks and geese. ducks. standard breeds of ducks. =introduction.=--there are ten standard breeds of ducks raised in this country, as follows: the white pekin, white aylesbury, colored rouen, black cayuga, colored muscovy, white muscovy, gray call, white call, black east indian, and the crested white. of these breeds, the first six are considered profitable to raise; the two breeds of calls and the black east indian are bantams, and are bred more for the showroom; the crested white may be considered as almost purely ornamental. [illustration: fig. 1.--white pekin duck.] white pekin ducks. =history.=--of all ducks for farm and practical purposes none stand higher in popular esteem than the white pekin (fig. 1). it is valuable for raising on a large scale, and is the most easily raised of any. it is a very timid bird and must be handled quite carefully. it was imported from china in the early seventies, and has steadily grown in popularity since its introduction into this country. [illustration: fig. 2.--group of white pekin ducks.] =description.=--the pekin duck has a distinct type of its own, and differs from all others in the shape and carriage of its body. by some it is credited with having a shape much like an indian canoe, owing to the full growth of feathers under the rump and the singular turned-up carriage of the tail. the legs are set far back, which causes the bird to walk in an upright position. in size these ducks are very large, some reaching as high as 20 pounds to the pair. their flesh is very delicate and free from grossness, and they are considered among the best of table fowls. they are excellent layers, averaging from 100 to 130 eggs each in a season. they are nonsetters, hardy, easily raised, and the earliest in maturing of any ducks. the method given in this bulletin for raising ducks is based on the pekin as a standard, and the treatment, food, housing, etc., is given as used by the largest and most successful raisers of pekins. other ducks are judged for practical qualities by the pekin. fig. 2 shows a group of white pekin ducks. the standard-bred pekin has a long finely formed head, a bill of medium size, of a deep yellow color, that is perfectly free from any mark or color other than yellow. the color of the bill is very important for exhibition birds, and it is not infrequent that one of the best ducks in a showroom is disqualified for having a faint tracing of black in the bill. the eyes are of deep leaden-blue color. the neck of a pekin should be neatly curved; in the drake it should be large and rather long, while that of the duck is of medium length. the back is long and broad; breast is round, full, and very prominent. the body is long and deep, and the standard gives for adult birds a body approaching the outlines of a parallelogram. the wings are short, carried closely and smoothly against the body. the birds can not sustain flight, a 2-foot fencing being ample to restrain them in an inclosure. the tail is erect, more so than in any other specimen. the curled feathers in the tail of the drake are hard and stiff. the thighs are short and large; shanks short and strong, and in color are a reddish orange; toes straight, connected by a web, and reddish orange in color. the plumage is downy, and of a faint creamy white throughout. recently it has been noticed that preference in the showroom is being given to birds of whiter plumage. the breeders are selecting as their show birds those that have the snow-white plumage instead of the creamy white, as given in the standard. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 8 pounds; adult duck, 7 pounds; young drake, 7 pounds, and young duck, 6 pounds. white aylesbury ducks. =history.=--the white aylesbury ducks (fig. 3.) are second to the popular pekins for market purposes, and are bred in large numbers in england and europe. in this country they are not so extensively bred as the pekin, neither have they been found so good as the latter. these ducks receive their name from aylesbury, the county town of buckinghamshire, england. they are of large size, pairs occasionally reaching the weight of 18 pounds, the male birds weighing 9 or 10 pounds, and the female 7 or 8. birds weighing 15 to 16 pounds to the pair are the average. =description.=--the head of the aylesbury duck is long and neatly formed; the eyes of a deep leaden-blue color; the long, wide bill is of a pale flesh color or pinkish hue, and should be free from dark spots, bills marked with black being a disqualification; the neck is slender, long, and gracefully curved; the body is long and oval; the breast is full and round; the strong shanks are of brilliant light-orange color; the wings are strong and nicely folded; the back is both long and broad, and the tail formed of stiff, hard feathers. [illustration: fig. 3.--group of white aylesbury ducks.] the soft white plumage is one of the chief attractions of the aylesbury breed, and like most white plumage has a tendency to assume a yellow hue if exposed to the sun. the beak will also lose its delicate pink hue and become yellow if exposed to too much sunlight in summer. the bill of the pekin should be yellow, but the bill of the aylesbury should be a delicate pink or flesh color, and birds intended for exhibition must possess this quality or they will suffer at the hands of the judge. birds raised for exhibition purposes must be guarded against too much exposure to the sunlight in the summer. of course, these delicate points are of no consequence to the market poulterer other than to show the true type of the breed. for farm purposes the aylesbury is to be recommended, second only to the pekin; it possesses the many good qualities of the pekin, and can be bred with almost the same success. the advantages claimed for aylesbury are the ease with which it is acclimated, thriving in every country and climate; its early maturity; its great hardiness; its large size; its great prolificacy, and the real beauty which it possesses. raisers recommend for raising exhibition birds one drake to two ducks, or two drakes to five ducks, all being allowed to run together. duck raisers who raise large numbers for market breed them as they do pekins, using from four to eight females to one male, according to the season of the year. fresh blood is introduced every year to keep up the size, and breeding stock is seldom kept longer than the second or third year. the aylesbury being an english duck, it will be of interest to note the methods employed in their native place for raising them, as given by an english writer in the following statements: in and about the town of aylesbury very many of the cottagers maintain, each of them, a set of ducks, about 4 ducks to a drake. these they keep in any outbuilding attached to their dwellings and, failing such a place, in the cottage itself. from them the "duckers" (dealers peculiar to the trade) collect the eggs, and generally bargain with the owners for their whole supply at a given rate for the season. they begin their collection in october, and the contract is often made for the whole produce up to june. the breeding stock of a "ducker" who does an average trade consists of six drakes and twenty ducks; these all run together, and the brooks and ponds are looked upon almost as common property. they are separated at night, driven up to their respective homes, well fed and warmly housed. the eggs which were laid during the nighttime are set, as soon as possible, under large and attentive hens, for which purpose good dorkings and cochins are considered best. the ducks themselves are never allowed to sit, though they may desire to do so, as the result would be almost certain failure. thirteen eggs comprise a setting, and these are easily covered by a large hen. hens are set either in fish pads, small hampers, or, in what we have found most serviceable, the round boxes in which cheeses are packed. in the bottom of these is placed some lime or wood ashes, and then a nest of hay or some soft straw; there the hens must be kept as quiet as possible. special care must be taken to guard against the intrusion of rats or other vermin by which the hen mother may be disturbed and, as is often the case, the whole setting be destroyed thereby. the period of incubation is twenty-eight days, and during the last week of that time care must be taken to sprinkle the eggs daily with lukewarm water, which softens the shells, so that when the time comes for the duckling to make its appearance it has not much difficulty in breaking through its covering. when the young are hatched they should be left with the hen until well nestled, well dried, and strong enough to stand. many scores of ducklings are lost by inexperienced persons through their impatience to remove them from the nest. the little duckling is at first clad with soft, yellow down, which gradually disappears as the feathers grow. after a few days, three or four broods are put together with one hen, which is quite able to take care of them all. for market purposes the treatment of the ducklings is as follows: they are not allowed to go into any water, but are kept in hovels or the rooms of cottages, each lot of thirty or forty separated by low boards. it is no uncommon thing to see 2,000 or 3,000, all in one establishment. they are kept very clean and dry on barley straw; their food consists of hard-boiled eggs, chopped fine and mixed with boiled rice and bullock's liver, cut tip small. this is given to them several times in the day for about a fortnight or more. when they are capable of consuming more they are fed on barley meal and tallow greaves (cracklings), mixed together with the water in which the greaves previously have been boiled. some poultrymen also use horseflesh to mix with their other food. the above constitutes all that is necessary to produce early ducklings for the table. in plumage the aylesburys are a pure, spotless white, and feathers of any other color will disqualify them. drake and duck vary only in the ordinary respect of the male bird, showing a very handsome curled feather in the tail and being of a larger size than his mate. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 9 pounds; adult duck, 8 pounds; young drake, 8 pounds, and young duck, 7 pounds. colored rouen ducks. =history.=--the colored rouen duck (fig. 4) is deservedly popular throughout this country, and is considered one of the most profitable breeds to keep. these ducks are said to have come originally from the city of rouen, in normandy. it is known that large quantities of poultry are raised in normandy, and while there may be no positive proof that these ducks came originally from that city, large numbers of birds closely resembling them are to be found in the market places there. some writers contend that the name should be "roan," owing to their color, but the color itself does not support this contention. the correct name is rouen, and "roan" is undoubtedly a corruption. =description.=--the rouen duck is a fine market bird, but does not mature as early as does the pekin or the aylesbury. the flesh is considered very delicate, and the breed is acknowledged to be superior for table purposes, being easily fattened. the rouen will be found a profitable bird to raise on the farm, being hardy, prolific, quiet in disposition, and of beautiful plumage. their eggs are not as large as those of the pekin, and are diverse in color. the rouen is undoubtedly closely related to the mallard duck; its plumage alone would make good this belief. but the shape of the domestic rouen duck has been greatly modified from that of the wild mallard; the body is grown longer and heavier, with a tendency to drop down in the rear; the wings have lost the power of flight which the wild ancestor possessed. the plumage, however, remains almost the same. [illustration: fig. 4.--trio of colored rouen ducks.] the standard-bred rouen drake has a long, finely-formed head, with rich, lustrous green plumage; bill long and broad, wider at the extremity, of greenish-yellow color, with a black bead at the tip; the neck is long, slender, and neatly curved, covered with the same lustrous green plumage as the head, which is interrupted by a distinct white ring, not quite complete behind, on the lower part of neck. the back is long, the upper part being ashy gray, mixed with green, and running into a rich, lustrous green on the lower part and rump; the shoulder coverts are gray, striped with fine, wavy lines of brown. the breast is broad and deep and purplish brown or claret color, perfectly free from gray feathers; the claret color should extend down as far as possible toward the legs. the body is long, deep, and broad, the under part and sides being a beautiful gray, which grows lighter near the vent, ending in solid black just beneath the tail. the wings are short and carried closely and smoothly against the sides; in color the wings are of a brownish gray, interspersed with green, and marked with a band of rich purple, with metallic reflections of green and blue lights, and edged with distinct white bands; the primary feathers are of a dark, dusky brown. the tail feathers are hard and stiff, and of a dark ashy-brown color; the outer edge in old birds is edged with white; the curled feathers are well curled and hard. the thighs are short and stout and of ashy-gray plumage; the shanks are short and strong, and in color orange with brownish tinge; the toes and webs are of the same color as the shanks. the head of the rouen duck, like that of the drake, is long and finely formed, but with a deep-brown plumage and two stripes of lighter brown extending from the beak to behind the eyes; bill, long, broad, and somewhat flat, brownish orange in color, blotched with darker shade upon the upper part and ending in a black beam at the tip. the neck is neatly curved, long and slender, light brown in plumage, penciled with a darker shade of the same color; unlike the drake, there is no white ring on the neck. the back is long, of a light-brown color richly marked with green; breast, full and round and of dark-brown plumage, penciled with lighter brown; body, long, deep, and broad, the under part and sides of plumage being grayish brown, each feather penciled with rich dark brown to the point of the tail. the wings are short for the size of the bird and are carried closely against the sides; the color of the plumage is grayish brown, intermingled with green, with bars of purple edged with white, the colors being distinct; primaries are brown. the tail feathers are stiff and of a light-brown color, distinctly marked with pencilings of dark greenish brown; tail coverts are brown, penciled with the same dark brown, or greenish brown, as the tail. the thighs are dark brown, penciled; and shanks, toes, and webs are orange or orange brown. both the rouen drake and duck, clothed in plumage attractive and pleasing to the eye, are as much fanciers' fowls as any of the varieties of chickens, yet they are of much value as market birds. the only objection to them, aside from their slow maturing qualities, is that of the dark pinfeathers. this should not stand against them any more than it does against the many valuable varieties of chickens that have dark plumage and dark pinfeathers. to the farmer who intends raising ducks for market purposes they are to be recommended. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 9 pounds; adult duck, 8 pounds; young drake, 8 pounds, and young duck, 7 pounds. black cayuga ducks. =history.=--the black cayuga (fig. 5) is distinctly an american duck, having been bred so long in this country that all trace of its origin is lost. it is said that it was first found in the central part of new york, on cayuga lake. it was sometimes called the "big black duck," and again the "lake duck," but is now known only as the black cayuga duck. by some it is supposed to have originally come from the wild black duck, and another story has it that it was first found in dutchess county, in the state of new york, where a miller was raising a flock of thirty, which, he said, were bred from a pair he had captured several years previous in a mill pond. they were kept in the poultry yard, easily tamed, and built their nests on the edges of the pond and raised large broods. for many years the cayuga has been raised in this country and has been considered by those who have bred it to be a profitable duck to keep. [illustration: fig. 5.--pair of black cayuga ducks.] =description.=--by some raisers the cayuga is considered to be as good as the pekin for early markets, and the claim is made that it can be grown as cheaply. this assertion is not verified by any practical demonstration, as these ducks are rarely, if ever, seen on any farm where ducks are raised exclusively. though raisers generally speak of their merits as making them profitable, and place them next to the pekin for early markets, they prefer the latter for exclusive duck raising where early maturity and plump carcasses are wanted. their black plumage is against them also, and many assign this as the reason why they are not more extensively bred. the farmer who desires a good, practical duck to raise on his farm in conjunction with other poultry will find this a valuable bird to keep. more time can be spent in dressing it for market than is generally given to the dressing of the white-plumage birds, and the profits will be proportionately as great. duck raisers, like broiler raisers, are partial to white feathers for market fowls, but those who do not look with this partiality on the white varieties will find an excellent choice in the cayuga duck. cayugas are splendid birds for a restricted range and breed well in confinement; they are quiet, docile, and form a strong attachment for their home, evincing no inclination or desire to stray far away from the place where they were bred. they are hardy and prolific, producing from 80 to 90 eggs in the spring, and sometimes they also lay again in the autumn. they are easily kept in good condition, but if fed too liberally they will fatten too quickly and will become too heavy behind. the ducklings are hardy and easy to raise, and attain good size and weight at an early age. the head of the cayuga is small, with glossy black plumage; bill rather short and broad, of dark color, black being preferred; the eyes dark hazel. the neck is medium, gracefully curved, clad in black feathers with a greenish luster; the back is broad, and the body long, well rounded, and very plump, the feathers being of a glossy black hue. the wings are long and are carried smoothly against the body, and are black in color, excepting those of the duck, which are sometimes of a dark brown. the coverts of the drake are a very lustrous green black; the tail feathers are black, as are the thighs. black shanks, toes, and webs are preferred, though dark slate color is permissible according to the standard requirements. the color of the plumage must be lustrous black throughout, and feathers of any other color will disqualify a bird in the showroom. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 8 pounds; adult duck, 7 pounds; young drake, 7 pounds, and young duck, 6 pounds. colored and white muscovy ducks. =history.=--muscovy ducks (fig. 6) form a distinct genus, having several peculiarities or characteristics which make them different from others. they are sometimes called the musk duck, owing to the odor of musk which pervades the skin, but which is not noticeable when cooked. these ducks are found wild in the warmer regions of south america. in brazil they are extensively domesticated and are prized very highly for eating. in this country and europe, particularly in germany, they are bred in large numbers. wild muscovies are easily frightened and very good flyers; they fly into trees when alarmed and remain there for long periods of time before leaving their place of concealment. they sometimes build their nests in branches of trees, and also in hollows near water. =description.=--muscovy ducks are very unsatisfactory birds to keep on the farm with other poultry, owing to their quarrelsome and pugnacious natures. in the wild state, before pairing, the males tight desperately, doing great harm to each other; and this fighting, quarrelsome disposition is inherited by the domestic duck. the temper of the drake is spoken of as abominable; his persecution of other poultry is never ceasing, and he is credited with having attacked even children when his "dander was up." the flesh of the muscovy is considered very good when eaten young, and compares favorably with that of any other duck. they do not lay nearly so many eggs as the common kinds. when bred they must be kept in yards by themselves, and their wings must be clipped to keep them from flying. [illustration: fig. 6.--pair of white muscovy ducks.] the head of the muscovy duck is rather long, and in the drake it is large, the top being covered with long crest-like feathers, which rise and fall when the bird is alarmed. the bill is of medium length and very stout. the face is the most distinctive part of these ducks, the cheeks being naked, with a scarlet, fleshy space around the eyes, and the base of the bill carunculated also with scarlet folds. this large, red face gives them a savage appearance, and to some it is hideous. the neck is well curved and of medium length; back broad and flat, breast full and broad, and body long and broad. the wings are very long and stout, and the tail is rather long, with abundance of stiff feathering. the drake does not have the curled feathers in the tail, as do other ducks. there are two varieties of muscovy ducks, the colored and the white. the head of the colored muscovy is glossy black and white; the bill is dark horn in color; eyes, brown; the back in color of plumage is lustrous blue black, which is sometimes broken with white; the color of the breast and body is the same as that of the back. the wing coverts are rich, lustrous green black, and the tail feathers may be either black or white, the latter being preferred. the thighs, like the tail feathers, may be either black or white, white being preferred; the shanks, toes, and webs vary in color from yellow to dark lead or black. the white muscovy in color of plumage is pure white throughout; feathers of any other color will disqualify the bird for show purposes. the eyes in the white variety are of a leaden-blue or gray color, while those of the colored are brown. the shanks, toes, and webs are of a pale-orange or yellow color. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 10 pounds; adult duck, 8 pounds; young drake, 8 pounds, and young duck, 7 pounds. gray and white call ducks. [illustration: fig. 7.--pair of white call ducks.] =history.=--call ducks are bantams, and are bred more for the fancy than for the profit there is in them for market. there are two kinds of call ducks, the gray call and the white call (fig. 7), and it is only a choice of plumage as to which is the better of the two. they are both of one character as to size, shape, and habits, and differ only as regards color. the gray call is very similar in color of plumage to the rouen, and is indeed called by many the bantam rouen, and the white is generally called the bantam pekin. their uses are only for the showroom, or as decoy ducks for wild-duck shooting. for the latter purpose they are sometimes crossed with the common "puddle duck" or with the wild mallard. this latter cross is considered excellent, the progeny being distinguished for tameness and domesticity. =description.=--when breeding call ducks, smallness of size is the first consideration; the smaller they are bred the better. the arts of skillful breeding for the showroom are being used in keeping down the size of these ducks. inbreeding has been resorted to, while late hatching, scanty feeding, and nonbone-making food have been the means that have retarded their natural development. the head of the call duck is full and round; bill, short and broad; neck of medium length, and back comparatively short; the breast is round and full, and body short, round, and compact, with medium-sized wings; the thighs are short and stout, and shanks short. the gray call drake is a beautiful little bird, with a rich, lustrous green head, dark-hazel or brown eyes, lustrous green neck, with a white ring on the lower part of neck, as in the rouen. the back is of ashy-gray plumage mixed with green on the upper part, while the lower part and rump are a rich, lustrous green. the under part of the body on the sides is a beautiful gray, which grows lighter toward the vent, and ends in solid black under the tail. the wings are grayish brown, mixed with green, and have the broad ribbon-like mark of rich purple with metallic reflections of green and blue, distinctly edged with white. the primaries are a dark, dusky brown. the tail feathers are of a dark, ashy brown, the outer web in old birds being edged with white; the tail coverts are black, with very rich purple reflections. the bill is greenish yellow in color, while the shanks, toes, and webs are orange, with a brownish tinge. the duck's head is deep brown, and has two pale-brown stripes on each side, like the head of the rouen duck, running from the bill to a point behind the eyes. her bill is of a brownish-orange color, and her eyes are dark hazel or brown. the neck is light brown, penciled with darker brown; breast, dark brown, penciled with lighter brown; back, light brown, marked with green, and the under parts and sides of body are grayish brown, each feather distinctly penciled with rich dark brown. the plumage of wing is grayish brown, mixed with green, and is crossed by a broad bar of rich purple edged with white; the primaries are brown. the tail feathers are of a light-brown color, with distinct, broad, wavy penciling of dark greenish brown; tail coverts are brown, with broad penciling of dark brown or greenish brown; thighs are dark brown; shanks, toes, and webs are orange brown. the white gall is pure white in plumage throughout, and feathers of any other color will disqualify it. it is in every respect like the gray call except in plumage, in the color of the eyes, which are a gray or blue, and the color of the shanks, which are a bright orange. =weight.=--no standard weight is given for call ducks. black east indian ducks. =history.=--another standard breed of ducks which is hardly considered a rival of the pekin, aylesbury, cayuga, or rouen, is the black east indian. this duck bears the same relation to those just named as does the bantam to the larger varieties of chickens. the black east indian and the call ducks are the bantam breeds of ducks, being bred more for their smallness of size than for their profitableness. the same devices are resorted to in breeding them as were mentioned for breeding the call ducks. =description.=--the east indian duck is hardy, and would, if carefully bred from the largest and best specimens, grow to a fairly good size, and be profitable to keep. in weight they seldom grow larger than 2 to 2â½, pounds each. the close inbreeding to which they have been subjected has been detrimental to their egg production, while those strains which have not been so closely bred have proved very prolific. it may be said in favor of these ducks, that if allowed to increase in size, which they will readily do under favorable circumstances, they would prove very profitable to those who prefer keeping small-sized birds to the larger ones. the east indian duck is very shy in its habits, and is given to long flights, but if attention is shown them in feeding they become attached to their home surroundings. they can not be successfully bred in confinement; their natures are roaming and they like freedom of life. the first eggs of a litter laid by these ducks are sooty or nearly black in color, but they gradually grow lighter until they assume the color common to the eggs of most varieties. they are splendid sitters, and will invariably steal their nests if permitted to do so, but the duck and brood when hatched should be confined for a couple of weeks, that the young may not be exposed until they have gained some strength and size. the head of the black east indian duck is short and small; eyes dark hazel; bill rather short. the head of the drake is of a dark yellowish green, free from all spots or blemishes, and the duck's head is very dark, almost black. the exact coloring of the bill of the drake is considered of the utmost importance. it is described by an enthusiast as being a sort of pale yellow, washed over with blackish green, the color being laid on thinly, as it were, so as to give an almost transparent effect, and shaded off at the tip into a kind of slate color. by another raiser the color of the bill is described as an olive green. the neck is neatly curved and short; back, of good length and medium width. the breast is full, round, and plump. the body is long and comparatively small; wings of medium length and nicely folded; tail short, and in the drake has the curled feathers. the thighs are short and stout, and shanks are short and rather small. the plumage is a rich black, with a brilliant greenish tint throughout. the color of the plumage is of much worth to the beauty of these ducks; it must be intensely black, rich in greenish' reflections, and perfectly free from white. the plumage upon the neck, back, and shoulder coverts will show more of the green than will the underparts, the coloring of the drake surpassing that of the duck. it is seemingly a difficult matter to breed specimens of the required color of plumage; more especially is it so with the duck, whose plumage is likely to be of a brownish tint. these ducks are quite likely to show more or less white in plumage. the white feathers usually appear about the eyes and also upon the breast. birds that have been free from white as ducklings have been known to molt almost pure white. the ducklings when first hatched are black, with a shade of yellow on the breast, and with jet-black feet, shanks, and bill. when breeding these ducks use two females to one male, and the eggs will prove very fertile. the young will be very hardy after five or six weeks of age, and there should be no trouble in rearing them after that time. give the youngsters free range and they will find nearly their whole living in grasses, insects, etc. =weight.=--there is no standard weight given for black east indians; the smaller their size the higher they rank for exhibition purposes. crested white ducks. _history._--the crested white duck (fig. 8) is what may be called an ornamental duck, much the same as polish chickens. they are not bred to any great extent in this country, and they are very seldom seen in the showrooms. they have no especial value to the farmer, as better and more easily-bred birds are to be found in the pekin and aylesbury. [illustration: fig. 8.--pair of crested white ducks.] =description.=--these ducks have a medium-sized head; medium-sized bill; a large, well-balanced crest upon the crown of the head; a rather long neck; a medium-length back; breast, round and full; body, round and of medium length; medium-length wings that smoothly fold; hard, stiff tail feathers, with well-curled feathers in the tail of drake; and short and stout thighs and shanks. their eyes are large and bright and of a deep leaden blue or gray color. the shanks, toes, and webs are of a light-orange color. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult drake is 7 pounds; adult duck, 6 pounds; young drake, 6 pounds, and young duck, 5 pounds. management of ducks. duck raising has been developed within the last ten years into a flourishing industry. prior to that time the duck was not considered a profitable fowl to raise; its flesh was never prized very highly by the masses. ducks were raised without constraint in waterways, feeding mostly on fish and water insects. this food gave the flesh a strong fishy flavor; hence it was not particularly sought after, save by the few who were partial to that class of diet. the duck centers of long island and new england were then producing a limited number each season, and it was with difficulty that these were sold with any profit. in fact, one of the most prominent duck raisers may be quoted as saying that he was obliged to visit the city markets personally and tease the dealers to purchase his birds, in order to secure anything like satisfactory prices. artificial incubation and brooding, combined with judicious feeding, have been instrumental in the development of the industry. machinery has enabled the duck raiser to accomplish his ambition of having his stock in the markets when prices are the best, and also of raising large numbers of birds in a limited space of time. the season for raising ducks is about six months--from february to july. the methods employed by the most successful raisers will be given in this bulletin, and the most approved buildings, appliances, feeding, and care will be treated in detail. duck raising is to be recommended to farmers as a profitable source of revenue; and by careful attention to the work, as knowledge increases, the scope of the industry may be extended. there are numbers of farms in this country to-day that are devoted exclusively to raising ducks, averaging from 5,000 to 20,000 ducks as an annual output. an idea of the proportions of the business may be had from the fact that as high as three tons of feed are used daily by a single raiser during the busy season. the profits are the very best, and good incomes may be made when once the business is thoroughly mastered. but the reader should not jump imprudently to the conclusion that these results can be easily obtained. duck raising is an arduous task; one that requires an apprenticeship and absolute knowledge of the business before success is reached. those who have been successful in raising ducks have learned the business much as one does any other vocation. the beginner should start modestly, and increase his plant as his knowledge of the work increases. the average farmer has all the facilities for raising a goodly number of ducks, and may with a little outlay add considerably to his income. it is not at all necessary that ducks should have access to water to be raised successfully; they grow and thrive as readily without. there are successful plants where thousands of ducks are raised that have no water, save that which is given them as drink. it has been a matter of much dispute which is the better way. some duck raisers use water and allow their breeders the freedom of it; some allow their growing stock intended for market free access to water until they are eight weeks old, when they are penned and fattened for market. on the other hand, there are raisers who have no water on their farms, excepting wells, who are just as successful and raise as many birds as those who have the water. the only noticeable difference between "upland" and "water" ducks is that the latter are of prettier and cleaner plumage than the former. [illustration: fig. 9.--plans for a duck plant.] starting a plant. a duck plant should be located on a line of railroad in direct communication with the city markets, and not too far from the station. almost any location will do for the plant, and worn-out land, that can be had cheap, will do as well as the richer and more fertile land costing several times as much. sandy sod is to be preferred. the buildings should be arranged to secure good drainage and be convenient to each other, that labor may be reduced to a minimum. the labor attached to raising poultry is an item that is overlooked by many, and the cost of it often reduces very notably the earnings of the plant. every department of the plant should be so located as to economize the time of the attendants. the incubator cellar should be convenient to the brooder house, the brooder house to the growing house and pens, and these to the killing house. the feed house should be located conveniently to the brooder and growing houses and the breeding pens. the task of feeding the growing stock four times a day and the breeding stock twice a day is no small one. watering is also to be thought about. the exact arrangement of a plant suited to all locations can not be given, as each locality differs from others in some respect, and what may be suitable for one will hardly do for the other. the plans of no two of the largest plants are alike. they differ in location of the buildings to suit the lay of the land; but they all have the same general idea of the convenience of each building to the others. illustration of this will be seen in fig. 9. when laying out a plant, make provisions for future enlargement; allow plenty of room on all sides to extend the buildings without rendering inconvenient the work that will be necessary to attend to the additional stock. buildings for breeding ducks. [illustration: fig. 10.--house for breeding ducks.] houses for ducks are single affairs. they are built plain and comfortable, and have no furnishings whatever. a duck is differently constituted from a hen, and must be cared for under different conditions. the hen needs warmer houses and drier surroundings than does the duck. a duck does not mind the cold, if she can keep her feet warm; cold feet will affect a duck as a frozen comb does a hen, retarding laying and inducing ailments. the feathers of a duck are almost impenetrable and will withstand almost any degree of cold. again, a duck can not stand the amount of confinement in a house that a hen can; she is more restless in disposition and is given to exercise in a greater degree than is a hen. indigestion is not so prevalent with ducks as with chickens; the duck's ceaseless motion aids the digestive organs and keeps her generally in good health. in fig. 10 is shown a simple house that may be built at small expense. it is plain and has a shed roof. such a house should be built of rough boards, 12 inches by 1 inch, and joints covered by 3-inch by 1-inch strips. the roof should be made water-tight and covered with tarred paper, shingles, or tin. the outside should be well drained around the bottom, that it may not be damp. some advocate board floors, raised from 6 to 8 inches from the ground and covered from 4 to 6 inches with dry earth, straw, or leaves. the writer favors the using of board floors in all houses for chickens, but thinks it not essential for ducks. if the house is well drained on the outside and the earth floor is covered with hay, straw, or leaves, it will be perfectly satisfactory. there must not be dampness in the house, as the birds will not do so well; while they are given to water on the outside they must have comfortable quarters in which to "warm up," or "dry out." the building shown in fig. 10 may be constructed of any dimensions desired, according to the size of flock to be kept. a house 12 by 14 feet will accommodate nicely a flock of a dozen. there are no interior arrangements whatever, simply the floor surface of the building. it is better not to use nests. some raisers use a plain nest, as shown in fig. 11. these nests are made of 1-inch boards, 12 inches high and 16 inches long, set 14 inches apart, and held together in front with a 3-inch strip. the nests are nailed to the back of the house. but more than half the eggs are laid on the floor of the house or in the yard, and, if permitted, a duck will build herself a nest to her liking. again, a duck is liable to injure herself by falling over the strips in front of nests or other obstructions that may be in the house. in fig. 12 is shown the nest of a wild duck. [illustration: fig. 11.--nests for ducks.] [illustration: fig. 12.--nest of wild duck.] when two or more breeding pens are to be kept, the plan of the house shown in fig. 10 may be extended to any length desired, as shown in fig. 13. in figs. 14 and 15 are shown two more designs of duck houses, which are practical and cheap, and may be built singly or in rows for a number of pens. either of these houses, and also that shown in fig. 10, make excellent breeding houses for the farmer to keep ducks in. an inclosure should be given the breeding ducks, as they do better confined than when at liberty. give plenty of room and inclose the run with 2-inch wire mesh 2 feet wide. if water is accessible, it should be inclosed by the mesh-wire fencing of the same width as for the run. in fig. 16 is shown a duck house with water runs, and also the arrangement of wire runs in the water. this is an admirable plan for farmers who have running water on their farms. brooding houses. the general construction of a brooder house is similar to that of the breeding house, and differs only in interior arrangements. the latter has no interior arrangements whatever, while the former has the system of heating and covers necessary for giving warmth to the young stock. in fig. 17 is shown a design of single-brooder house and ground plan that is generally used by duck raisers. this house should be built upon a good foundation and be entirely proof against rats. a good plan is to sink half-inch wire mesh about 2 feet in the ground and around the entire inside of the building; this will make it perfectly secure against rats and mice. the accepted plan of a brooder house makes it 15 feet wide and as long as desired. the building is 4 feet high in front and 5 feet in rear. ground plan. [illustration: fig. 13.--plan and ground plan of five-pen breeding house for ducks.] it is divided into pens 12 feet long and 6 feet wide, and has a 3 foot passageway extending the entire length of the building. the ground plan (fig. 17) shows the general arrangement of the interior and location of the brooders. the brooder box is next to the passageway, or walk, and runs the entire length of the building. this box is 30 inches wide and 8 inches high; the sides are 7 inches high and nailed securely; the top of the cover is nailed across with cleats to make it substantial, and the cover has an inch strip nailed underneath in front and back to keep it in position. these strips rest against the 7-inch sides and make the brooder snug and tight when closed. the heating pipes are directly beneath the cover and are 2-inch pipes, flow and return. some prefer 1-inch pipes, using two flows and two returns. when three pipes are used they should be about 8 inches apart from center to center. these pipes rest on the partition boards of the pens. the front of the brooder, leading into the pens, is cut out in the center about 4 inches deep and 4 feet long (fig. 18, _a_), while the ends and the other side are solid, being 7 inches high. the construction of the brooder is clearly shown in fig. 18, _b_, with cover removed, while fig. 18, _c_, shows cover. the heater is located at the end of building. [illustration: fig. 14.--house for breeding ducks.] another plan of brooder house is that shown in fig. 19. this house is known as a double brooder house, with walk in the center and pens on either side, and with heater at the end. many prefer this plan to the single brooder house, as the care and attention required for the youngsters is much less and the cost of heating is reduced, one heater being sufficient for both lines of pipes. then, again, this latter plan shortens the length of the building by one-half and makes the work more concentrated. the arrangement of the interior is the same as that of the single brooder house. [illustration: fig. 15.--house for breeding and growing ducks.] the plans of brooder houses, as given above, are for ducklings from the time they are taken from the machines until they are ready for the cold brooder, or growing house. the young ducklings, when taken from the nest or incubator, are very delicate and susceptible to the changes of the atmosphere; they must be kept very warm and free from chilling. the first three weeks of a duckling's life is the most critical period, and after that time the liabilities of loss are reduced to a very low rate--hardly five to the hundred. the front of brooders for young ducklings should be hung with strips of woolen cloth to keep in the warmth of the brooder. the greatest care should be given them at this period; the duck raisers really consider it the most important part of their work, and after a bird has passed the "critical age" they may be counted on for the market. [illustration: fig. 16.--house for breeding ducks, showing water runs.] usually the care of the ducklings at this age is given to the women. they are more careful of the wants of the youngsters and attend to the detail work religiously. a case is known of a single attendant living, as it were, in the brooder house with the ducklings. she began her work with the morning feed at 6 a. m., and until sundown, when the night's meal was given, she was with her charges. the cleanliness of the brooder and pen was carefully attended to and everything was done to promote the health and comfort of the youngsters. at night they were all in their brooders and as snug as it was possible for them to be. a single neglect in the starting of a duckling will result in loss to the raisers. system is the key to the situation, and there should be no deviation from it whatever. [illustration: fig. 17.--single brooder houses and ground plan.] the duckling goes from the warm brooder house to the cold brooder house. the latter house is planned in a way similar to the former, with the exception of the 30-inch brooders. when the birds are taken from the warm brooder house they are three weeks old and of sufficient age to withstand a cooler temperature. they do not need the extra heat of the warm house, and in it would not grow nearly so well. the size of pens in the growing house is larger, and the ducklings are not crowded so many in a pen. if the birds are to be raised in colonies of one hundred each, the accommodations should be ample for them. it has never been proved to be good policy to crowd the growing stock; it retards their growth and encourages disease. the cold brooder house should have a system of heating if birds are to be raised for an early market. the same system of pipes used in the warm brooders should be run around the sides of the building, about 2 or 3 feet from the floor. this will give sufficient heat for the house and keep the birds comfortable. these pipes may be connected with the same heater used for running the warm brooder pipes. in the northern states, in extremely cold weather, raisers also use the heating pipes in the warm brooder house in addition to the cold brooder pipes. [illustration: fig. 18.--plans of brooder.] an excellent plan is shown in fig. 20 for the arrangement of the heater for connecting the pipes in the warm and cold double brooder house. it will be seen that the heater is placed in the center of the building; the warm brooder house is shown on the right and the cold brooder house with runs attached is shown on the left, and pipes, indicated by dotted lines, run in both directions. this is the most economical house to build and lessens the work in attending the stock. the room in the center of the building will be found very useful and is generally used as the feed room. the heater is in the cellar beneath this room. this plan is used by one of the largest and most successful raisers of ducks on long island, and it has his highest indorsement. the building may be of any size, the plan being as successfully carried out on a large scale as on a small one. if a small building is used at first, it may be enlarged on either end to suit the growing business, and extended upward of 100 feet in either direction, thus making the building more than 200 feet in length. the heater must be considered, when put in, with this object in view. a heater capable of heating the 200-foot house can easily be regulated to heat one of 50 feet, but a heater that will heat properly only a 50-foot or 100-foot house would be insufficient to heat the larger one. another difference between the cold brooder house and the warm brooder house is that the former has outside runs attached. these runs are used for feeding and watering when the weather permits, instead of the feeding troughs inside the house. the ducks should be allowed the freedom of the outside runs as soon as the weather is suitable. ducks like a life in the outer world, and they will grow more rapidly there than when they are confined to the house. [illustration: fig. 19.--plans of a double brooder house.] [illustration: fig. 20.--plan of a double brooder house, showing arrangement of beating pipes.] ducklings are kept in the cold brooder house until they are six or seven weeks old, when they are transferred to large quarters known as growing houses. it is here that they are pushed for the market until they are 10 weeks old, when they are salable. there is no heat in the growing houses, which are used only as a means of shelter during the early spring months. when the weather is well advanced, the ducks seldom take to the houses at night; they prefer the outside and spend their nights on the ground. the growing houses should be abundantly ventilated, as too close an atmosphere will do more harm in a single night than if they had not been housed at all. [illustration: fig. 21.--house for growing ducks.] [illustration: fig. 22.--two-pen house for growing ducks.] [illustration: fig. 23.--three-pen house for growing ducks.] a pekin duck at 10 weeks is quite large, weighing close to 4 pounds. it is quite as large as a full-grown duck of some of the other breeds. in the space of two or three weeks from the time the ducklings are placed in the growing houses they will be marketed at the weight of 4 to 5â½ pounds each. this weight is easily obtained, and when reached the profitable time to sell has arrived, as they then command the best prices. often a bird kept after this time loses in weight and becomes unprofitable. the growing houses are built after the plan of the breeding houses, only much smaller. they need not be more than 4 or 5 feet high in rear and 1 or 2 feet high in front. such a house is shown in fig. 21. this and other houses shown in figs. 22 and 23 may be built singly or in rows, with 12-inch boards separating the runs. supplying water. [illustration: fig. 24.--gutter water trough.] as has been previously stated, water for bathing is not at all necessary for growing ducks, but a liberal supply for drinking is absolutely essential to their growth. the food of the duck is such as to require drink when eating, as it is comparatively dry and can not be eaten hurriedly as grain is. when feeding, always replenish the water troughs or fountains with pure, fresh water. a duck when feeding will eat a small quantity and go to the water troughs, for drink, repeating this performance several times during the meal. conveniences for supplying drinking water to breeding and growing ducks are varied, and almost any contrivance will answer the purpose. when small numbers of ducks are kept, the simplest method of supplying water is in wooden troughs. these may be built v-shape or with square bottoms. they are shown in figs. 24 and 25. [illustration: fig. 25.--flat water trough.] for smaller ducks, those kept in the warm brooder house, the fountain plan is to be preferred, as the youngsters can not get into the water and become wet or chilled. these fountains may be made of air-tight cans for the reservoir and a tin plate 2 inches larger in diameter than the can. a tomato can and an ordinary tin pie plate make an excellent fountain. remove the top of the can and punch a small hole in the side about a quarter of an inch from the free top edge; fill the can with water and place it inverted on the plate. the water will run out until it reaches in the plate the level of the hole in the can. the plate will not overflow and water will be supplied automatically. [illustration: fig. 26.--plan for supplying water by pipes.] some raisers use a pan--a pie plate, for instance--and place a stone several inches smaller in diameter than the pan in the center, leaving a margin for water around the edge. when large numbers of birds are kept, it is of course necessary that a system for watering be adopted for saving labor. a practical system in use is where the water is supplied by 1-inch pipes and having a cock in each pen directly over the water trough. fig. 26 shows a diagram drawing of this plan. the flow of the cocks is regulated by having the one in the first pen run very slowly and gradually increasing the flow of the water in each pen. thus all the troughs will be full at the same time. the pipe should rest on top of the fencing about 2 feet high which divides the runs. this plan of watering can also be used in brooder houses to good advantage. feeding. the food of the duck is both vegetable and animal in nature. in the wild state it gathers its food from brooks and marshes, consisting of flag, grasses, small fishes, water insects, etc. when the birds are raised in confinement this diet must, in a measure, be imitated to get the most satisfactory results. the duck has no crop, the food passing directly from the throat to the gizzard, and as a consequence the food must be in a soft mushy state. too much hard food, such as grain, does not agree with these birds and they can not thrive on it. while some raisers use a small allowance of grain others do not, and it has not been proved to be of any advantage to feed it. soft food is their natural diet, together with grasses, vegetables, and animal food. the proper selection of the food is extremely important to secure the rapid growth of the duck, and the ingredients of the food must be such as will afford a well-balanced and substantial ration. as a whole, it may be said that the rations used by the largest duck raisers are essentially the same, differing only in the quantities used in the mixing. investigations show the real values of the food to be the same for producing rapid growth and early development. the duckling grows twice as rapidly and is a much heavier eater than the chick, and to produce the best results its food must be such as will be easily assimilated. the various methods of feeding given in this bulletin are recommended for raising ducks successfully. it costs from 6 to 12 cents a pound to raise a duck for market at ten weeks of age. the cost of feed is from 4â½ to 5 cents a pound, and that of labor, etc., is from 4 to 8 cents a pound. it costs from $1.75 to $2.50 each to keep breeding ducks a year. the three different methods of feeding ducks are as follows: (1) feeding ducks for market (ten weeks old); (2) feeding young ducks to be kept as breeders; (3) feeding old ducks. the first method, for the sake of convenience and to explain more fully the composition of the rations, is subdivided into four parts, as follows. (1) from time of hatching to five days old provide the following mixture: cracker or bread crumbs and corn meal, equal parts by measure; hard boiled eggs, 15 per cent of the total bulk of crackers and meal; sand, 5 per cent of the total of crackers and meal. mix with water or milk, and feed four times a day. (2) from five to twenty days old, the following mixture: wheat bran, two parts by measure; corn meal, one part; rolled oats, 50 per cent of this bulk; beef scraps, 5 per cent; sand, 5 per cent; green food, 10 per cent. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed four times a day. (3) from twenty to forty-two days old, the following mixture: wheat bran, two parts by measure; corn meal, one part; beef scraps, 5 per cent of this bulk; sand, 5 per cent; green food, 10 per cent. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed four times a day. (4) from forty-two to seventy days old, the following mixture: corn meal, two parts by measure; wheat bran, one part; beef scraps, 10 per cent of this bulk; coarse sand or grit, 5 per cent; green food, 10 per cent. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed four times a day. the hours for feeding are 6 a. m., 10 a. m., 2 p. m., and 6 p. m. below is given another system of feeding ducks for marketing at ten weeks of age. this system is practically the same as the one given above, differing only in the ingredients used for the first two parts or until the duckling is twenty days old. the method given below is used successfully by one of the largest duck raisers on long island. it is divided into three parts, as follows: (1) from time of hatching to seven days old, feed equal parts by measure, corn meal, wheat bran, and no. 2 grade flour, and 10 per cent of this bulk coarse sand. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed four times a day. (2) from seven to fifty-six days old, feed equal parts by measure, corn meal, wheat bran, and no. 2 grade flour; 10 per cent of this bulk beef scraps; 10 per cent coarse sand, and 12â½ per cent green foods (green rye, oats, clover, etc.). mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed four times a day. (3) from fifty-six to seventy days old, feed two parts by measure. corn meal; one part wheat bran; one part no. 2 grade flour; 12â½ per cent of this bulk beef scraps; 10 per cent coarse sand; 12â½ percent green food. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed three times a day--morning, noon, and night. give last feed an hour before sundown. when ducks are raised for breeders they are fed differently from those intended for market. they are not forced so much as are the latter, and less fattening food is given them. the corn meal and beef scraps are reduced to one-half the quantity used in the above rations. the following is an excellent ration: equal parts corn meal, wheat bran, green food, 5 per cent beef scraps, and 5 per cent coarse sand or grit. a ration for breeding (laying) ducks is recommended as follows: fifty per cent, by measure, corn meal; 15 per cent wheat bran; 15 per cent green foods (cooked vegetables, such as potatoes, turnips, etc.); 12 per cent beef scraps, and 8 per cent coarse sand or grit. mix with water to a dry crumbly state and feed twice a day, morning and night. after the breeding season is over and the ducks have stopped laying they are changed from this to the equal-parts ration, as given above for ducklings from seven to fifty-six days old. mixing feed. the feeding stuffs should be mixed in a trough sufficiently large to hold the quantity without wasting over the edges. first mix the corn meal and bran together while dry; after these have mixed thoroughly, making an evenly colored mixture, it should be moistened with water and mixed to a dry, crumbly state. it should not be too wet or sloppy, as it is then not so good for the fowls, neither can it be handled and fed properly. warm water should be used when the weather is excessively cold. in a second trough place the green foods, such as cut rye, oats, etc., and dampen with water; then mix the allowance of the no. 2 grade flour with it. thoroughly mix, so that the flour will completely cover the green stuff. after this has been done mix the flour and green mixture with the corn meal and bran mixture and add the allowance of beef scraps and sand. when vegetables are used, they should be well cooked before mixing in the rations. the duck raisers on long island use large quantities of fish for their breeding stock. this is known as the "fish diet," and is considered as being very valuable to induce egg production. where fish are cheap they form an excellent substitute for beef scraps in the rations for breeding ducks or ducks not intended for market, but under no circumstances should fish be fed to stock that will be marketed. fish makes the flavor of the flesh strong and ducks fed on fish will not have ready sales in the market. the fish are cooked by boiling in iron camp kettles until well done, and then mixed, bones and all, in the rations as given above for breeding ducks. when fish is used the beef scraps are omitted. how much to feed. the amount of feed needed each day for young ducks varies as much as does their growth. their growth averages a half pound a week, and to make this increase of weight each week requires an additional quantity of food over the preceding one. the rule is, feed each meal what they will eat up clean with a relish, and do not allow them to linger over the feed trough. it is better they should have not enough than too much, as they will be in a much better condition to relish the next meal. one thing is considered to be of as much importance as the feed, and that is removing the feed left over and thoroughly cleaning the troughs after each meal. this is scrupulously attended to by successful duck raisers. one raiser gives, as a generous allowance for one day's ration for one hundred laying ducks, the following: for the morning meal, 35 quarts of the mash, and for the evening meal 40 quarts, making a total of 75 quarts for the day's portion, or three-fourths of a quart to each duck a day. another raiser allows 400 quarts, fed in halves, twice a day, to six hundred breeding or laying ducks, averaging two-thirds of a quart to each duck a day. there are many patterns of feed troughs in use, hardly any two being alike. they are simple affairs, the simpler the better, as they are more easily kept clean. the designs given for water troughs are equally as good for feed troughs and answer the purpose very well. each pen of birds should have two troughs, one for water and the other for feed, built proportionately to suit the age and size of the birds they are intended for. make them of sufficient length to avoid crowding, so that all the birds in each pen will have ample room to eat at the same time. oyster shells and grit. grit in some form is essential to ducks and should be kept before them at all times. many overlook this fact and do not seem to understand that it is of as much value to them as it is to chickens. the sand used in the mashes tends to supply a certain amount of grinding material or grit to them, but does not fully satisfy them for digesting their food. on a farm where more than ten thousand birds are raised annually, and where disease is practically unknown, it was noted that in every pen there was a box of grit and a box of crushed oyster shells. this raiser states that he considers grit and oyster shells an absolute necessity for ducks, and he attributes the healthy appearance of his stock to it. his birds eat it freely and the supply is never allowed to run out. killing and dressing for market. there are two methods of dressing ducks for market, by dry picking and by scalding. both of these methods are good and are being successfully employed by the largest raisers. some have a preference for dry picking and others for scalding, and it becomes only a matter of taste which method is used. when birds are dressed by scalding they should be dipped several times, or until the feathers come out easily. the back should be dipped in the water first. after scalding, wipe them as dry as possible with a sponge and pick the breast feathers first. a bird when dressed for market has left on it the feathers on the wing, the tail feathers, and the feathers on head and neck, as shown in fig. 27. the legs are left on, and the birds are not drawn. the process of dry picking is considered the simpler of the two methods, and one who is accustomed to the work can readily dress 3 dozen birds in a day. the picker's outfit consists of a chair, a box for the feathers, and a couple of knives, one knife being dull and the other being sharp pointed and double edged, for bleeding. the bird is taken between the knees, the bill held open with the left hand, and a cut made across the roof of the mouth just below the eyes. the bird is then stunned by striking its head against a post or some hard substance. the picker seats himself in the chair with the bird in his lap (fig. 28), its head held firmly between one knee and the box. the feathers arc carefully sorted while picking; the pins are thrown away and the body feathers with the down are thrown into the box. care should be taken about this, as the feathers from each bird will weigh about 2 ounces, and will quite pay for the picking. [illustration: fig. 27.--pair dressed ducks (10 weeks old).] the dull knife and the thumb are used to remove the long pinfeathers, and this should be done without tearing the skin. the down can usually be rubbed off by slightly moistening the hand and holding the skin tight. often some of the pins can not be taken out without tearing and disfiguring the skin; when such is the case they should be shaved off. seven or eight minutes is all the time necessary to dress a bird. after the birds are picked they should be carefully washed, and plumped by placing in a tank or barrel of ice water. they are hardened in this ice water and given a rounded and full appearance. they are then packed in barrels or boxes and shipped to market. the first or bottom layer is packed with backs down; a layer of ice is then placed over them, and all other layers are packed with the breasts down, a layer of ice being between each layer of ducks. the top of the box or barrel is then rounded off with ice and covered with burlaps. a flour barrel will hold about three dozen birds. some raisers use boxes for shipping and have the empties returned free. development of the duckling in the egg. eggs to hatch must have good, strong germs and must be laid by healthy stock. debilitated, degenerated stock will not produce healthy and vigorous young. the health of the breeding stock must be promoted and everything done that will assist to increase the fertility of the egg. comfortable houses, cleanliness, pure water, and above all wholesome and nutritious food, are the best promoters of health. the best stock to be had is none too good, and it is erroneous to send the earliest and best stock to market for the small increase in price, and save the later and inferior stock for breeding purposes. a continuation of this practice for a few years means degenerate stock, infertile eggs, weak germs, and large mortality among the newly-hatched birds. [illustration: fig. 28.--duck picker.] after an egg has been under incubation for thirty six hours, it will, if fertile, when held to the light, show a small dark spot a trifle larger than a pin's head. this little spot is the life germ and shows the egg to be fertile. from this time the development of the germ into the duckling can be plainly seen if the egg be held to a strong light. on the sixth or seventh day the first testing of the eggs should be made and all infertile ones taken out. the germ is very distinct at this time, and there has been a gradual change going on in the interior of the egg. the little spot has been constantly enlarging and becoming more dense, and little veins are seen running in divers directions. this is the appearance of an egg with a strong, live germ, which under favorable circumstances will produce a duck. an egg that is not fertile on the sixth or seventh day will be perfectly clear and transparent; all such should be removed at once, as it is useless to allow them to remain. another kind of egg often seen is a weak or imperfectly fertilized egg, and shows an irregularly-shaped blood vessel, which had started but lacked vitality enough to continue. such an egg will not hatch and should also be removed from the nest or incubator. frequently the germ in an egg will show life when tested on the seventh day, but lacks the vitality to carry it through, and when tested later will show dark, irregular blotches over the surface of the egg. these will not hatch, and should be taken out when noticed. on the fourteenth day the little creature inside the egg begins to assume shape and show considerable life. it has increased many times in size since it was seen on the seventh day; the red veins have become more numerous and have spread over the entire surface, while the yolk is scarcely distinguishable from the other portions. the pupil of the eye has now become distinct, and the projection of the wings is clearly perceived. the absorption of the yolk has also commenced, and this will continue until the twenty-fourth day, when it will be nearly completed. the egg from this time on will rapidly grow opaque, and at the eighteenth or twentieth day is entirely so. on the twenty-fourth day the duckling is ready to make its way out of the shell, and in forty-eight hours after pipping the shell it will be entirely out. natural incubation. hatching under the sitting hen (generally used for hatching ducks) is what is termed the natural process of incubation. the hatching of eggs by this means has always been followed, and no special skill is needed for success, provided the eggs are well fertilized with healthy germs. many who raise ducks in large numbers, however, use almost exclusively artificial means; some use both the natural and the artificial, while others use the natural entirely. of the natural method we shall treat first: hens of medium size of the american class, barred plymouth rocks and wyandottes, are considered the best for sitting. nine duck eggs are about the right number to place under a hen in early spring weather, but when the season is far advanced as many as thirteen are used. the hens should be provided with large, roomy nests, and slatted fronts that can be removed and replaced easily when the hens are fed and watered. the nesting material should be of hay or straw, and the nest should be slightly concaved; in the bottom place a little finely cut hay. before the hen is put on the eggs she should be thoroughly dusted with insecticides; the nest also should have a good dusting of the same. both hen and nest should undergo a thorough dusting several times during the process of hatching as a safeguard against lice. when the ducklings are hatched they should also have their share of the insecticides before they are given to the hen. when a large number of sitting hens are used for hatching, as many as possible should be set at one time, and the ducklings raised in brooders. hatching with hens may be done on a large scale and the young brooded artificially. as many as five hundred sitting hens are used on some farms for hatching ducks. they are set in small houses or rooms with the nests around the sides in tiers, each nest having its own lattice door. each day, in the morning, the hens are taken from their nests and fed and watered on the floor of the room. they are taken down in limited numbers, sections, as it were, at a time, and after they have had the food, drink, and a little exercise they are placed back on the nests and another section is fed and watered. artificial incubation. the subject of artificial incubation has engaged the attention of the civilized world for generations past; the method has done wonders for the poultry industry and has opened up the pathways to fortunes that might otherwise never have been made. the science of incubation and brooding has been developed wonderfully in this country during the last quarter of a century, and what seemed almost an impossibility then has indeed become a certainty now. there are many thousands of chicks and ducklings hatched by artificial means each year, and the numbers of good machines now being manufactured in this country at low prices make poultry raising a business that almost anyone with a limited capital may profitably engage in. the mission of an incubator is to supplant the sitting hen, and make it possible to hatch a large number of chicks at a minimum amount of cost and labor. that this can be done is proved each day. for artificial incubation, have a room with a temperature as nearly uniform as possible. balance the beat in the machines, or in other words, see that the heat is uniform at both ends, and, in fact, all over them. see that each is running steadily before placing the eggs in it, as there is a great deal in starting right. the machines should be run at a temperature of 102â° for the first three weeks, and 103â° the last week. the eggs should be turned twice each day at regular periods. introduce a pan of water from the fifteenth to the twenty-second day, no matter what the location of the machine, whether in a damp cellar or in a dry room overhead, in a moist atmosphere near the seashore or in a dry one at an altitude in the country. the temperature may go as high as 101â° just previous to and while hatching without injury. place the glass on a live egg after the animal heat rises, which will be when the circulation begins. this will be perceptible in good eggs the fourteenth and fifteenth days. considerable weight has been put upon the ventilation question in incubators by manufacturers and operators, but it has been found that when the egg chamber is roomy, and the eggs are taken out and cooled twice each day, it is not of so much consequence. there is no doubt but that there must be some ventilation in the egg chamber, but from the experience and observation of the writer the value of the subject has been overestimated by many. some machines have top ventilation, some bottom, and others both top and bottom, and there is seemingly no marked difference in the hatching. when the ducklings are hatching, the broken egg shells should be removed once in every six or eight hours, so that they will not slip over the pipped eggs, as it would be sure death to the imprisoned ones. occasionally a little bird is unable to free itself from the shell and needs help; the expert can readily detect when this is necessary. the one point to note in this connection is this: the egg just before hatching radiates a great deal of heat, while the duckling, when first out, being not unlike a little sponge, absorbs it, or in other words, the rapid evaporation which takes place generates cold; so that when the ducklings are out the machine should be gauged one degree higher. when the ducklings are all out and dried off, the machine will run at least two degrees lower than when they were in the egg. plenty of ventilation is needed in the machines while hatching. keep the ducklings in the machine at least twenty-four hours after hatching, when they will be strong enough to be removed to the brooder. the heat in the brooder should be started twenty-four hours previous to use, so that it will be perfectly heated and ready for the ducklings when they are taken from the machine. geese. standard breeds of geese. =introduction.=--there are seven standard breeds of geese, as follows: gray toulouse, white embden, gray african, brown chinese, white chinese, gray wild, and colored egyptian. gray toulouse geese. =history.=--gray toulouse geese (fig. 29) are named for the city in france of that name, where they are extensively bred. in this country they are bred in large numbers by farmers and are fairly well thought of for market purposes. their flesh is a trifle too coarse and flabby, when compared with some other geese, to be prized very highly for table purposes. they are termed a christmas goose, as being later in maturing than the others they are just about right at the holiday time. they are fairly good layers, averaging about 40 eggs in a season. [illustration: fig. 29.--pair of gray toulouse geese.] =description.=--toulouse geese are more compact in shape than other geese, and are preferred by many for this reason. the head is rather large and short, and they have a comparatively short bill that is stout at the base; the neck is carried well up and is of medium length. they have a broad back of moderate length, which curves slightly from the neck to the tail; their breasts are broad and deep. the body of the toulouse goose is moderate in length, broad, and very deep and compact, the more compact the better; and in birds in good condition the belly almost touches the ground. their wings are large, strong, and fold nicely against the sides, and they have comparatively short tails, and stout thighs and shanks. in color of plumage they are a dull gray, without penciling. the head is dark gray and the neck of the same color, which shades to a lighter gray as it approaches the back; the back is of dark gray, while the breast is light gray. the body plumage is light gray, which grows lighter and becomes white on the belly; the white extends back .to and around the tail, covering the fluffy parts. the primaries of the wings are dark gray or brown; the secondaries are a shade darker than the primaries and the coverts are dark gray. the tail feathers are gray and white, the ends tipped with white. their eyes are dark brown or hazel in color; their bills, shanks, toes, and webs are of deep reddish-orange color. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 20 pounds; adult goose, 20 pounds; young gander, 18 pounds, and young goose, 15 pounds. white embden geese. =history.=--white embden geese (fig. 30) are considered very practical birds for farmers, and pay well for their keeping. they are nice looking, of large size, tall and erect carriage,, and snow-white plumage. they originally came from embden, in westphalia, and have been bred in this country for many years. =description.=--the embdens are not so prolific as the brown chinese or toulouse, 20 eggs in a season being a good average for them. their eggs are very large, white, and have a very thick, rough shell. in carriage they are very tall and erect, and have fine square bodies. they have rather large heads, medium-sized bill, and a long neck that is carried upright. their backs are of medium length, and arch slightly from the neck to the tail; the breast is round and full, and the body is large, square, and very deep, and, like the toulouse, almost touches the ground the wings are large and strong; tail short; thighs and shanks short and stout. their eyes are bright blue; bills flesh color; and their shanks, toes, and webs are deep orange. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 20 pounds; adult goose, 18 pounds; young gander, 18 pounds, and young goose 10 pounds. gray african geese. =history.=--gray african geese (fig. 31) are by many raisers considered the most profitable of all geese to keep. they grow the heaviest in the shortest space of time, and are ready for market in ten weeks, weighing at that age between 8 and 10 pounds. they are very much like the pekin duck in this respect, and as compared with other geese give the most satisfactory returns for the least labor and time spent in growing them. they are, according to standard weights, as heavy as the toulouse and embden, but specimens are not uncommon that exceed these weights by several pounds. they are first-class layers and average about 40 eggs in a season. this is considered as a low estimate for their egg production. for table purposes they are esteemed very highly, their flesh being fine and nicely flavored. [illustration: fig. 30.--pair of white embden geese.] =description.=--these geese have a large head, with a large knob, and a heavy dewlap under the throat. these and the chinese geese are different from the others in the head, and are the only two breeds that have the knob on the head. the bill of the african is rather large and stout at the base, and their necks are long. their backs are long and flat, breasts round and moderately full, and they have large, long, and upright bodies. the wings are large and strong, and are folded well against the body; the thighs are short and stout, and shanks of medium length. the knob is black and the dewlap of a gray color, while the plumage of the neck is light gray with a dark stripe running from the head to the body. the back is dark gray, the plumage of the breast is gray, and the underpart of body is light gray. the wings and tail are dark gray, and the thighs are light gray. the eyes are hazel or brown; bill, black; shanks, toes, and web are of dark-orange color. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 20 pounds; adult goose, 18 pounds; young gander, 10 pounds, and young goose, 14 pounds. [illustration: fig. 31.--pair of gray african geese.] brown and white chinese geese. =history.=--the smallest of the breeds of geese are the chinese, averaging in weight from 6 to 7 pounds lighter than those previously named. apparently their want of size has prevented them from becoming favorites with those who raise large numbers annually, but with those who keep a limited number they are found to be very practical. what they lack in size they gain in egg production, being the most prolific of all breeds of geese, averaging from 50 to 60 eggs a year. in size, aptitude to fatten, and ease of management they appear in no respect inferior to other geese, while the quality of flesh is decidedly superior. =description.=--they are exceedingly graceful in appearance, quite hardy, and the young mature early. there are two varieties of chinese geese--the brown (fig. 32) and the white. they have large heads, with large knob at base of a medium-length bill, and long, gracefully arched necks. the backs are medium in length, and the breast is round and full; body of medium size, round and plump; wings, large and strong; thighs, short and stout, and shanks of medium length. [illustration: fig. 32.--pair of brown chinese geese (young).] the color of head of the brown chinese geese is brown; knob dark brown or black; neck light brown or grayish brown, with a dark stripe from the head down to the body. the body is dark brown, breast grayish brown, and the under parts are a shade lighter in color. the wings and tail are brown, and the thighs are grayish brown. the eyes are hazel or brown; bill dark brown or black; and shanks, toes, and webs are a dusky orange color. the color of plumage of the white chinese geese is pure white throughout, perfectly free from feathers of any other color. the knob and bill are orange color, as are also the shanks, toes, and web. the eyes are a deep leaden blue. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 14 pounds; adult goose, 12 pounds; young gander, 10 pounds, and young goose, 8 pounds. gray wild geese. =history.=--gray wild geese (fig. 33) are among the best known of domestic geese, and are very generally bred throughout the entire country. they are among the most valuable and practical birds for goose raising, and are prized very highly for table purposes, besides being good layers, hardy, and easy to rear. [illustration: fig. 33.--gray wild goose.] =description.=--these geese have a rather small head, small bill, sharp at the point, and long, slender neck, snaky in appearance. the back is long and rather narrow, and is arched from neck to tail; breast, full and deep, and body long and somewhat slender. the wings are long, large, and powerful, and the thighs are rather short. the head of the wild goose is black, with a white stripe nearly covering the side of the face; bill, black; neck, black; and back, dark gray. the breast is light gray, which grows darker as it approaches the legs; the plumage of the underparts of the body from the legs to the tail is white. the wings are dark gray; primaries dusky black, showing only a dark-gray color when the wing is folded; secondaries are brown, but of a lighter shade than the primaries. the tail feathers are glossy black, and the thighs are gray. the shanks, toes, and webs are black. the eyes are black. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 16 pounds; adult goose, 14 pounds; young gander, 12 pounds, and young goose, 10 pounds. colored egyptian geese. =history.=--the most beautiful of the breeds of geese are the colored egyptians (fig. 34); they are purely ornamental, not having been bred in this country for any other purpose than the showroom. they are sometimes called the nile goose. this goose is tall and somewhat slender, which gives it an elegance of appearance not possessed by any other breed. it can generally be bred in confinement, but is of a most quarrelsome nature, and the male will fight to the death other males of the same species. the males must each be given a separate pen, and mated with the females; it is seldom that any two males can be kept in the same pen. =description.=--these geese have a medium-sized and rather long head, a bill of medium length, and a rather small neck. the back is narrow and slightly arched from the neck to the tail; breast, round; body, long, but somewhat small and slender. their wings are large, and have instead of the ordinary hard knobs horny spurs about five-eighths of an inch long; the thighs are of medium length, and the shanks rather long. the color of the head is black and gray; the bill is purple or bluish red, and the eyes orange. [illustration: fig. 34.--pair of colored egyptian geese.] the neck and back are gray and black; the center of the breast is chestnut, and the balance is gray. the upper parts of the plumage of the body are gray and black, and the under parts are a pale yellow, penciled with black. the shoulders of the wings are white, with a narrow black stripe or bar. the tail feathers are glossy black; thighs, pale buff; shanks, toes, and webs, reddish yellow. the eyes are orange. =weight.=--the standard weight of the adult gander is 15 pounds; adult goose, 12 pounds; young gander, 12 pounds, and young goose, 9 pounds. management of geese. goose raising is not so extensively engaged in as duck raising, the conditions under which they can be successfully raised being almost entirely different from those necessary for successful duck raising. the duck, being smaller, can be raised in a more limited space than can the goose, the latter needing free range and water, while the former has been proved to do equally as well without water. while the goose can not profitably be raised in as large numbers as the duck, still it can not justly be termed unprofitable. there are many places on a farm that are worthless for cultivation that could be utilized with excellent results for goose raising. fields that have streams, branches, or unused springs on them could be turned to good advantage by making them into goose pastures. many farmers are profiting by this and adding to their incomes annually. the care and attention necessary for raising geese are very small when compared with the returns, and the cost of food is also proportionately small in comparison with the cost of food used for other birds bred for market. a goose on range will gather the largest portion of its food, consisting of grasses, insects, and other animal and vegetable matter to be found in the fields and brooks. the simplest kinds of houses are used for shelter; these should be built after the plans of those given for ducks, but should be proportionately of larger size to accommodate comfortably the number of birds to be kept. geese are long-lived birds, some having been known to attain the age of 40 years, while birds of 15 and 20 years of age are not uncommon. they retain their laying and hatching qualities through life. ganders should not be kept for breeding after 3 years of age; young ganders are more active and insure greater fertility of the eggs than old ones do; besides, ganders become more quarrelsome as age advances. the feathers of geese are an important source of revenue and find a ready sale in the markets. a goose will average about 1 pound of feathers a year. the feathers should be plucked when there is no blood in the ends of the quills; this can be readily ascertained, as they will then leave the flesh without hard pulling. almost all breeds of geese are good sitters and attentive mothers, and if left to themselves will make their nests, much as when wild, and hatch a large percentage of their eggs. but hens are now more frequently used for hatching goose eggs; as by taking the eggs from the goose when laid and giving them to hens to hatch, the goose will lay a greater number of eggs than if she were permitted to sit. all breeds of geese, except perhaps the egyptian, are to be recommended to farmers who keep a limited number in addition to other poultry and allow them the freedom of the farm, but when goose raising is to be more extensively engaged in, the african goose is to be especially commended. it is the quickest to mature, most prolific, and the easiest to handle of any of the varieties. mating and setting. in breeding african geese, mate two geese to one gander, and it will be still better if pairs are used to secure better fertility of the eggs. those who contemplate raising geese should secure their stock in the fall, so that the birds may become accustomed to the place before the breeding season begins. the breeding stock should be at least 2 years old, and fully matured birds. when stock is purchased in the fall they should be turned out in a pasture, and no other food than what they gather themselves will be needed until the grass goes down. their rations should then consist of equal parts by measure, bran, middlings, and corn meal, with 5 per cent of this bulk of beef scraps. they should be given a light feed of this ration in the morning, and at night they should be fed cracked corn. ten per cent of the bulk of the daily ration should be green foods, steamed clover, and cooked vegetables. [illustration: fig. 35.--wild and african cross.] [illustration: fig. 36.--embden and toulouse cross.] the breeding season begins about february 1, though some geese will begin laying as early as december, then stop, and begin again the first of february. they make their own nests from the straw and litter on the floor of their houses, and will lay from 12 to 20 eggs before becoming broody. as soon as the goose shows an inclination to sit, remove her and place her in a dark box or small coop, and keep her there for two or three days with water for drink, but no food. then she may be placed back in the yards and she will begin another laying of eggs. the first and second layings of eggs should be set under hens. after the goose lays the second laying she should be confined again, when she will lay a third laying. when she has laid the third laying she should be permitted to sit on them, instead of giving them to hens. a goose will lay from 10 to 15 eggs in each of the second and third layings. it is recommended that after the eggs have been sat upon for twenty-five days, that they be taken from the nest and placed for about one minute in water heated to a temperature of 104â°. thirty days are required for incubation. after the eggs have hatched leave the hen and goslings in the nest for twenty-four hours; after the young have become thoroughly dry remove hen and brood and pen them in a large, roomy coop for four or five days. when the goslings have reached this age--four or five days--they are perfectly able to take care of themselves. the hen should then be taken from the goslings, which should be allowed freedom to roam at will, but they should always be cooped up at night. feeding and dressing for market. [illustration: fig. 37.--embden and african cross.] the first feed for goslings is grass, fed on sod; a small allowance of corn meal, slightly moistened, is also given them. sand and charcoal are sometimes mixed with the corn meal. they are fed on the above food three times a day for a couple of days, when they are given a ration composed of equal parts by measure, bran, middlings, and steamed cut clover or cooked vegetables. this feed is given them morning, noon, and night, until they are 8 weeks old, when they are penned to be fattened for market at 10 weeks old. to fatten young geese, place them in a pen, not too large, so that they will not exercise too much, and feed three times a day all they will eat up clean of the following: corn meal mixed to a dry crumbly state, and beef scraps amounting to 20 per cent of the bulk of the corn meal. while fattening young geese they should be kept as quiet as possible; no excitement whatever should disturb them. when feeding approach them quietly, and do not irritate them in the least or they will not fatten, but will "throw out" or grow another crop of feathers. at 10 weeks of age, or when the tips of the wings reach the tail, they are ready for market and should weigh between 8 and 10 pounds. when young goslings are to be dressed for market they are killed by cutting them in the roof of the mouth, severing the artery, or by stunning them by hitting them a sharp, quick blow on the head. the picker uses a box in front of him about the height of the knees, holding the bird with the left hand and clasping the feet and wings together; he places the head of the bird against the box and holds it in place with the knee. pick the feathers from the body of the bird, then dampen the right hand and brush the body to remove the down. leave about 2 inches of feathers on the neck, and also leave feathers on the wings at the first joint. lay the wings against the body of the birds and tie a string around to hold in position. i lace the birds, when picked, in cold water for an hour or so to plump them; if they are in the water too long they are liable to bleach and become water-soaked. they are then iced up in barrels already to ship to market. young geese should be marketed in october. it is best to market all possible before cold weather sets in. it is much harder to dress a gosling in cold weather. the feathers set tighter, and in picking them the flesh is torn. cross breeding. the most satisfactory results are to be had by breeding pure standard-bred stock without crossing. but to those who are partial to crosses the following are considered the best to make: (1) wild gander on african goose (fig. 35); (2) embden gander on toulouse goose (fig. 36); (3) embden gander on african goose (fig. 37), and (4) embden gander on white china goose. these crosses will give good growth and the young birds will dress well for market. crosses should only be made for market purposes, and should always be bred from original stock. * * * * * farmers' bulletins. these bulletins are sent free of charge to any address upon application to the secretary of agriculture, washington, d. c. only the following are available: no. 15.--some destructive potato diseases: what they are and how to prevent them. no. 16.--leguminous plants for green manuring and for feeding. no. 18.--forage plants for the south. no. 19.--important insecticides: directions for their preparation and use. no. 21.--barnyard manure. no. 22.--feeding farm animals. no. 23.--foods: nutritive value and cost. no. 24.--hog cholera and swine plague. no. 25.--peanuts: culture and uses. no. 26.--sweet potatoes: culture and uses. no. 27.--flax for seed and fiber. no. 28.--weeds; and how to kill them. no. 29.--souring of milk and other changes in milk products. no. 30.--grape diseases on the pacific coast. no. 31.--alfalfa, or lucern. no. 32.--silos and silage. no. 33.--peach growing for market. no. 34.--meats: composition and cooking. no. 35.--potato culture. no. 36.--cotton seed and its products. no. 37.--kafir corn: characteristics, culture, and uses. no. 38.--spraying for fruit diseases. no. 39.--onion culture. no. 40.--farm drainage. no. 41.--fowls: care and feeding. no. 42.--facts about milk. no. 43.--sewage disposal on the farm. no. 44.--commercial fertilizers. no. 45.--some insects injurious to stored grain. no. 46.--irrigation in humid climates. no. 47.--insects affecting the cotton plant. no. 48.--the manuring of cotton. no. 49.--sheep feeding. no. 50.--sorghum as a forage crop. no. 51.--standard varieties of chickens. no. 52.--the sugar beet. no. 53.--how to grow mushrooms. no. 54.--some common birds in their relation to agriculture. no. 55.--the dairy herd: its formation and management. no. 56.--experiment station work--i. no. 57.--butter making on the farm. no. 58.--the soy bean as a forage crop. no. 59.--bee keeping. no. 60.--methods of curing tobacco. no. 61.--asparagus culture. no. 62.--marketing farm produce. no. 63.--care of milk on the farm. no. 64.--ducks and geese. no. 65.--experiment station work--ii. no. 66.--meadows and pastures. no. 67.--forestry for farmers. no. 68.--the black rot of the cabbage. no. 69.--experiment station work--iii. no. 70.--the principal insect enemies of the grape. no. 71.--some essentials of beef production. no. 72.--cattle ranges of the southwest. no. 73.--experiment station work--iv. no. 74.--milk as food. no. 75.--the grain smuts. no. 76.--tomato growing. no. 77.--the liming of soils. no. 78.--experiment station work--v. no. 79.--experiment station work--vi. no. 80.--the peach twig-borer--an important enemy of stone fruits. no. 81.--corn culture in the south. no. 82.--the culture of tobacco. no. 83.--tobacco soils. no. 84.--experiment station work--vii. no. 85.--fish as food. no. 86.--thirty poisonous plants. no. 87.--experiment station work--viii. no. 88.--alkali lands. no. 89.--cowpeas. * * * * * transcriber note minor typos may have been corrected. illustrations were repositioned to avoid splitting paragraphs. transcribed from the 1902 gay and bird edition by david price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk {book cover: cover.jpg} the diary of a goose girl by kate douglas wiggin with illustrations by claude a. shepperson gay and bird 22 bedford street, strand london 1902 {i looked about me with what stevenson calls a 'fine dizzy, muddle-headed job': p01.jpg} to the hens, ducks, and geese who so kindly gave me sittings for these sketches the book is gratefully inscribed chapter i. {thornycroft house: p1a.jpg} thornycroft farm, near barbury green, july 1, 190-. {picture of woman and goose: p1b.jpg} in alluding to myself as a goose girl, i am using only the most modest of my titles; for i am also a poultry-maid, a tender of belgian hares and rabbits, and a shepherdess; but i particularly fancy the role of goose girl, because it recalls the german fairy tales of my early youth, when i always yearned, but never hoped, to be precisely what i now am. as i was jolting along these charming sussex roads the other day, a fat buff pony and a tippy cart being my manner of progression, i chanced upon the village of barbury green. one glance was enough for any woman, who, having eyes to see, could see with them; but i made assurance doubly sure by driving about a little, struggling to conceal my new-born passion from the stable-boy who was my escort. then, it being high noon of a cloudless day, i descended from the trap and said to the astonished yokel: "you may go back to the hydropathic; i am spending a month or two here. wait a moment--i'll send a message, please!" i then scribbled a word or two to those having me in custody. "i am very tired of people," the note ran, "and want to rest myself by living a while with things. address me (if you must) at barbury green post-office, or at all events send me a box of simple clothing there--nothing but shirts and skirts, please. i cannot forget that i am only twenty miles from oxenbridge (though it might be one hundred and twenty, which is the reason i adore it), but i rely upon you to keep an honourable distance yourselves, and not to divulge my place of retreat to others, especially to--you know whom! do not pursue me. i will never be taken alive!" having cut, thus, the cable that bound me to civilisation, and having seen the buff pony and the dazed yokel disappear in a cloud of dust, i looked about me with what stevenson calls a "fine, dizzy, muddle-headed joy," the joy of a successful rebel or a liberated serf. plenty of money in my purse--that was unromantic, of course, but it simplified matters--and nine hours of daylight remaining in which to find a lodging. {life converges there, just at the public duck-pond: p3.jpg} the village is one of the oldest, and i am sure it must be one of the quaintest, in england. it is too small to be printed on the map (an honour that has spoiled more than one arcadia), so pray do not look there, but just believe in it, and some day you may be rewarded by driving into it by chance, as i did, and feel the same columbus thrill running, like an electric current, through your veins. i withhold specific geographical information in order that you may not miss that columbus thrill, which comes too seldom in a world of railroads. the green is in the very centre of barbury village, and all civic, political, family, and social life converges there, just at the public duck-pond--a wee, sleepy lake with a slope of grass-covered stones by which the ducks descend for their swim. the houses are set about the green like those in a toy village. they are of old brick, with crumpled, up-and-down roofs of deep-toned red, and tufts of stonecrop growing from the eaves. diamond-paned windows, half open, admit the sweet summer air; and as for the gardens in front, it would seem as if the inhabitants had nothing to do but work in them, there is such a riotous profusion of colour and bloom. to add to the effect, there are always pots of flowers hanging from the trees, blue flax and yellow myrtle; and cages of java sparrows and canaries singing joyously, as well they may in such a paradise. {the houses are set about the green: p5.jpg} the shops are idyllic, too, as if nature had seized even the man of trade and made him subservient to her designs. the general draper's, where i fitted myself out for a day or two quite easily, is set back in a tangle of poppies and sweet peas, madonna lilies and canterbury bells. the shop itself has a gay awning, and what do you think the draper has suspended from it, just as a picturesque suggestion to the passer-by? suggestion i call it, because i should blush to use the word advertisement in describing anything so dainty and decorative. well, then, garlands of shoes, if you please! baby bootlets of bronze; tiny ankle-ties in yellow, blue, and scarlet kid; glossy patent-leather pumps shining in the sun, with festoons of slippers at the corners, flowery slippers in imitation berlin wool-work. if you make this picture in your mind's-eye, just add a window above the awning, and over the fringe of marigolds in the window-box put the draper's wife dancing a rosy-cheeked baby. alas! my words are only black and white, i fear, and this picture needs a palette drenched in primary colours. along the street, a short distance, is the old watchmaker's. set in the hedge at the gate is a glass case with _multum in parvo_ painted on the woodwork. within, a little stand of trinkets revolves slowly; as slowly, i imagine, as the current of business in that quiet street. the house stands a trifle back and is covered thickly with ivy, while over the entrance-door of the shop is a great round clock set in a green frame of clustering vine. the hands pointed to one when i passed the watchmaker's garden with its thicket of fragrant lavender and its murmuring bees; so i went in to the sign of the "strong i' the arm" for some cold luncheon, determining to patronise "the running footman" at the very next opportunity. neither of these inns is starred by baedeker, and this fact adds the last touch of enchantment to the picture. the landlady at the "strong i' the arm" stabbed me in the heart by telling me that there were no apartments to let in the village, and that she had no private sitting-room in the inn; but she speedily healed the wound by saying that i might be accommodated at one of the farm-houses in the vicinity. did i object to a farm-'ouse? then she could cheerfully recommend the evan's farm, only 'alf a mile away. she 'ad understood from miss phoebe evan, who sold her poultry, that they would take one lady lodger if she didn't wish much waiting upon. in my present mood i was in search of the strenuous life, and eager to wait, rather than to be waited upon; so i walked along the edge of the green, wishing that some mentally unbalanced householder would take a sudden fancy to me and ask me to come in and lodge awhile. i suppose these families live under their roofs of peach-blow tiles, in the midst of their blooming gardens, for a guinea a week or thereabouts; yet if they "undertook" me (to use their own phrase), the bill for my humble meals and bed would be at least double that. i don't know that i blame them; one should have proper compensation for admitting a world-stained lodger into such an eden. when i was searching for rooms a week ago, i chanced upon a pretty cottage where the woman had sometimes let apartments. she showed me the premises and asked me if i would mind taking my meals in her own diningroom, where i could be served privately at certain hours: and, since she had but the one sitting-room, would i allow her to go on using it occasionally? also, if i had no special preference, would i take the second-sized bedroom and leave her in possession of the largest one, which permitted her to have the baby's crib by her bedside? she thought i should be quite as comfortable, and it was her opinion that in making arrangements with lodgers, it was a good plan not to "bryke up the 'ome any more than was necessary." "bryke up the 'ome!" that is seemingly the malignant purpose with which i entered barbury green. chapter ii july 4th. enter the family of thornycroft farm, of which i am already a member in good and regular standing. i introduce mrs. heaven first, for she is a self-saturated person who would never forgive the insult should she receive any lower place. she welcomed me with the statement: "we do not take lodgers here, nor boarders; no lodgers, nor boarders, but we do occasionally admit paying guests, those who look as if they would appreciate the quietude of the plyce and be willing as you might say to remunerate according." {mrs. heaven: p10.jpg} i did not mind at this particular juncture what i was called, so long as the epithet was comparatively unobjectionable, so i am a paying guest, therefore, and i expect to pay handsomely for the handsome appellation. mrs. heaven is short and fat; she fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills its cover; she wears a cap and apron, and she is so full of platitudes that she would have burst had i not appeared as a providential outlet for them. her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly of the marts of trade. she is repetitious, too, as well as platitudinous. "i 'ope if there's anythink you require you will let us know, let us know," she says several times each day; and whenever she enters my sitting-room she prefaces her conversation with the remark: "i trust you are finding it quiet here, miss? it's the quietude of the plyce that is its charm, yes, the quietude. and yet" (she dribbles on) "it wears on a body after a while, miss. i often go into woodmucket to visit one of my sons just for the noise, simply for the noise, miss, for nothink else in the world but the noise. there's nothink like noise for soothing nerves that is worn threadbare with the quietude, miss, or at least that's my experience; and yet to a strynger the quietude of the plyce is its charm, undoubtedly its chief charm; and that is what our paying guests always say, although our charges are somewhat higher than other plyces. if there's anythink you require, miss, i 'ope you'll mention it. there is not a commodious assortment in barbury green, but we can always send the pony to woodmucket in case of urgency. our paying guest last summer was a mrs. pollock, and she was by way of having sudden fancies. young and unmarried though you are, miss, i think you will tyke my meaning without my speaking plyner? well, at six o'clock of a rainy afternoon, she was seized with an unaccountable desire for vegetable marrows, and mr. 'eaven put the pony in the cart and went to woodmucket for them, which is a great advantage to be so near a town and yet 'ave the quietude." {mr. heaven: p11.jpg} mr. heaven is merged, like mr. jellyby, in the more shining qualities of his wife. a line of description is too long for him. indeed, i can think of no single word brief enough, at least in english. the latin "nil" will do, since no language is rich in words of less than three letters. he is nice, kind, bald, timid, thin, and so colourless that he can scarcely be discerned save in a strong light. when mrs. heaven goes out into the orchard in search of him, i can hardly help calling from my window, "bear a trifle to the right, mrs. heaven--now to the left--just in front of you now--if you put out your hands you will touch him." phoebe, aged seventeen, is the daughter of the house. she is virtuous, industrious, conscientious, and singularly destitute of physical charm. she is more than plain; she looks as if she had been planned without any definite purpose in view, made of the wrong materials, been badly put together, and never properly finished off; but "plain" after all is a relative word. many a plain girl has been married for her beauty; and now and then a beauty, falling under a cold eye, has been thought plain. phoebe has her compensations, for she is beloved by, and reciprocates the passion of, the woodmancote carrier, woodmucket being the english manner of pronouncing the place of his abode. if he "carries" as energetically for the great public as he fetches for phoebe, then he must be a rising and a prosperous man. he brings her daily, wild strawberries, cherries, birds' nests, peacock feathers, sea-shells, green hazel-nuts, samples of hens' food, or bouquets of wilted field flowers tied together tightly and held with a large, moist, loving hand. he has fine curly hair of sandy hue, which forms an aureole on his brow, and a reddish beard, which makes another inverted aureole to match, round his chin. one cannot look at him, especially when the sun shines through him, without thinking how lovely he would be if stuffed and set on wheels, with a little string to drag him about. {the woodmancote carrier: p13.jpg} phoebe confided to me that she was on the eve of loving the postman when the carrier came across her horizon. "it doesn't do to be too hysty, does it, miss?" she asked me as we were weeding the onion bed. "i was to give the postman his answer on the monday night, and it was on the monday morning that mr. gladwish made his first trip here as carrier. i may say i never wyvered from that moment, and no more did he. when i think how near i came to promising the postman it gives me a turn." (i can understand that, for i once met the man i nearly promised years before to marry, and we both experienced such a sense of relief at being free instead of bound that we came near falling in love for sheer joy.) {picture of toy on wheels: p14.jpg} the last and most important member of the household is the square baby. his name is albert edward, and he is really five years old and no baby at all; but his appearance on this planet was in the nature of a complete surprise to all parties concerned, and he is spoiled accordingly. he has a square head and jaw, square shoulders, square hands and feet. he is red and white and solid and stolid and slow-witted, as the young of his class commonly are, and will make a bulwark of the nation in course of time, i should think; for england has to produce a few thousand such square babies every year for use in the colonies and in the standing army. albert edward has already a military gait, and when he has acquired a habit of obedience at all comparable with his power of command, he will be able to take up the white man's burden with distinguished success. meantime i can never look at him without marvelling how the english climate can transmute bacon and eggs, tea and the solid household loaf into such radiant roses and lilies as bloom upon his cheeks and lips. chapter iii july 8th. thornycroft is by way of being a small poultry farm. in reaching it from barbury green, you take the first left-hand road, go till you drop, and there you are. it reminds me of my "grandmother's farm at older." did you know the song when you were a child?- my grandmother had a very fine farm 'way down in the fields of older. with a cluck-cluck here, and a cluck-cluck there, here and there a cluck-cluck, cluck-cluck here and there, down in the fields at older. it goes on for ever by the simple subterfuge of changing a few words in each verse. my grandmother had a very fine farm 'way down in the fields of older. with a quack-quack here, and a quack-quack there, here and there a quack-quack, quack-quack here and there, down in the fields at older. this is followed by the gobble-gobble, moo-moo, baa-baa, etc., as long as the laureate's imagination and the infant's breath hold good. the tune is pretty, and i do not know, or did not, when i was young, a more fascinating lyric. {the sitting hens: p17.jpg} thornycroft house must have belonged to a country gentleman once upon a time, or to more than one; men who built on a bit here and there once in a hundred years, until finally we have this charmingly irregular and dilapidated whole. you go up three steps into mrs. heaven's room, down two into mine, while phoebe's is up in a sort of turret with long, narrow lattices opening into the creepers. there are crooked little stair-cases, passages that branch off into other passages and lead nowhere in particular; i can't think of a better house in which to play hide and seek on a wet day. in front, what was once, doubtless, a green, is cut up into greens; to wit, a vegetable garden, where the onions, turnips, and potatoes grow cosily up to the very door-sill; the utilitarian aspect of it all being varied by some scarlet-runners and a scattering of poppies on either side of the path. the belgian hares have their habitation in a corner fifty feet distant; one large enclosure for poultry lies just outside the sweetbrier hedge; the others, with all the houses and coops, are in the meadow at the back, where also our tumbler pigeons are kept. phoebe attends to the poultry; it is her department. mr. heaven has neither the force nor the _finesse_ required, and the gentle reader who thinks these qualities unneeded in so humble a calling has only to spend a few days at thornycroft to be convinced. mrs. heaven would be of use, but she is dressing the square baby in the morning and putting him to bed at night just at the hours when the feathered young things are undergoing the same operation. a goose girl, like a poet, is sometimes born, sometimes otherwise. i am of the born variety. no training was necessary; i put my head on my pillow as a complicated product of modern civilisation on a tuesday night, and on a wednesday morning i awoke as a goose girl. {hens . . . go to bed at a virtuous hour: p19.jpg} my destiny slumbered during the day, but at eight o'clock i heard a terrific squawking in the direction of the duck-ponds, and, aimlessly drifting in that direction, i came upon phoebe trying to induce ducks and drakes, geese and ganders, to retire for the night. they have to be driven into enclosures behind fences of wire netting, fastened into little rat-proof boxes, or shut into separate coops, so as to be safe from their natural enemies, the rats and foxes; which, obeying, i suppose, the law of supply and demand, abound in this neighbourhood. the old ganders are allowed their liberty, being of such age, discretion, sagacity, and pugnacity that they can be trusted to fight their own battles. {ducks and geese . . . would roam the streets till morning: p20.jpg} the intelligence of hens, though modest, is of such an order that it prompts them to go to bed at a virtuous hour of their own accord; but ducks and geese have to be materially assisted, or i believe they would roam till morning. never did small boy detest and resist being carried off to his nursery as these dullards, young and old, detest and resist being driven to theirs. whether they suffer from insomnia, or nightmare, or whether they simply prefer the sweet air of liberty (and death) to the odour of captivity and the coop, i have no means of knowing. {the pole was not long enough: p21.jpg} phoebe stood by one of the duck-ponds, a long pole in her hand, and a helpless expression in that doughlike countenance of hers, where aimless contours and features unite to make a kind of facial blur. (what does the carrier see in it?) the pole was not long enough to reach the ducks, and phoebe's method lacked spirit and adroitness, so that it was natural, perhaps, that they refused to leave the water, the evening being warm, with an uncommon fine sunset. {they . . . waddle under the wrong fence: p22.jpg} i saw the situation at once and ran to meet it with a glow of interest and anticipation. if there is anything in the world i enjoy, it is making somebody do something that he doesn't want to do; and if, when victory perches upon my banner, the somebody can be brought to say that he ought to have done it without my making him, that adds the unforgettable touch to pleasure, though seldom, alas! does it happen. then ensued the delightful and stimulating hour that has now become a feature of the day; an hour in which the remembrance of the table-d'hote dinner at the hydro, going on at identically the same time, only stirs me to a keener joy and gratitude. {honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra: p23.jpg} {harried and pecked by the big geese: p24.jpg} the ducks swim round in circles, hide under the willows, and attempt to creep into the rat-holes in the banks, a stupidity so crass that it merits instant death, which it somehow always escapes. then they come out in couples and waddle under the wrong fence into the lower meadow, fly madly under the tool-house, pitch blindly in with the sitting hens, and out again in short order, all the time quacking and squawking, honking and hissing like a bewildered orchestra. by dint of splashing the water with poles, throwing pebbles, beating the shrubs at the pond's edges, "shooing" frantically with our skirts, crawling beneath bars to head them off, and prodding them from under bushes to urge them on, we finally get the older ones out of the water and the younger ones into some sort of relation to their various retreats; but, owing to their lack of geography, hatred of home, and general recalcitrancy, they none of them turn up in the right place and have to be sorted out. we uncover the top of the little house, or the enclosure as it may be, or reach in at the door, and, seizing the struggling victim, drag him forth and take him where he should have had the wit to go in the first instance. the weak ones get in with the strong and are in danger of being trampled; two may goslings that look almost full-grown have run into a house with a brood of ducklings a week old. there are twenty-seven crowded into one coop, five in another, nineteen in another; the gosling with one leg has to come out, and the duckling threatened with the gapes; their place is with the "invaleeds," as phoebe calls them, but they never learn the location of the hospital, nor have the slightest scruple about spreading contagious diseases. {in solitary splendour: p25.jpg} finally, when we have separated and sorted exhaustively, an operation in which phoebe shows a delicacy of discrimination and a fearlessness of attack amounting to genius, we count the entire number and find several missing. searching for their animate or inanimate bodies, we "scoop" one from under the tool-house, chance upon two more who are being harried and pecked by the big geese in the lower meadow, and discover one sailing by himself in solitary splendour in the middle of the deserted pond, a look of evil triumph in his bead-like eye. still we lack one young duckling, and he at length is found dead by the hedge. a rat has evidently seized him and choked him at a single throttle, but in such haste that he has not had time to carry away the tiny body. "poor think!" says phoebe tearfully; "it looks as if it was 'it with some kind of a wepping. i don't know whatever to do with the rats, they're gettin' that fearocious!" before i was admitted into daily contact with the living goose (my previous intercourse with him having been carried on when gravy and stuffing obscured his true personality), i thought him a very dreyfus among fowls, a sorely slandered bird, to whom justice had never been done; for even the gentle darwin is hard upon him. my opinion is undergoing some slight modifications, but i withhold judgment at present, hoping that some of the follies, faults, vagaries, and limitations that i observe in phoebe's geese may be due to phoebe's educational methods, which were, before my advent, those of the darkest ages. chapter iv {dryshod warnings which are never heeded: p27.jpg} july 9th. by the time the ducks and geese are incarcerated for the night, the reasonable, sensible, practical-minded hens--especially those whose mentality is increased and whose virtue is heightened by the responsibilities of motherhood--have gone into their own particular ratproof boxes, where they are waiting in a semi-somnolent state to have the wire doors closed, the bricks set against them, and the bits of sacking flung over the tops to keep out the draught. we have a great many young families, both ducklings and chicks, but we have no duck mothers at present. the variety of bird which phoebe seems to have bred during the past year may be called the new duck, with certain radical ideas about woman's sphere. what will happen to thornycroft if we develop a new hen and a new cow, my imagination fails to conceive. there does not seem to be the slightest danger for the moment, however, and our hens lay and sit and sit and lay as if laying and sitting were the twin purposes of life. {the mother goes off to bed: p28.jpg} the nature of the hen seems to broaden with the duties of maternity, but i think myself that we presume a little upon her amiability and natural motherliness. it is one thing to desire a family of one's own, to lay eggs with that idea in view, to sit upon them three long weeks and hatch out and bring up a nice brood of chicks. it must be quite another to have one's eggs abstracted day by day and eaten by a callous public, the nest filled with deceitful substitutes, and at the end of a dull and weary period of hatching to bring into the world another person's children--children, too, of the wrong size, the wrong kind of bills and feet, and, still more subtle grievance, the wrong kind of instincts, leading them to a dangerous aquatic career, one which the mother may not enter to guide, guard, and teach; one on the brink of which she must ever stand, uttering dryshod warnings which are never heeded. they grow used to this strange order of things after a bit, it is true, and are less anxious and excited. when the duck-brood returns safely again and again from what the hen-mother thinks will prove a watery grave, she becomes accustomed to the situation, i suppose. i find that at night she stands by the pond for what she considers a decent, self-respecting length of time, calling the ducklings out of the water; then, if they refuse to come, the mother goes off to bed and leaves them to providence, or phoebe. {cornelia and the web-footed gracchi: p29.jpg} the brown hen that we have named cornelia is the best mother, the one who waits longest and most patiently for the web-footed gracchi to finish their swim. when a chick is taken out of the incubytor (as phoebe calls it) and refused by all the other hens, cornelia generally accepts it, though she had twelve of her own when we began using her as an orphan asylum. "wings are made to stretch," she seems to say cheerfully, and with a kind glance of her round eye she welcomes the wanderer and the outcast. she even tended for a time the offspring of an absent-minded, light-headed pheasant who flew over a four-foot wall and left her young behind her to starve; it was not a new pheasant, either; for the most conservative and old-fashioned of her tribe occasionally commits domestic solecisms of this sort. {an orphan asylum: p30.jpg} there is no telling when, where, or how the maternal instinct will assert itself. among our thornycroft cats is a certain mrs. greyskin. she had not been seen for many days, and mrs. heaven concluded that she had hidden herself somewhere with a family of kittens; but as the supply of that article with us more than equals the demand, we had not searched for her with especial zeal. {phoebe and i followed her stealthily: p31.jpg} the other day mrs. greyskin appeared at the dairy door, and when she had been fed phoebe and i followed her stealthily, from a distance. she walked slowly about as if her mind were quite free from harassing care, and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a great mound of straw. at this moment she caught sight of us and turned in another direction to throw us off the scent. we persevered in our intention of going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously looking for some sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft cackle and a ruffling of plumage. coming closer to the sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest, her bright bead eyes turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed out from her protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four kittens, eyes wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport! the sight was irresistible, and phoebe ran for mr. and mrs. heaven and the square baby. mother hen was not to be embarrassed or daunted, even if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the light of a cheap entertainment. she held her ground while one of the kits slid up and down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! we retired then for very shame and met mrs. greyskin in the doorway. this should have thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor animosity between the co-mothers. we watch them every day now, through a window in the roof. mother greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. while this is going on mother blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. it is pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, and they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever mother is brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a week, it can no longer be called a blind error on their part. {coaxed out . . . by youthful curiosity: p33.jpg} when we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens which phoebe calls the broilers. i cannot endure the term, and will not use it. "now for the april chicks," i say every evening. "do you mean the broilers?" asks phoebe. "i mean the big april chicks," say i. "yes, them are the broilers," says she. but is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time comes, without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks beforehand? {nine huddle together: p34.jpg} the april chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil. as a general thing, we find in the large house sixteen young fowls of the contemplative, flavourless, resigned-to-the-inevitable variety; three more (the same three every night) perch on the roof and are driven down; four (always the same four) cling to the edge of the open door, waiting to fly off, but not in, when you attempt to close it; nine huddle together on a place in the grass about forty feet distant, where a small coop formerly stood in the prehistoric ages. this small coop was one in which they lodged for a fortnight when they were younger, and when those absolutely indelible impressions are formed of which we read in educational maxims. it was taken away long since, but the nine loyal (or stupid) casabiancas cling to the sacred spot where its foundations rested; they accordingly have to be caught and deposited bodily in the house, and this requires strategy, as they note our approach from a considerable distance. {of a wandering mind: p35.jpg} finally all are housed but two, the little white cock and the black pullet, who are still impish and of a wandering mind. though headed off in every direction, they fly into the hedges and hide in the underbrush. we beat the hedge on the other side, but with no avail. we dive into the thicket of wild roses, sweetbrier, and thistles on our hands and knees, coming out with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens. then, when all has been done that human ingenuity can suggest, phoebe goes to her late supper and i do sentry-work. i stroll to a safe distance, and, sitting on one of the rat-proof boxes, watch the bushes with an eagle eye. five minutes go by, ten, fifteen; and then out steps the white cock, stealthily tiptoeing toward the home into which he refused to go at our instigation. in a moment out creeps the obstinate little beast of a black pullet from the opposite clump. the wayward pair meet at their own door, which i have left open a few inches. when all is still i walk gently down the field, and, warned by previous experiences, approach the house from behind. i draw the door to softly and quickly; but not so quickly that the evil-minded and suspicious black pullet hasn't time to spring out, with a make-believe squawk of fright--that induces three other blameless chickens to fly down from their perches and set the whole flock in a flutter. then i fall from grace and call her a broiler; and when, after some minutes of hot pursuit, i catch her by falling over her in the corner by the goose-pen, i address her as a fat, juicy broiler with parsley butter and a bit of bacon. {with tangled hair, scratched noses, and no hens: p36.jpg} chapter v july 10th. at ten thirty or so in the morning the cackling begins. i wonder exactly what it means! have the forest-lovers who listen so respectfully to, and interpret so exquisitely, the notes of birds--have none of them made psychological investigations of the hen cackle? can it be simple elation? one could believe that of the first few eggs, but a hen who has laid two or three hundred can hardly feel the same exuberant pride and joy daily. can it be the excitement incident to successful achievement? hardly, because the task is so extremely simple. eggs are more or less alike; a little larger or smaller, a trifle whiter or browner; and almost sure to be quite right as to details; that is, the big end never gets confused with the little end, they are always ovoid and never spherical, and the yolk is always inside of the white. as for a soft-shelled egg, it is so rare an occurrence that the fear of laying one could not set the whole race of hens in a panic; so there really cannot be any intellectual or emotional agitation in producing a thing that might be made by a machine. can it be simply "fussiness"; since the people who have the least to do commonly make the most flutter about doing it? perhaps it is merely conversation. "_cut-cut-cut-cut-cut_-dah_cut_! . . . i have finished my strictly fresh egg, have you laid yours? make haste, then, for the cock has found a gap in the wire-fence and wants us to wander in the strawberry-bed. . . . cut-cut-cut-cut-cut-dah_cut_ . . . every moment is precious, for the goose girl will find us, when she gathers the strawberries for her luncheon . . . cut-cut-cut-cut! on the way out we can find sweet places to steal nests . . . cut-cut-cut! . . . i am so glad i am not sitting this heavenly morning; it _is_ a dull life." a lancashire poultryman drifted into barbury green yesterday. he is an old acquaintance of mr. heaven, and spent the night and part of the next day at thornycroft farm. he possessed a deal of fowl philosophy, and tells many a good hen story, which, like fish stories, draw rather largely on the credulity of the audience. we were sitting in the rickyard talking comfortably about laying and cackling and kindred matters when he took his pipe from his mouth and told us the following tale--not a bad one if you can translate the dialect:-'aw were once towd as, if yo' could only get th' hen's egg away afooar she hed sin it, th' hen 'ud think it hed med a mistek an' sit deawn ageean an' lay another. "an' it seemed to me it were a varra sensible way o' lukkin' at it. sooa aw set to wark to mek a nest as 'ud tek a rise eawt o' th' hens. an' aw dud it too. aw med a nest wi' a fause bottom, th' idea bein' as when a hen hed laid, th' egg 'ud drop through into a box underneyth. "aw felt varra preawd o' that nest, too, aw con tell yo', an' aw remember aw felt quite excited when aw see an awd black minorca, th' best layer as aw hed, gooa an' settle hersel deawn i' th' nest an' get ready for wark. th' hen seemed quite comfortable enough, aw were glad to see, an' geet through th' operation beawt ony seemin' trouble. "well, aw darsay yo' know heaw a hen carries on as soon as it's laid a egg. it starts "chuckin'" away like a showman's racket, an' after tekkin' a good ink at th' egg to see whether it's a big 'un or a little 'un, gooas eawt an' tells all t'other hens abeawt it. "neaw, this black minorca, as aw sed, were a owdish bird, an' maybe knew mooar than aw thowt. happen it hed laid on a nest wi' a fause bottom afooar, an' were up to th' trick, but whether or not, aw never see a hen luk mooar disgusted i' mi life when it lukked i' th' nest an' see as it hed hed all that trouble fer nowt. "it woked reawnd th' nest as if it couldn't believe its own eyes. "but it dudn't do as aw expected. aw expected as it 'ud sit deawn ageean an' lay another. "but it just gi'e one wonderin' sooart o' chuck, an then, after a long stare reawnd th' hen-coyt, it woked eawt, as mad a hen as aw've ever sin. aw fun' eawt after, what th' long stare meant. it were tekkin' farewell! for if yo'll believe me that hen never laid another egg i' ony o' my nests. "varra like it laid away in a spot wheear it could hev summat to luk at when it hed done wark for th' day. "sooa aw lost mi best layer through mi actin', an' aw've never invented owt sen." chapter vi one learns to be modest by living on a poultry farm, for there are constant expositions of the most deplorable vanity among the cocks. we have a couple of pea-fowl who certainly are an addition to the landscape, as they step mincingly along the square of turf we dignify by the name of lawn. the head of the house has a most languid and self-conscious strut, and his microscopic mind is fixed entirely on his splendid trailing tail. if i could only master his language sufficiently to tell him how hideously ugly the back view of this gorgeous fan is, when he spreads it for the edification of the observer in front of him, he would of course retort that there is a "congregation side" to everything, but i should at least force him into a defence of his tail and a confession of its limitations. this would be new and unpleasant, i fancy; and if it produced no perceptible effect upon his super-arrogant demeanour, i might remind him that he is likely to be used, eventually, for a feather duster, unless, indeed, the heavens are superstitious and prefer to throw his tail away, rather than bring ill luck and the evil eye into the house. {more pride of bearing, and less to be proud of: p43.jpg} the longer i study the cock, whether black spanish, white leghorn, dorking, or the common barnyard fowl, the more intimately i am acquainted with him, the less i am impressed with his character. he has more pride of bearing, and less to be proud of, than any bird i know. he is indolent, though he struts pompously over the grass as if the day were all too short for his onerous duties. he calls the hens about him when i throw corn from the basket, but many a time i have seen him swallow hurriedly, and in private, some dainty titbit he has found unexpectedly. he has no particular chivalry. he gives no special encouragement to his hen when he becomes a prospective father, and renders little assistance when the responsibilities become actualities. his only personal message or contribution to the world is his raucous cock-a-doodle-doo, which, being uttered most frequently at dawn, is the most ill-timed and offensive of all musical notes. it is so unnecessary too, as if the day didn't come soon enough without his warning; but i suppose he is anxious to waken his hens and get them at their daily task, and so he disturbs the entire community. in short, i dislike him; his swagger, his autocratic strut, his greed, his irritating self-consciousness, his endless parading of himself up and down in a procession of one. of course his character is largely the result of polygamy. his weaknesses are only what might be expected; and as for the hens, i have considerable respect for the patience, sobriety, and dignity with which they endure an institution particularly offensive to all women. in their case they do not even have the sustaining thought of its being an article of religion, so they are to be complimented the more. there is nothing on earth so feminine as a hen--not womanly, simply feminine. those men of insight who write the woman's page in the sunday newspapers study hens more than women, i sometimes think; at any rate, their favourite types are all present on this poultry farm. some families of white leghorns spend most of their time in the rickyard, where they look extremely pretty, their slender white shapes and red combs and wattles well set off by the background of golden hayricks. there is a great oak-tree in one corner, with a tall ladder leaning against its trunk, and a capital roosting-place on a long branch running at right angles with the ladder. i try to spend a quarter of an hour there every night before supper, just for the pleasure of seeing the feathered "women-folks" mount that ladder. a dozen of them surround the foot, waiting restlessly for their turn. one little white lady flutters up on the lowest round and perches there until she reviews the past, faces the present, and forecasts the future; during which time she is gathering courage for the next jump. she cackles, takes up one foot and then the other, tilts back and forth, holds up her skirts and drops them again, cocks her head nervously to see whether they are all staring at her below, gives half a dozen preliminary springs which mean nothing, declares she can't and won't go up any faster, unties her bonnet strings and pushes back her hair, pulls down her dress to cover her toes, and finally alights on the next round, swaying to and fro until she gains her equilibrium, when she proceeds to enact the same scene over again. all this time the hens at the foot of the ladder are criticising her methods and exclaiming at the length of time she requires in mounting; while the cocks stroll about the yard keeping one eye on the ladder, picking up a seed here and there, and giving a masculine sneer now and then at the too-familiar scene. they approach the party at intervals, but only to remark that it always makes a man laugh to see a woman go up a ladder. the next hen, stirred to the depths by this speech, flies up entirely too fast, loses her head, tumbles off the top round, and has to make the ascent over again. thus it goes on and on, this _petite comedie humaine_, and i could enjoy it with my whole heart if mr. heaven did not insist on sharing the spectacle with me. he is so inexpressibly dull, so destitute of humour, that i did not think it likely he would see in the performance anything more than a flock of hens going up a ladder to roost. but he did; for there is no man so blind that he cannot see the follies of women; and, when he forgot himself so far as to utter a few genial, silly, well-worn reflections upon femininity at large, i turned upon him and revealed to him some of the characteristics of his own sex, gained from an exhaustive study of the barnyard fowl of the masculine gender. he went into the house discomfited, though chuckling a little at my vehemence; but at least i have made it for ever impossible for him to watch his hens without an occasional glance at the cocks. {mr. heaven discomfited: p46.jpg} chapter vii july 12th. o the pathos of a poultry farm! catherine of aragon, the black spanish hen that stole her nest, brought out nine chicks this morning, and the business-like and marble-hearted phoebe has taken them away and given them to another hen who has only seven. two mothers cannot be wasted on these small families--it would not be profitable; and the older mother, having been tried and found faithful over seven, has been given the other nine and accepted them. what of the bereft one? she is miserable and stands about moping and forlorn, but it is no use fighting against the inevitable; hens' hearts must obey the same laws that govern the rotation of crops. catherine of aragon feels her lot a bitter one just now, but in time she will succumb, and lay, which is more to the point. we have had a very busy evening, beginning with the rats' supper--delicate sandwiches of bread-and-butter spread with paris green. we have a new brood of seventeen ducklings just hatched this afternoon. when we came to the nest the yellow and brown bunches of down and fluff were peeping out from under the hen's wings in the prettiest fashion in the world. "it's a noble hen!" i said to phoebe. "she ain't so nowble as she looks," phoebe answered grimly. "it was another 'en that brooded these eggs for near on three weeks and then this big one come along with a fancy she'd like a family 'erself if she could steal one without too much trouble; so she drove the rightful 'en off the nest, finished up the last few days, and 'ere she is in possession of the ducklings!" "why don't you take them away from her and give them back to the first hen, who did most of the work?" i asked, with some spirit. "like as not she wouldn't tyke them now," said phoebe, as she lifted the hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her gently into a clean box, on a bed of fresh hay. we put food and drink within reach of the family, and very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked, as she stretched her wings over the seventeen easily-earned ducklings. going back to the old nesting-box, i found one egg forgotten among the shells. it was still warm, and i took it up to run across the field with it to phoebe. it was heavy, and the carrying of it was a queer sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and "yipped" vociferously in transit, threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that i was decidedly nervous. the intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched phoebe's apron, and has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood. all this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to bed, this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting woman's work. i am sure phoebe will make a better wife to the carrier for having been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical purposes when i came here, i am an infinitely better woman now. i am afraid i was not particularly nice the last few days at the hydro. such a lot of dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! aunt margaret furnishing imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two trained nurses distracted; a man i had never encouraged in my life coming to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; another man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose of making my life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full chase! small wonder i thought it more dignified to retire than to compete, and so i did. i need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to oxenbridge with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious snap; for, so far as i can observe, the little world of which i imagined myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other centre. i can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but somewhat exposed and responsible position--it would be just like her! {threatened . . . to hatch in my hand: p51.jpg} i am perfectly happy where i am; it is not that; but it seems so strange that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that they--after all that was said on the subject not many days ago. nothing turns out as one expects. there have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no bills posted, no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every eye. heighho! what does it matter, after all? one can always be a goose girl! * * * * * i wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings! do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all the sense of difference? does she not sometimes reflect that if her children were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she would be enjoying certain pretty little attentions dear to a mother's heart? the chicks would be pecking the food off her broad beak with their tiny ones, and jumping on her back to slide down her glossy feathers. they would be far nicer to cuddle, too, so small and graceful and light; the changelings are a trifle solid and brawny. and personally, just as a matter of taste, would she not prefer wee, round, glancing heads, and pointed beaks, peeping from under her wings, to these teaspoon-shaped things larger than her own? i wonder! we are training fourteen large young chickens to sit on the perches in their new house, instead of huddling together on the floor as has been their habit, because we discover rat-holes under the wire flooring occasionally, and fear that toes may be bitten. at nine o'clock phoebe and i lift the chickens one by one, and, as it were, glue them to their perches, squawking. three nights have we gone patiently through with this performance, but they have not learned the lesson. the ducks and geese are, however, greatly improved by the application of advanced educational methods, and the _regime_ of perfect order and system instituted by me begins to show results. {one can always be a goose girl: p53.jpg} there is no more violent splashing and pebbling, racing, chasing, separating. the pole, indeed, still has to be produced, but at the first majestic wave of my hand they scuttle toward the shore. the geese turn to the right, cross the rickyard, and go to their pen; the may ducks turn to the left for their coops, the june ducks follow the hens to the top meadow, and even the idiot gosling has an inspiration now and then and stumbles on his own habitation. {the geese . . . cross the rickyard: p54.jpg} mrs. heaven has no reverence for the principles of comenius, pestalozzi, or herbert spencer as applied to poultry, and when the ducks and geese came out of the pond badly the other night and went waddling and tumbling and hissing all over creation, did not approve of my sending them back into the pond to start afresh. "i consider it a great waste of time, of good time, miss," she said; "and, after all, do you consider that educated poultry will be any better eating, or that it will lay more than one egg a day, miss?" i have given the matter some attention, and i fear mrs. heaven is right. a duck, a goose, or a hen in which i have developed a larger brain, implanted a sense of duty, or instilled an idea of self-government, is likely, on the whole, to be leaner, not fatter. there is nothing like obeying the voice of conscience for taking the flesh off one's bones; and, speaking of conscience, phoebe, whose metaphysics are of the farm farmy, says that hers "felt like a hunlaid hegg for dyes" after she had jilted the postman. as to the eggs, i am sure the birds will go on laying one a day for 'tis their nature to. whether the product of the intelligent, conscious, logical fowl, will be as rich in quality as that of the uneducated and barbaric bird, i cannot say; but it ought at least to be equal to the denmark egg eaten now by all londoners; and if, perchance, left uneaten, it is certain to be a very superior wife and mother. while we are discussing the subject of educating poultry, i confess that the case of cannibal ann gives me much anxiety. twice in her short career has she been under suspicion of eating her own eggs, but phoebe has never succeeded in catching her _in flagrante delicto_. that eminent detective service was reserved for me, and i have been haunted by the picture ever since. it is an awful sight to witness a hen gulp her own newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, shell, and all; to realise that you have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run in, a being possessed of no moral sense, a being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious habits among her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire poultry-yard. _the young poultry keeper's friend_ gives us no advice on this topic, and we do not know whether to treat cannibal ann as the victim of a disease, or as a confirmed criminal; whether to administer remedies or cut her off in the flower of her youth. {poor little chap, . . . 'e never was a fyvorite: p56.jpg} we have had a sad scene to-night. a chick has been ailing all day, and when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner. phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. the other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again, eyeing him curiously. "poor little chap!" said phoebe. "'e's never 'ad a mother! 'e was an incubytor chicken, and wherever i took 'im 'e was picked at. there was somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!" i put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a handful of grass over him. "sad little epitaph!" i thought. "he never was a fyvorite!" chapter viii july 13th. i like to watch the belgian hares eating their trifolium or pea-pods or grass; graceful, gentle things they are, crowding about mr. heaven, and standing prettily, not greedily, on their hind legs, to reach for the clover, their delicate nostrils and whiskers all a-quiver with excitement. as i look out of my window in the dusk i can see one of the mothers galloping across the enclosure, the soft white lining of her tail acting as a beacon-light to the eight infant hares following her, a quaint procession of eight white spots in it glancing line. in the darkest night those baby creatures could follow their mother through grass or hedge or thicket, and she would need no warning note to show them where to flee in case of danger. "all you have to do is to follow the white night-light that i keep in the lining of my tail," she says, when she is giving her first maternal lectures; and it seems a beneficent provision of nature. to be sure, mr. heaven took his gun and went out to shoot wild rabbits to-day, and i noted that he marked them by those same selfbetraying tails, as they scuttled toward their holes or leaped toward the protecting cover of the hedge; so it does not appear whether nature is on the side of the farmer or the rabbit . . . {mr. heaven . . . went out to shoot wild rabbits: p59.jpg} there is as much comedy and as much tragedy in poultry life as anywhere, and already i see rifts within lutes. we have in a cage a french gentleman partridge married to a hungarian lady of defective sight. he paces back and forth in the pen restlessly, anything but content with the domestic fireside. one can see plainly that he is devoted to the boulevards, and that if left to his own inclinations he would never have chosen any spouse but a thorough parisienne. the hungarian lady is blind of one eye, from some stray shot, i suppose. she is melancholy at all times, and occasionally goes so far as to beat her head against the wire netting. if liberated, mr. heaven says that her blindness would only expose her to death at the hands of the first sportsman, and it always seems to me as if she knows this, and is ever trying to decide whether a loveless marriage is any better than the tomb. then, again, the great, grey gander is, for some mysterious reason, out of favour with the entire family. he is a noble and amiable bird, by far the best all-round character in the flock, for dignity of mien and largeminded common-sense. what is the treatment vouchsafed to this blameless husband and father? one that puts anybody out of sorts with virtue and its scant rewards. to begin with, the others will not allow him to go into the pond. there is an organised cabal against it, and he sits solitary on the bank, calm and resigned, but, naturally, a trifle hurt. his favourite retreat is a tiny sort of island on the edge of the pool under the alders, where with his bent head, and red-rimmed philosophic eyes he regards his own breast and dreams of happier days. when the others walk into the country twenty-three of them keep together, and burd alane (as i have named him from the old ballad) walks by himself. the lack of harmony is so evident here, and the slight so intentional and direct, that it almost moves me to tears. the others walk soberly, always in couples, but even burd alane's rightful spouse is on the side of the majority, and avoids her consort. {out of favour with the entire family: p61.jpg} what is the nature of his offence? there can be no connubial jealousies, i judge, as geese are strictly monogamous, and having chosen a partner of their joys and sorrows they cleave to each other until death or some other inexorable circumstance does them part. if they are ever mistaken in their choice, and think they might have done better, the world is none the wiser. burd alane looks in good condition, but phoebe thinks he is not quite himself, and that some day when he is in greater strength he will turn on his foes and rend them, regaining thus his lost prestige, for formerly he was king of the flock. * * * * * phoebe has not a vestige of sentiment. she just asked me if i would have a duckling or a gosling for dinner; that there were two quite ready--the brown and yellow duckling, that is the last to leave the water at night, and the white gosling that never knows his own 'ouse. which would i 'ave, and would i 'ave it with sage and onion? now, had i found a duckling on the table at dinner i should have eaten it without thinking at all, or with the thought that it had come from barbury green. but eat a duckling that i have stoned out of the pond, pursued up the bank, chased behind the wire netting, caught, screaming, in a corner, and carried struggling to his bed? feed upon an idiot gosling that i have found in nine different coops on nine successive nights--in with the newly-hatched chicks, the half-grown pullets, the setting hen, the "invaleed goose," the drake with the gapes, the old ducks in the pen?--eat a gosling that i have caught and put in with his brothers and sisters (whom he never recognises) so frequently and regularly that i am familiar with every joint in his body? in the first place, with my own small bump of locality and lack of geography, i would never willingly consume a creature who might, by some strange process of assimilation, make me worse in this respect; in the second place, i should have to be ravenous indeed to sit down deliberately and make a meal of an intimate friend, no matter if i had not a high opinion of his intelligence. i should as soon think of eating the square baby, stuffed with sage and onion and garnished with green apple-sauce, as the yellow duckling or the idiot gosling. mrs. heaven has just called me into her sitting-room, ostensibly to ask me to order breakfast, but really for the pleasure of conversation. why she should inquire whether i would relish some gammon of bacon with eggs, when she knows that there has not been, is not now, and never will be, anything but gammon of bacon with eggs, is more than i can explain. "would you like to see my flowers, miss?" she asks, folding her plump hands over her white apron. "they are looking beautiful this morning. i am so fond of potted plants, of plants in pots. look at these geraniums! now, i consider that pink one a perfect bloom; yes, a perfect bloom. this is a fine red one, is it not, miss? especially fine, don't you think? the trouble with the red variety is that they're apt to get "bobby" and have to be washed regularly; quite bobby they do get indeed, i assure you. that white one has just gone out of blossom, and it was really wonderful. you could 'ardly have told it from a paper flower, miss, not from a white paper flower. my plants are my children nowadays, since albert edward is my only care. i have been the mother of eleven children, miss, all of them living, so far as i know; i know nothing to the contrary. i 'ope you are not wearying of this solitary place, miss? it will grow upon you, i am sure, as it did upon mrs. pollock, with all her peculiar fancies, and as it 'as grown upon us.--we formerly had a butcher's shop in buffington, and it was naturally a great responsibility. mr. heaven's nerves are not strong, and at last he wanted a life of more quietude, more quietude was what he craved. the life of a retail butcher is a most exciting and wearying one. nobody satisfied with their meat; as if it mattered in a world of change! everybody complaining of too much bone or too little fat; nobody wishing tough chops or cutlets, but always seeking after fine joints, when it's against reason and nature that all joints should be juicy and all cutlets tender; always complaining if livers are not sent with every fowl, always asking you to remember the trimmin's, always wanting their beef well 'ung, and then if you 'ang it a minute too long, it's left on your 'ands! i often used to say to mr. heaven, yes many's the time i've said it, that if people would think more of the great 'ereafter and less about their own little stomachs, it would be a deal better for them, yes, a deal better, and make it much more comfortable for the butchers!" {the life . . . is a most exciting and wearying one: p65.jpg} * * * * * burd alane has had a good quarter of an hour to-day. {his spouse took a brief promenade with him: p66.jpg} his spouse took a brief promenade with him. to be sure, it was during an absence of the flock on the other side of the hedge so that the moral effect of her spasm of wifely loyalty was quite lost upon them. i strongly suspect that she would not have granted anything but a secret interview. what a petty, weak, ignoble character! i really don't like to think so badly of any fellow-creature as i am forced to think of that politic, time-serving, pusillanimous goose. i believe she laid the egg that produced the idiot gosling! chapter ix here follows the true story of sir muscovy drake, the lady blanche, and miss malardina crippletoes. phoebe's flock consisted at first mostly of brown mallards, but a friend gave her a sitting of eggs warranted to produce a most beautiful variety of white ducks. they were hatched in due time, but proved hard to raise, till at length there was only one survivor, of such uncommon grace and beauty that we called her the lady blanche. presently a neighbour sold phoebe his favourite muscovy drake, and these two splendid creatures by "natural selection" disdained to notice the rest of the flock, but forming a close friendship, wandered in the pleasant paths of duckdom together, swimming and eating quite apart from the others. in the brown flock there was one unfortunate, misshapen from the egg, quite lame, and with no smoothness of plumage; but on that very account, apparently, or because she was too weak to resist them, the others treated her cruelly, biting her and pushing her away from the food. one day it happened that the two ducks--sir muscovy and lady blanche--had come up from the water before the others, and having taken their repast were sitting together under the shade of a flowering currant-bush, when they chanced to see poor miss crippletoes very badly used and crowded away from the dish. sir muscovy rose to his feet; a few rapid words seemed to pass between him and his mate, and then he fell upon the other drake and the heartless minions who had persecuted the helpless one, drove them far away out of sight, and, returning, went to the corner where the victim was cowering, her face to the wall. he seemed to whisper to her, or in some way to convey to her a sense of protection; for after a few moments she tremblingly went with him to the dish, and hurriedly ate her dinner while he stood by, repulsing the advances of the few brown ducks who remained near and seemed inclined to attack her. when she had eaten enough lady blanche joined them, and they went down the hill together to their favourite swimming-place. after that miss crippletoes always followed a little behind her protectors, and thus shielded and fed she grew stronger and well-feathered, though she was always smaller than she should have been and had a lowly manner, keeping a few steps in the rear of her superiors and sitting at some distance from their noon resting-place. phoebe noticed after a while that lady blanche was seldom to be seen, and sir muscovy and miss crippletoes often came to their meals without her. the would-be mother refused to inhabit the house phoebe had given her, and for a long time the place she had chosen for her sitting could not be found. at length the square baby discovered her in a most ideal spot. a large boulder had dropped years ago into the brook that fills our duckpond; dropped and split in halves with the two smooth walls leaning away from each other. a grassy bank towered behind, and on either side of the opening, tall bushes made a miniature forest where the romantic mother could brood her treasures while her two guardians enjoyed the water close by her retreat. all this happened before my coming to thornycroft farm, but it was i who named the hero and heroines of the romance when phoebe had told me all the particulars. yesterday morning i was sitting by my open window. it was warm, sunny, and still, but in the country sounds travel far, and i could hear fowl conversation in various parts of the poultry-yard as well as in all the outlying bits of territory occupied by our feathered friends. hens have only three words and a scream in their language, but ducks, having more thoughts to express, converse quite fluently, so fluently, in fact, that it reminds me of dinner at the hydropathic hotel. i fancy i have learned to distinguish seven separate sounds, each varied by degrees of intensity, and with upward or downward inflections like the chinese tongue. in the distance, then, i heard the faint voice of a duck calling as if breathless and excited. while i wondered what was happening, i saw miss crippletoes struggling up the steep bank above the duck-pond. it was the quickest way from the water to the house, but difficult for the little lame webbed feet. when she reached the level grass sward she sank down a moment, exhausted; but when she could speak again she cried out, a sharp staccato call, and ran forward. instantly she was answered from a distant knoll, where for some reason sir muscovy loved to retire for meditation. the cries grew lower and softer as the birds approached each other, and they met at the corner just under my window. instantly they put their two bills together and the loud cries changed to confiding murmurs. evidently some hurried questions and answers passed between them, and then sir muscovy waddled rapidly by the quickest path, miss crippletoes following him at a slower pace, and both passed out of sight, using their wings to help their feet down the steep declivity. the next morning, when i wakened early, my first thought was to look out, and there on the sunny greensward where they were accustomed to be fed, sir muscovy, lady blanche, and their humble maid, malardina crippletoes, were scattering their own breakfast before the bills of twelve beautiful golden balls of ducklings. the little creatures could never have climbed the bank, but must have started from their nest at dawn, coming round by the brook to the level at the foot of the garden, and so by slow degrees up to the house. judging from what i heard and knew of their habits, i am sure the excitement of the previous morning was occasioned by the hatching of the eggs, and that lady blanche had hastily sent her friend to call sir muscovy, the family remaining together until they could bring the babies with them and display their beauty to phoebe and me. chapter x july 14th. we are not wholly without the pleasures of the town in barbury green. once or twice in a summer, late on a saturday afternoon, a procession of red and yellow vans drives into a field near the centre of the village. by the time the vans are unpacked all the children in the community are surrounding the gate of entrance. there is rifle-shooting, there is fortune-telling, there are games of pitch and toss, and swings, and french bagatelle; and, to crown all, a wonderful orchestrion that goes by steam. the water is boiled for the public's tea, and at the same time thrilling strains of melody are flung into the air. there is at present only one tune in the orchestrion's repertory, but it is a very good tune; though after hearing it three hundred and seven times in a single afternoon, it pursues one, sleeping and waking, for the next week. phoebe and i took the square baby and went in to this diversified entertainment. there was a small crowd of children at the entrance, but as none of them seemed to be provided with pennies, and i felt in a fairy godmother mood, i offered them the freedom of the place at my expense. i never purchased more radiant good-will for less money, but the combined effect of the well-boiled tea and the boiling orchestrion produced many village nightmares, so the mothers told me at chapel next morning. * * * * * i have many friends in barbury green, and often have a pleasant chat with the draper, and the watchmaker, and the chemist. {the freedom of the place at my expense: p74.jpg} the last house on the principal street is rather an ugly one, with especially nice window curtains. as i was taking my daily walk to the post-office (an entirely unfruitful expedition thus far, as nobody has taken the pains to write to me) i saw a nursemaid coming out of the gate, wheeling a baby in a perambulator. she was going placidly away from the green when, far in the distance, she espied a man walking rapidly toward us, a heavy gladstone bag in one hand. she gazed fixedly for a moment, her eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing with pleasure,--whoever it was, it was an unexpected arrival;--then she retraced her steps and, running up the garden-path, opened the front door and held an excited colloquy with somebody; a slender somebody in a nice print gown and neatly-dressed hair, who came to the gate and peeped beyond the hedge several times, drawing back between peeps with smiles and heightened colour. she did not run down the road, even when she had satisfied herself of the identity of the traveller; perhaps that would not have been good form in an english village, for there were houses on the opposite side of the way. she waited until he opened the gate, the nursemaid took the bag and looked discreetly into the hedge, then the mistress slipped her hand through the traveller's arm and walked up the path as if she had nothing else in the world to wish for. the nurse had a part in the joy, for she lifted the baby out of the perambulator and showed proudly how much he had grown. it was a dear little scene, and i, a passer-by, had shared in it and felt better for it. i think their content was no less because part of it had enriched my life, for happiness, like mercy, is twice blessed; it blesses those who are most intimately associated in it, and it blesses all those who see it, hear it, feel it, touch it, or breathe the same atmosphere. a laughing, crowing baby in a house, one cheerful woman singing about her work, a boy whistling at the plough, a romance just suspected, with its miracle of two hearts melting into one--the wind's always in the west when you have any of these wonder-workers in your neighbourhood. i have talks too, sometimes, with the old parson, who lives in a quaint house with "_parva domus magna quies_" cut into the stone over the doorway. he is not a preaching parson, but a retired one, almost the nicest kind, i often think. he has been married thirty years, he tells me; thirty years, spent in the one little house with the bricks painted red and grey alternately, and the scarlet holly-hocks growing under the windows. i am sure they have been sweet, true, kind years, and that his heart must be a quiet, peaceful place just like his house and garden. "i was only eleven years old when i fell in love with my wife," he told me as we sat on the seat under the lime-tree; he puffing cosily at his pipe, i plaiting grasses for a hatband. {puffing cosily at his pipe: p77.jpg} "it was just before sunday-school. her mother had dressed her all in white muslin like a fairy, but she had stepped on the edge of a puddle, and some of the muddy water had bespattered her frock. a circle of children had surrounded her, and some of the motherly little girls were on their knees rubbing at the spots anxiously, while one of them wiped away the tears that were running down her pretty cheeks. i looked! it was fatal! i did not look again, but i was smitten to the very heart! i did not speak to her for six years, but when i did, it was all right with both of us, thank god! and i've been in love with her ever since, when she behaves herself!" that is the way they speak of love in barbury green, and oh! how much sweeter and more wholesome it is than the language of the town! who would not be a goose girl, "to win the secret of the weed's plain heart"? it seems to me that in society we are always gazing at magic-lantern shows, but here we rest our tired eyes with looking at the stars. chapter xi {a hen conference: p79.jpg} july 16th. phoebe and i have been to a hen conference at buffington. it was for the purpose of raising the standard of the british hen, and our local countess, who is much interested in poultry, was in the chair. it was a very learned body, but phoebe had coached me so well that at the noon recess i could talk confidently with the members, discussing the various advantages of true and crossed minorcas, feverels, andalusians, cochin chinas, shanghais, and the white leghorn. (phoebe, when she pronounces this word, leaves out the "h" and bears down heavily on the last syllable, so that it rhymes with begone!) as i was sitting under the trees waiting for phoebe to finish some shopping in the village, a travelling poultry-dealer came along and offered to sell me a silver wyandotte pullet and cockerel. this was a new breed to me and i asked the price, which proved to be more than i should pay for a hat in bond street. i hesitated, thinking meantime what a delightful parting gift they would be for phoebe; i mean if we ever should part, which seems more and more unlikely, as i shall never leave thornycroft until somebody comes properly to fetch me; indeed, unless the "fetching" is done somewhat speedily i may decline to go under any circumstances. my indecision as to the purchase was finally banished when the poultryman asserted that the fowls had clear open centres all over, black lacing entirely round the white centres, were free from white edging, and each had a cherry-red eye. this catalogue of charms inflamed my imagination, though it gave me no mental picture of a silver wyandotte fowl, and i paid the money while the dealer crammed the chicks, squawking into my five-o'clock tea-basket. {arguing questions of diet: p81.jpg} the afternoon session of the conference was most exciting, for we reached the subject of imported eggs, an industry that is assuming terrifying proportions. the london hotel egg comes from denmark, it seems,--i should think by sailing vessel, not steamer, but i may be wrong. after we had settled that the british hen should be protected and encouraged, and agreed solemnly to abstain from danish eggs in any form, and made a resolution stating that our loyalty to queen alexandra would remain undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. there was a great difference of opinion here and the discussion was heated; the honorary treasurer standing for pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting on barley meal and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, to loud cries of "'ear, 'ear!" that rice pudding and bone chips produce more eggs to the square hen than any other sort of food. impassioned orators arose here and there in the audience demanding recognition for beef scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. foods were regarded from various standpoints: as general invigorators, growth assisters, and egg producers. a very handsome young farmer carried off final honours, and proved to the satisfaction of all the feminine poultry-raisers that green young hog bones fresh cut in the banner bone breaker (of which he was the agent) possessed a nutritive value not to be expressed in human language. {the afternoon session was most exciting: p82.jpg} phoebe was distinctly nervous when i rose to say a few words on poultry breeding, announcing as my topic "mothers, stepmothers, foster-mothers, and incubators." protected by the consciousness that no one in the assemblage could possibly know me, i made a distinct success in my maiden speech; indeed, i somewhat overshot the mark, for the countess in the chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that evening. i suppressed the note and took phoebe away before the proceedings were finished, vanishing from the scene of my triumphs like a veiled prophet. just as we were passing out the door we paused to hear the report of a special committee whose chairman read the following resolutions:-_whereas_,--it has pleased the almighty to remove from our midst our greatest rose comb buff orpington fancier and esteemed friend, albert edward sheridain; therefore be it _resolved_,--that the next edition of our catalogue contain an illustrated memorial page in his honour and _resolved_,--that the rose comb buff orpington club extend to the bereaved family their heartfelt sympathy. {not asked to the conference: p84.jpg} the handsome young farmer followed us out to our trap, invited us to attend the next meeting of the r. c. b. o. club, of which he was the secretary, and asked if i were intending to "show." i introduced phoebe as the senior partner, and she concealed the fact that we possessed but one buff orpington, and he was a sad "invaleed" not suitable for exhibition. the farmer's expression as he looked at me was almost loverlike, and when he pressed a bit of paper into my hand i was sure it must be an offer of marriage. it was in fact only a circular describing the banner bone breaker. it closed with an appeal to buff orpington breeders to raise and ever raise the standard, bidding them remember, in the midst of a low-minded and sordid civilisation, that the rose comb should be small and neat, firmly set on, with good working, a nice spike at the back lying well down to head, and never, under any circumstances, never sticking up. this adjuration somewhat alarmed us as phoebe and i had been giving our buff orpington cockerel the most drastic remedies for his languid and prostrate comb. {coming home: p85.jpg} coming home we alighted from the trap to gather hogweed for the rabbits. i sat by the wayside lazily and let phoebe gather the appetising weed, which grows along the thorniest hedges in close proximity to nettles and thistles. workmen were trudging along with their luncheon-baskets of woven bulrushes slung over their shoulders. fields of ripening grain lay on either hand, the sun shining on their every shade of green and yellow, bronze and orange, while the breeze stirred the bearded barley into a rippling golden sea. phoebe asked me if the people i had left behind at the hydropathic were my relatives. "some of them are of remote consanguinity," i responded evasively, and the next question was hushed upon her awe-stricken tongue, as i intended. "they are obeying my wish to be let alone, there's no doubt of that," i was thinking. "for my part, i like a little more spirit, and a little less 'letter'!" {workmen were trudging home: p87.jpg} as the word "letter" flitted through my thoughts, i pulled one from my pocket and glanced through it carelessly. it arrived, somewhat tardily, only last night, or i should not have had it with me. i wore the same dress to the post-office yesterday that i wore to the hen conference today, and so it chanced to be still in the pocket. if it had been anything i valued, of course i should have lost or destroyed it by mistake; it is only silly, worthless little things like this that keep turning up and turning up after one has forgotten their existence. "you are a mystery!" [it ran.] "i can apprehend, but not comprehend you. i know you in part. i understand various bits of your nature; but my knowledge is always fragmentary and disconnected, and when i attempt to make a whole of the mosaics i merely get a kaleidoscopic effect. do you know those geographical dissected puzzles that they give to children? you remind me of one of them. "i have spent many charming (and dangerous) hours trying to 'put you together'; but i find, when i examine my picture closely, that after all i've made a purple mountain grow out of a green tree; that my river is running up a steep hillside; and that the pretty milkmaid, who should be wandering in the forest, is standing on her head with her pail in the air "do you understand yourself clearly? or is it just possible that when you dive to the depths of your own consciousness, you sometimes find the pretty milkmaid standing on her head? i wonder!" . . . ah, well, it is no wonder that he wonders! so do i, for that matter! chapter xii {along the highway: p89.jpg} july 17th. thornycroft farm seems to be the musical centre of the universe. when i wake very early in the morning i lie in a drowsy sort of dream, trying to disentangle, one from the other, the various bird notes, trills, coos, croons, chirps, chirrups, and warbles. suddenly there falls on the air a delicious, liquid, finished song; so pure, so mellow, so joyous, that i go to the window and look out at the morning world, half awakened, like myself. there is i know not what charm in a window that does not push up, but opens its lattices out into the greenness. and mine is like a little jewelled door, for the sun is shining from behind the chimneys and lighting the tiny diamond panes with amber flashes. a faint delicate haze lies over the meadow, and rising out of it, and soaring toward the blue is the lark, flinging out that matchless matin song, so rich, so thrilling, so lavish! as the blithe melody fades away, i hear the plaintive ballad-fragments of the robin on a curtsying branch near my window; and there is always the liquid pipe of the thrush, who must quaff a fairy goblet of dew between his songs, i should think, so fresh and eternally young is his note. there is another beautiful song that i follow whenever i hear it, straining my eyes to the treetops, yet never finding a bird that i can identify as the singer. can it be the- "ousel-cock so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill"? he is called the poet-laureate of the primrose time, but i don't know whether he sings in midsummer, and i have not seen him hereabouts. i must write and ask my dear man of the north. the man of the north, i sometimes think, had a fairy grandmother who was a robin; and perhaps she made a nest of fresh moss and put him in the green wood when he was a wee bairnie, so that he waxed wise in bird-lore without knowing it. at all events, describe to him the cock of a head, the glance of an eye, the tipup of a tail, or the sheen of a feather, and he will name you the bird. near-sighted he is, too, the man of the north, but that is only for people. the square baby and i have a new game. i bought a doll's table and china tea-set in buffington. we put it under an apple-tree in the side garden, where the scarlet lightning grows so tall and the madonna lilies stand so white against the flaming background. we built a little fence around it, and every afternoon at tea-time we sprinkle seeds and crumbs in the dishes, water in the tiny cups, drop a cherry in each of the fruit-plates, and have a _the chantant_ for the birdies. we sometimes invite an "invaleed" duckling, or one of the baby rabbits, or the peacock, in which case the cards read:- _thornycroft farm_. the pleasure of your company is requested at a _the chantant_ under the apple tree. music at five. it is a charming game, as i say, but i'd far rather play it with the man of the north; he is so much younger than the square baby, and so much more responsive, too. {the scent of the hay: p92.jpg} thornycroft farm is a sweet place, too, of odours as well as sounds. the scent of the hay is for ever in the nostrils, the hedges are thick with wild honeysuckle, so deliciously fragrant, the last of the june roses are lingering to do their share, and blackberry blossoms and ripening fruit as well. i have never known a place in which it is so easy to be good. i have not said a word, nor scarcely harboured a thought, that was not lovely and virtuous since i entered these gates, and yet there are those who think me fantastic, difficult, hard to please, unreasonable! {the last of june: p93.jpg} i believe the saints must have lived in the country mostly (i am certain they never tried hydropathic hotels), and why anybody with a black heart and natural love of wickedness should not simply buy a poultry farm and become an angel, i cannot understand. {a place in which it is so easy to be good: p94.jpg} living with animals is really a very improving and wholesome kind of life, to the person who will allow himself to be influenced by their sensible and high-minded ideals. when you come to think about it, man is really the only animal that ever makes a fool of himself; the others are highly civilised, and never make mistakes. i am going to mention this when i write to somebody, sometime; i mean if i ever do. to be sure, our human life is much more complicated than theirs, and i believe when the other animals notice our errors of judgment they make allowances. the bee is as busy as a bee, and the beaver works like a beaver, but there their responsibility ends. the bee doesn't have to go about seeing that other bees are not crowded into unsanitary tenements or victimised by the sweating system. when the beaver's day of toil is over he doesn't have to discuss the sphere, the rights, or the voting privileges of beaveresses; all he has to do is to work like a beaver, and that is comparatively simple. chapter xiii {not particularly attracted by the poultry: p96.jpg} i have been studying _the young poultry keeper's friend_ of late. if there is anything i dislike and deplore, it is the possession of knowledge which i cannot put to practical use. having discovered an interesting disease called scaly leg in the july number, i took the magazine out into the poultry-yard and identified the malady on three hens and a cock. phoebe joined me in the diagnosis and we treated the victims with a carbolic lotion and scrubbed them with vaseline. {leaned languidly against the netting: p97.jpg} as phoebe and i grow wise in medical lore the case of cannibal ann assumes a different aspect. as the bibulous man quaffs more and more flagons of beer and wine when his daily food is ham, salt fish, and cabbage, so does the hen avenge her wrongs of diet and woes of environment. cannibal ann, herself, has, so far as we know, been raised in a christian manner and enjoyed all the advantages of modern methods; but her maternal parent may have lived in some heathen poultry-yard which was asphalted or bricked or flagged, so that she was debarred from scratching in mother earth and was forced to eat her own shells in selfdefence. * * * * * the square baby is not particularly attracted by the poultry as a whole, save when it is boiled with bacon or roasted with bread-sauce; but he is much interested in the "invaleeds." whenever phoebe and i start for the hospital with the tobacco-pills, the tin of paraffin, and the bottle of oil, he is very much in evidence. perhaps he has a natural leaning toward the medical profession; at any rate, when pain and anguish wring the brow, he is in close attendance upon the ministering angels. {staggered and reeled: p98.jpg} now it is necessary for the physician to have practice as well as theory, so the square baby, being left to himself this afternoon, proceeded to perfect himself in some of the healing arts used by country practitioners. {caught her son red-handed: p99.jpg} when discovered, he was seated in front of the wire-covered "run" attached to a coop occupied by the youngest goslings. a couple of bottles and a box stood by his side, and i should think he had administered a cup of sweet oil, a pint of paraffin, and a quarter of a pound of tobacco during his clinic. he had used the remedies impartially, sometimes giving the paraffin internally and rubbing the patient's head with tobacco or oil, sometimes the reverse. several goslings leaned languidly against the netting, or supported themselves by the edge of the water-dish, while others staggered and reeled about with eyes half closed. {he was treated summarily and smartly: p100.jpg} it was mrs. heaven who caught her son red-handed, so to speak. she was dressed in her best, and just driving off to woodmucket to spend a day or two with her married daughter, and soothe her nerves with the uproar incident to a town of six hundred inhabitants. she delayed her journey a half-hour--long enough, in fact, to change her black silk waist for a loose sacque which would give her arms full and comfortable play. the joy and astonishment that greeted the square baby on his advent, five years ago, was forgotten for the first time in his brief life, and he was treated precisely as any ordinary wrongdoer would have been treated under the same circumstances, summarily and smartly; the "wepping," as phoebe would say, being mrs. heaven's hand. all but one of the goslings lived, like thousands of others who recover in spite of the doctors, but the square baby's interest in the healing art is now perceptibly lessened. chapter xiv july 18th. the day was friday; phoebe's day to go to buffington with eggs and chickens and rabbits; her day to solicit orders for ducklings and goslings. the village cart was ready in the stable; mr. and mrs. heaven were in woodmucket; i was eating my breakfast (which i remember was an egg and a rasher) when phoebe came in, a figure of woe. the square baby was ill, very ill, and would not permit her to leave him and go to market. would i look at him? for he must have dowsed 'imself as well as the goslings yesterday; anyways he was strong of paraffin and tobacco, though he 'ad 'ad a good barth. i prescribed for albert edward, who was as uncomfortable and feverish as any little sinner in the county of sussex, and i then promptly proposed going to buffington in phoebe's place. she did not think it at all proper, and said that, notwithstanding my cotton gown and sailor hat, i looked quite, quite the lydy, and it would never do. "i cannot get any new orders," said i, "but i can certainly leave the rabbits and eggs at the customary places. i know argent's dining parlours, and songhurst's tea rooms, and the six bells inn, as well as you do." {the six bells found the last poultry somewhat tough: p103.jpg} so, donning a pair of phoebe's large white cotton gloves with open-work wrists (than which i always fancy there is no one article that so disguises the perfect lydy), i set out upon my travels, upborne by a lively sense of amusement that was at least equal to my feeling that i was doing phoebe heaven a good turn. prices in dressed poultry were fluctuating, but i had a copy of _the trade review_, issued that very day, and was able to get some idea of values and the state of the market as i jogged along. the general movement, i learned, was moderate and of a "selective" character. choice large capons and ducks were in steady demand, but i blushed for my profession when i read that roasting chickens were running coarse, staggy, and of irregular value. old hens were held firmly at sixpence, and it is my experience that they always have to be, at whatever price. geese were plenty, dull, and weak. old cocks,--why don't they say roosters?--declined to threepence ha'penny on thursday in sympathy with fowls,--and who shall say that chivalry is dead? turkeys were a trifle steadier, and there was a speculative movement in limed eggs. all this was illuminating, and i only wished i were quite certain whether the sympathetic old roosters were threepence ha'penny apiece, or a pound. {the gadabout hen: p105.jpg} everything happened as it should, on this first business journey of my life, which is equivalent to saying that nothing happened at all. songhurst's tea rooms took five dozen eggs and told me to bring six dozen the next week. argent's dining parlours purchased three pairs of chickens and four rabbits. the six bells found the last poultry somewhat tough and tasteless; whereupon i said that our orders were more than we could possibly fill, still i hoped we could go on "selling them," as we never liked to part with old customers, no matter how many new ones there were. privately, i understood the complaint only too well, for i knew the fowls in question very intimately. two of them were the runaway rooster and the gadabout hen that never wanted to go to bed with the others. the third was cannibal ann. i should have expected them to be tough, but i cannot believe they were lacking in flavour. the only troublesome feature of the trip was that mrs. sowerbutt's lodgers had suddenly left for london and she was unable to take the four rabbits as she had hoped; but as an offset to that piece of ill-fortune the coke and coal yard and the bicycle repairing rooms came out into the street, and, stepping up to the trap, requested regular weekly deliveries of eggs and chickens, and hoped that i would be able to bring them myself. and so, in a happy frame of mind, i turned out of the buffington main street, and was jogging along homeward, when a very startling thing happened; namely, a whole verse of the bailiff's daughter of islington:- "and as she went along the high road, the weather being hot and dry, she sat her down upon a green bank, and her true love came riding by." that true lovers are given to riding by, in ballads, i know very well, but i hardly supposed they did so in real life, especially when every precaution had been taken to avert such a catastrophe. i had told the barbury green postmistress, on the morning of my arrival, not to give the thornycroft address to anybody whatsoever, but finding, as the days passed, that no one was bold enough or sensible enough to ask for it, i haughtily withdrew my prohibition. about this time i began sending envelopes, carefully addressed in a feigned hand, to a certain person at the oxenbridge hydro. these envelopes contained no word of writing, but held, on one day, only a bit of down from a hen's breast, on another, a goose-quill, on another, a glossy tail-feather, on another, a grain of corn, and so on. these trifles were regarded by me not as degrading or unmaidenly hints and suggestions, but simply as tests of intelligence. could a man receive tokens of this sort and fail to put two and two together? i feel that i might possibly support life with a domineering and autocratic husband,--and there is every prospect that i shall be called upon to do so,--but not with a stupid one. suppose one were linked for ever to a man capable of asking,--"did _you_ send those feathers? . . . how was i to guess? . . . how was a fellow to know they came from you? . . . what on earth could i suppose they meant? . . . what clue did they offer me as to your whereabouts? . . . am i a sherlock holmes?"--no, better eternal celibacy than marriage with such a being! {she was unable to take the four rabbits: p107.jpg} these were the thoughts that had been coursing through my goose-girl mind while i had been selling dressed poultry, but in some way they had not prepared me for the appearance of the aforesaid true love. to see the very person whom one has left civilisation to avoid is always more or less surprising, and to make the meeting less likely, buffington is even farther from oxenbridge than barbury green. the creature was well mounted (ominous, when he came to override my caprice!) and he looked bigger, and, yes, handsomer, though that doesn't signify, and still more determined than when i saw him last; although goodness knows that timidity and feebleness of purpose were not in striking evidence on that memorable occasion. i had drawn up under the shade of a tree ostensibly to eat some cherries, thinking that if i turned my face away i might pass unrecognised. it was a stupid plan, for if i had whipped up the mare and driven on, he of course, would have had to follow, and he has too much dignity and self-respect to shriek recriminations into a woman's ear from a distance. {the creature was well mounted: p109.jpg} he approached with deliberation, reined in his horse, and lifted his hat ceremoniously. he has an extremely shapely head, but i did not show that the sight of it melted in the least the ice of my resolve; whereupon we talked, not very freely at first,--men are so stiff when they consider themselves injured. however, silence is even more embarrassing than conversation, so at length i begin:-_bailiff's daughter_.--"it is a lovely day." _true love_.--"yes, but the drought is getting rather oppressive, don't you think?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"the crops certainly need rain, and the feed is becoming scarce." _true love_.--"are you a farmer's wife?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"oh no! that is a promotion to look forward to; i am now only a goose girl." _true love_.--"indeed! if i wished to be severe i might remark: that i am sure you have found at last your true vocation!" _bailiff's daughter_.--"it was certainly through no desire to please _you_ that i chose it." _true love_.--"i am quite sure of that! are you staying in this part?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"oh no! i live many miles distant, over an extremely rough road. and you?" _true love_.--"i am still at the hydropathic; or at least my luggage is there." _bailiff's daughter_.--"it must be very pleasant to attract you so long." _true love_.--"not so pleasant as it was." _bailiff's daughter_.--"no? a new proprietor, i suppose." _true love_.--"no; same proprietor; but the house is empty." _bailiff's daughter_ (yawning purposely).--"that is strange; the hotels are usually so full at this season. why did so many leave?" _true love_.--"as a matter of fact, only one left. 'full' and 'empty' are purely relative terms. i call a hotel full when it has you in it, empty when it hasn't." _bailiff's daughter_ (dying to laugh, but concealing her feelings).--"i trust my bulk does not make the same impression on the general public! well, i won't detain you longer; good afternoon; i must go home to my evening work." _true love_.--"i will accompany you." _bailiff's daughter_.--"if you are a gentleman you will remain where you are." _true love_.--"in the road? perhaps; but if i am a man i shall follow you; they always do, i notice. what are those foolish bundles in the back of that silly cart?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"feed for the pony, please, sir; fish for dinner; randans and barley meal for the poultry; and four unsold rabbits. wouldn't you like them? only one and sixpence apiece. shot at three o'clock this morning." _true love_.--"thanks; i don't like mine shot so early." _bailiff's daughter_.--"oh, well! doubtless i shall be able to dispose of them on my way home, though times is 'ard!" _true love_.--"do you mean that you will "peddle" them along the road?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"you understand me better than usual,--in fact to perfection." he dismounts and strides to the back of the cart, lifts the covers, seizes the rabbits, flings some silver contemptuously into the basket, and looks about him for a place to bury his bargain. a small boy approaching in the far distance will probably bag the game. _bailiff's daughter_ (modestly).--"thanks for your trade, sir, rather ungraciously bestowed, and we 'opes for a continuance of your past fyvors." _true love_ (leaning on the wheel of the trap).--"let us stop this nonsense. what did you hope to gain by running away?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"distance and absence." _true love_.--"you knew you couldn't prevent my offering myself to you sometime or other." _bailiff's daughter_.--"perhaps not; but i could at least defer it, couldn't i?" _true love_.--"why postpone the inevitable?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"doubtless i shrank from giving you the pain of a refusal." _true love_.--"perhaps; but do you know what i suspect?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"i'm not a suspicious person, thank goodness!" _true love_.--"that, on the contrary, you are wilfully withholding from me the joy of acceptance." _bailiff's daughter_.--"if i intended to accept you, why did i run away?" _true love_.--"to make yourself more desirable and precious, i suppose." _bailiff's daughter_ (with the most confident coquetry).--"did i succeed?" _true love_.--"no; you failed utterly." _bailiff's daughter_ (secretly piqued).--"then i am glad i tried it." _true love_.--"you couldn't succeed because you were superlatively desirable and precious already; but you should never have experimented. don't you know that love is a high explosive?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"is it? then it ought always to be labelled 'dangerous,' oughtn't it? but who thought of suggesting matches? i'm sure i didn't!" _true love_.--"no such luck; i wish you would." _bailiff's daughter_.--"according to your theory, if you apply a match to love it is likely to 'go off.'" _true love_.--"i wish you would try it on mine and await the result. come now, you'll have to marry somebody, sometime." _bailiff's daughter_.--"i confess i don't see the necessity." _true love_ (morosely).--"you're the sort of woman men won't leave in undisturbed spinsterhood; they'll keep on badgering you." _bailiff's daughter_.--"oh, i don't mind the badgering of a number of men; it's rather nice. it's the one badger i find obnoxious." _true love_ (impatiently).--"that's just the perversity of things. i could put a stop to the protestations of the many; i should like nothing better--but the pertinacity of the one! ah, well! i can't drop that without putting an end to my existence." _bailiff's daughter_ (politely).--"i shouldn't think of suggesting anything so extreme." _true love_ (quoting).--"'mrs. hauksbee proceeded to take the conceit out of pluffles as you remove the ribs of an umbrella before re-covering.' however, you couldn't ask me anything seriously that i wouldn't do, dear mistress perversity." _bailiff's daughter_ (yielding a point).--"i'll put that boldly to the proof. say you don't love me!" _true love_ (seizing his advantage).--"i don't! it's imbecile and besotted devotion! tell me, when may i come to take you away?" _bailiff's daughter_ (sighing).--"it's like asking me to leave heaven." {phoebe and gladwish: p115.jpg} _true love_.--"i know it; she told me where to find you,--thornycroft is the seventh poultry-farm i've visited,--but you could never leave heaven, you can't be happy without poultry, why that is a wish easily gratified. i'll get you a farm to-morrow; no, it's saturday, and the real estate offices close at noon, but on monday, without fail. your ducks and geese, always carrying it along with you. all you would have to do is to admit me; heaven is full of twos. if you shall swim on a crystal lake--phoebe told me what a genius you have for getting them out of the muddy pond; she was sitting beside it when i called, her hand in that of a straw-coloured person named gladwish, and the ground in her vicinity completely strewn with votive offerings. you shall splash your silver sea with an ivory wand; your hens shall have suburban cottages, each with its garden; their perches shall be of satin-wood and their water dishes of mother-of-pearl. you shall be the goose girl and i will be the swan herd--simply to be near you--for i hate live poultry. dost like the picture? it's a little like claude melnotte's, i confess. the fact is i am not quite sane; talking with you after a fortnight of the tabbies at the hydro is like quaffing inebriating vodka after miffin's food! may i come to-morrow?" _bailiffs daughter_ (hedging).--"i shall be rather busy; the crossed minorca hen comes off to-morrow." _true love_.--"oh, never mind! i'll take her off to-night when i escort you to the farm; then she'll get a day's advantage." _bailiff's daughter_.--"and rob fourteen prospective chicks of a mother; nay, lose the chicks themselves? never!" _true love_.--"so long as you are a goose girl, does it make any difference whose you are? is it any more agreeable to be mrs. heaven's goose girl than mine?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"ah! but in one case the term of service is limited; in the other, permanent." _true love_.--"but in the one case you are the slave of the employer, in the other the employer of the slave. why did you run away?" _bailiff's daughter_.--"a man's mind is too dull an instrument to measure a woman's reason; even my own fails sometimes to deal with all its delicate shades; but i think i must have run away chiefly to taste the pleasure of being pursued and brought back. if it is necessary to your happiness that you should explore all the bluebeard chambers of my being, i will confess further that it has taken you nearly three weeks to accomplish what i supposed you would do in three days!" _true love_ (after a well-spent interval).--"to-morrow, then; shall we say before breakfast? all, do! why not? well, then, immediately after breakfast, and i breakfast at seven nowadays, and sometimes earlier. do take off those ugly cotton gloves, dear; they are five sizes too large for you, and so rough and baggy to the touch!" produced by core historical literature in agriculture (chla), cornell university) transcriber's note this plain text version uses the latin-1 character set. the figure captions have been retained in the same order of appearance as the plates in the original, but moved to follow the section which each illustrates. minor inconsistencies in spelling have been retained as in the original. where typographical errors have been corrected and missing references added, these are listed at the end of this book. bold and small capital typeface in the original is represented in the plain text version by upper case. italic typeface in the original is indicated in the plain text version by _underscores_. * * * * * [illustration: _frontispiece._ general view of water yards and ducklings on a large long island duck farm. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] ducks and geese by harry m. lamon senior poultryman, bureau of animal industry, united states department of agriculture and rob r. slocum poultryman, bureau of animal industry, united states department of agriculture _authors of "the mating and breeding of poultry" and "turkey raising"_ illustrated new york orange judd publishing company london kegan paul, trench, trübner & co., limited 1922 copyright, 1922, by orange judd publishing company _all rights reserved_ printed in u. s. a. preface of all lines of poultry keeping, duck raising is unique in that it lends itself to the greatest degree of specialization and intensification along lines which are purely commercial. on a comparatively small area thousands of ducklings can be reared and marketed yearly. the call for information concerning the methods used by these commercial duck raisers has been considerable, and since such information is not available in complete concise form the present book has been prepared partly to furnish just this information. the methods used by successful long island duck raisers differ widely in some particulars and since in the space at command, it has been impossible to describe all the methods used, the plan has been adopted of detailing in the main the methods of one successful grower. this it is believed will prove to be more helpful and less confusing than to attempt to give the method of several different men. much space has been given to the operations of the commercial duck raisers but the fact is recognized that the great bulk of the ducks entering into the trade of the country is the product of small flocks kept on general farms. for this reason a chapter has been added dealing with duck raising on the farm, and attention is here called to the fact that most of the information given under commercial duck raising can be readily adapted to use in connection with the farm flock. detailed, complete information on goose raising is even more fragmentary than is the case with ducks. yet there is a fine opportunity to rear a few geese at a profit on many farms, and the need and call for information is quite general. it is for this reason that a section of this book has been devoted to goose raising and in that section all the good reliable information available on the subject is given. the special attention of the women of the farm is directed to the opportunity which goose raising offers to make a good profit on a small side line with the minimum of initial investment and of labor. the greatest care has been taken to make the information on both duck and goose raising as complete and clear as possible. however, the authors appreciate the unlimited value of good illustrations in making clear methods and operations which are more difficult to grasp from a word description, and have therefore assembled a set of illustrations for this book, the completeness and excellence of which have never before been approached in any book on the subject. the illustrations alone are an education. in preparing and presenting this book to the public, the authors take pleasure in acknowledging their deep indebtedness to the following persons for help and information furnished: roy e. pardee john c. kriner charles mcclave stanley mason dr. balliet william minnich george w. hackett dawson brothers particular acknowledgment is due robert a. tuttle for the manner in which he threw open his duck plant to the authors and for the most generous amount of time which he gave in furnishing information. special acknowledgment is likewise due alfred r. lee, poultryman, u. s. department of agriculture, for information secured from his farmers' bulletins on duck raising and goose raising. table of contents preface list of illustrations. part i--ducks chapter. page. i. extent of the industry--opportunities 3 present extent of the industry--different types of duck raising--opportunities for duck raising--prices for breeding stock--ducks for ornamental purposes. ii. breeds and varieties--how to mate to produce exhibition specimens--preparing ducks for the show--catching and handling 9 breeds of ducks--classification of breeds--marking the ducks--nomenclature--distinguishing the sex--size--popularity of breeds--egg production--size of duck eggs--color of eggs--broodiness--general considerations in making the mating--making the mating--the pekin--the aylesbury--the rouen--the cayuga--the call--the gray call--the white call--the black east india--the muscovy--the colored muscovy--the white muscovy--the blue swedish--the crested white--the buff--the runner--the fawn and white runner--the white runner--the penciled runner--preparing ducks for the show--catching and handling ducks--packing and shipping hatching eggs. iii. commercial duck farming--location--estimate of equipment and capital necessary in starting the business 42 distribution--stock used--location of plant--making a start in duck farming--equipment, capital, etc. required--lay-out or arrangement of the plant--land required--number of breeders required--housing required for breeders--incubator capacity--brooder capacity--fattening houses or sheds--feed storage--killing and picking house--resident--horse power--feeding track--electric lights--water supply--fences--labor--invested capital--working capital--profits. iv. commercial duck farming--management of the breeding stock 55 age of breeders--distinguishing young from old ducks--selection of breeding ducks--number of females to a drake--securing breeding drakes--houses and yards for breeders--bedding and cleaning the breeding houses--cleaning the breeding yards--water yards for breeders--feeding the breeders--egg production--time of marketing breeders--disease--insect pests--dogs. v. commercial duck farming--incubation 70 kinds of incubators used--incubator cellar--incubator capacity required--age of hatching eggs--care of hatching eggs--selecting the eggs for hatching--temperature--position of thermometer--testing--turning the eggs--cooling the eggs--moisture--fertility--hatching--selling baby ducks. vi. commercial duck farming--brooding and rearing the young stock 80 removing the newly hatched ducklings to the brooder house--brooder houses required--brooder house no. 1--construction of house--heating apparatus--pens--equipment of the pens--grading and sorting the ducklings--cleaning and bedding the pens--ventilation--other types of brooder houses--length of time in brooder house no. 1--brooder house no. 2--brooder house no. 3--yard accommodations for ducklings--shade--feeding--lights for ducklings--pounds of feed to produce a pound of market duck--water for young ducks--age and weight when ready for market--cripples--cleaning the yards--critical period with young ducks--disease prevention--gapes or pneumonia--fits--diarrhoea--lameness--sore eyes--feather eating or quilling--rats--cooperative feed association. vii. commercial duck farming--marketing 102 proper age to market--weights at time of marketing--the last feed for market ducks--sorting market ducklings--killing--scalding--picking--dry picking--cooling--packing--shipping--cooperative marketing association--prices for ducks--shipping ducks alive--saving the feathers--prices and uses of duck feathers--marketing eggs. viii. duck raising, on the farm 120 conditions suitable for duck raising--size of flock--making a start--selecting the breed--age of breeding stock--size of matings--breeding and laying season--management of breeders--housing--feeding--water--yards--care of eggs for hatching--hatching the eggs--brooding and rearing--feeding the ducklings--water for ducklings--distinguishing the sexes--marketing the ducks--diseases and insect pests. part ii--geese ix. extent of the industry--opportunities 141 nature of the industry--opportunities for goose raising--goose raising as a business for farm women--geese as weed destroyers--objections to geese. x. breeds and varieties--how to mate to produce exhibition specimens--preparing geese for the show--catching and handling 147 breeds of geese--nomenclature--size--popularity of the breeds--egg production--size of goose eggs--color of goose eggs--broodiness--size of mating--age of breeders--marking young geese--general considerations in making the mating--making the mating--the toulouse--the embden--the african--the chinese--the brown chinese--the white chinese--the wild or canadian--the egyptian--preparing geese for the show--catching and handling geese--packing and shipping hatching eggs--prices for breeding stock. xi. management of breeding geese 164 range for breeders--number of geese to the acre--water for breeding geese--distinguishing the sex--purchase of breeding stock--time of laying--housing--yards--feeding the breeding geese. xii. incubation 172 care of eggs for hatching--methods of incubation--period of incubation--hatching with chicken hens--hatching with geese--breaking up broody geese--hatching with an incubator--moisture for hatching eggs--hatching. xiii. brooding and rearing goslings 178 methods of brooding--brooding with hens or geese--length of time brooding is necessary--artificial brooding--general care of growing goslings--feeding the goslings--percentage of goslings raised--rapidity of growth--diseases. xiv. fattening and marketing geese 187 classes of geese marketed--markets and prices--prejudice against roast goose--methods of fattening geese for market--pen fattening--noodling geese--methods used on fattening farms--selling geese alive--killing--picking--packing for shipment--saving the feathers--plucking live geese for their feathers. index 215 list of illustrations frontispiece. water yards and ducklings. 1. mule ducks and blue swedish ducks 10 2. mallard ducks 11 3. goose, duck and hen eggs 18 4. young pekins for breeders and aylesbury drake 19 5. rouen drake and black east india ducks 24 6. rouen drake in summer plumage and rouen duck 25 7. cayuga ducks 26 8. gray call ducks 27 9. white call ducks 28 10. colored muscovy drake and white muscovy drake 29 11. crested white drake and young white muscovy showing black on head 32 12. wing of blue swedish duck 33 13. pair of buff ducks 36 14. penciled runner drake and white runner drake 37 15. methods of carrying ducks 40 16. power feed mixer 41 17. duck houses 58 18. house for breeding ducks 59 19. another type of breeding house 62 20. feeding the breeders 63 21. interior of breeding house 74 22. incubator cellar 75 23. interior of no. 1 brooder house 82 24. watering arrangement in brooder pens 83 25. another type of no. 1 brooder house 86 26. brooder house no. 2 87 27. brooder house no. 3 88 28. long brooder house and yards 89 29. pekin ducklings 3 days and 2 weeks old 90 30. pekin ducklings 3 weeks and 6 weeks old 91 31. interior of cold brooder house 92 32. yard ducks 93 33. duck sheds 94 34. feeding and watering arrangements 95 35. green feed for ducks 96 36. feeding from track 97 37. yard ducks at rest 98 38. artificial water yards 99 39. catching pens for fattening ducklings 104 40. carrying ducklings to slaughter 105 41. hanging ducklings and cutting throat veins 106 42. bleeding ducklings 107 43. washing heads 108 44. ducklings ready for the pickers 109 45. scalding 110 46. picking ducks 111 47. dressed duckling 112 48. weighing out ducklings for packing 113 49. curing duck feathers 148 50. egyptian gander and sebastapol goose 149 51. toulouse and embden ganders 154 52. canadian and african ganders 155 53. brown and white chinese ganders 158 54. methods of handling geese 159 55. geese fattening in an orchard 198 * * * * * ducks part i chapter i present extent of the industry duck raising while representing an industry of considerable value to the united states when considered from a national standpoint, is one of the minor branches of the poultry industry. according to the 1920 census there were 2,817,624 ducks in the united states with a valuation of $3,373,966. as compared with this the census for 1910 shows a slightly greater number of ducks, 2,906,525, but their value was considerably less being only $1,567,164. in the ten years between the census of 1900 and that of 1910 there was a decrease in the number of ducks of nearly 40%. according to the 1920 census the more important duck raising states arranged in their order of importance were iowa, illinois, pennsylvania, new york, missouri, minnesota, tennessee, ohio, south dakota, indiana, nebraska and kentucky. the number reported for iowa was 235,249 and for kentucky 99,577. new england, the north atlantic, the east north central, the west north central, the mountain and the pacific states showed an increase, while the south atlantic, east south central and west south central states showed a decrease. in spite of the existence of quite a number of large commercial duck farms, the great bulk of ducks produced are those which come from the general farms where only small flocks are kept. yet only a small proportion of farms have ducks on them. the comparatively small number of ducks is distributed over practically the entire united states, being more common in some sections than others, particularly along the atlantic coast and along the pacific coast, with fairly numerous flocks on the farms of the middle west. _different types of duck raising._ the conditions under which ducks are kept and the purpose for which they are kept fall under four heads: first, commercial duck raising for the production of duck meat; second, duck raising as a by-product of the general farm; third, duck raising for egg production; fourth, duck breeding for pleasure, exhibition or the sale of breeding stock. _opportunities for duck raising._ undoubtedly the greatest opportunity for profitable duck growing lies under the first of these heads, namely, commercial duck raising. where the conditions of climate, soil and land are favorable and where the location is good with respect to market there exists an excellent opportunity for one skilled in duck growing to engage in that business in an intensive manner for the purpose of putting on the market spring or green ducklings. where these are in demand they bring a good price and since the output per farm is large they pay a good return even with a small margin of profit per pound. the second greatest opportunity undoubtedly consists of duck raising as a by-product of the general farm. where conditions are suitable, that is to say, where there is a considerable amount of pasture land easily accessible, and particularly where there is a stream or pond to which the ducks can have access, a small flock of ducks, say 10 or 12 females, can be kept to excellent advantage on the farm. the cost of maintaining them will not be great and they will not only provide a most acceptable variety in the form of duck meat and duck eggs for the farmers' table but they will also produce a surplus which can be sold at a profit. it must be remembered, however, that where only a small flock is kept it is generally impracticable for the farmer to give his ducks the attention necessary to cater to the market for green ducklings. as a result he usually keeps them until fall and sells them on the market at a considerably lower price than is obtained by the commercial duck grower. there also exists an opportunity which has not been developed to any great extent to keep some one of the egg producing breeds of ducks such as the indian runner for the primary purpose of egg production. a few ventures of this sort seem to have been successful but it must be remembered that the market for duck eggs is not nearly so broad as that for hens' eggs and that in some quarters there exists considerable prejudice against duck eggs for table consumption. before engaging in duck raising primarily for the production of market eggs it would therefore be necessary to investigate and consider carefully the market conditions in the neighborhood so as to know whether the eggs could be marketed to advantage. while the runner ducks are prolific layers there is no advantage in keeping them in preference to fowls as egg producers. the eggs are larger in size but it takes more feed to produce them, while they cannot as a rule be disposed of at much if any higher price than can be secured for hens' eggs. for baking purposes duck eggs can be readily sold on account of their larger size. there is always an opportunity to produce fine stock of any kind, whether it be ducks, chickens, turkeys or geese. ducks are not exhibited to the same extent as are chickens and the competition in the shows is not as a rule so keen. nevertheless many persons are interested in producing and exhibiting good stock and there exists a very definite market for birds of quality. there is also a probability that a good business could be worked up by one who would pay special attention to producing a strain of ducks of early maturity, large size and good vigor in order to supply breeding drakes to many of the commercial duck farms. these farms usually secure drakes for breeding from sources outside their own flocks each year but the usual practice is to exchange drakes with some other commercial grower. while very good birds are to be found on these duck farms there is no greater opportunity to engage in any systematic breeding, the selection of the breeding stock being of rather a hurried nature during certain seasons of the year when the ducks are being marketed. moreover, the long continued custom of exchanging drakes with the neighboring farmers has in most cases led to the blood being so largely confined within one circle that no great percentage of new blood is obtained by these exchanges. of course, the opportunity along breeding lines for this purpose is limited to the pekin duck as this is the breed which is kept upon all the large commercial duck farms in the united states. _prices for breeding stock._ duck breeders who make a specialty of selling breeding stock or eggs for hatching find a steady and quite a wide demand for their stock. the eggs are usually sold in sittings of 11 and bring a price of from $3 to $5 per sitting depending on the quality of the stock. the prices received for the birds themselves depend of course upon their quality and may run anywhere from about $5 to $25 per bird. _ducks for ornamental purposes._ on estates or in parks where natural or artificial ponds are included in the grounds, waterfowl are often kept for ornamental purposes. any breeds may be used, and often the gay colored wood duck and mandarin, or some one of the small breeds such as the calls, black east indian or the mallards are kept for this purpose. it is said that these small ducks will absolutely destroy the mosquito larvae in any such ponds or lakes. chapter ii breeds and varieties--how to mate to produce exhibition specimens--preparing ducks for the show--catching and handling _breeds of ducks._ there are 11 standard breeds of ducks. all of these breeds with the exception of the call, muscovy and runner consist of a single variety. the call is divided into two varieties, the gray and the white; the muscovy consists of two varieties, the colored and the white; and the runner consists of three varieties, the fawn and white, the white and the penciled. duck breeders, of course, whether raising the birds for fancy or for profit, keep one of the standard breads or varieties. frequently, also, the farm flocks consist of standardbred ducks but on many farms, probably a great majority, the flock consists of the common or so-called "puddle" duck. in certain parts of the south there is a duck known as the "mule duck" which is a cross between the muscovy and the common duck. this is a duck of good market quality but will not breed from which characteristic it gets its name. most of the common or "puddle" ducks which are found on farms are of rather small size, are indifferent as layers, and do not make a desirable type of market duck. they have arisen simply from the crossing of standard breeds with resultant carelessness and indifference in breeding. because of the care with which they have been selected and bred for definite purposes, the standard breeds are decidedly superior to the common "puddle" ducks and should by all means be kept in preference since they will yield better results and greater profits. in addition to the standard breeds and varieties flocks of mallards are also kept to a limited extent. the mallard is a common small wild duck which has lent itself readily to domestication and which thrives with proper care under confined conditions. in weight, the drakes will run from 2½ pounds to 3 pounds or even a little larger. the ducks average about 2¼ pounds with a variation of from 1 pound 12 ounces to 2 pounds 8 ounces. by selecting the large eggs for hatching and by liberal feeding, it is easy to increase the size of mallards to such an extent that they resemble small rouens rather than wild mallards. the plumage of the mallard is very similar to that of the rouen but of a lighter shade. another small wild duck known as the wood or carolina duck, which is a native of north america, has been domesticated and on account of the great beauty of its plumage is usually to be found wherever ornamental waterfowl are kept. the mandarin duck is a small duck of about the same size as the wood duck, is of beautiful plumage and like the wood duck is generally kept for ornamental purposes. this duck is said to be a native of china. [illustration: fig. 1. upper--pair of mule ducks. lower--pair of blue swedish ducks. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 2. upper--mallard duck. lower--mallard drake. the mallard is a wild duck which is quite easily domesticated and which has a plumage color very similar to the rouen. it is small in size. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] classification of breeds so far as the standard breeds and varieties are concerned they may be divided into three classes according to the purpose for which they are kept and for which they are best suited. first is the meat class which consists of the pekin, aylesbury, muscovy, rouen, buff, cayuga and blue swedish. these breeds could well be termed general purpose ducks for they are quite good layers in addition to producing excellent table carcasses and are therefore well suited for general farm use. they are, however, kept more particularly for meat production. the second class is known as the egg class and consists of the three varieties of the runner duck, formerly known as the indian runner. the runner duck is much smaller in size than the birds of the meat class, is longer in leg and more active, and is not so well suited for the production of table ducks but is a very prolific layer. with proper feeding and management the runner ducks will compare favorably with hens as egg producers. the third class is known as the ornamental class and is composed of the ducks which are kept and bred principally for ornamental purposes. this class consists of the call duck with its two varieties, the black east india duck and the crested white duck. both the call and east india ducks are small in size being really the bantams of the duck family. while they make good table birds, their small size handicaps them as commercial meat fowl. the crested white duck is of larger size, possesses a crest and is bred mainly as an ornamental fowl. _marking the ducks._ the duck raiser who is breeding his ducks for exhibition quality has need for knowledge of the breeding of the birds he may contemplate using in his matings. in order that this information may be available, the young ducks as they are hatched can be marked by toe punching them on the webs of their feet in the same manner that baby chicks are toe punched. a different set or combination of marks is used for each mating so that the breeding of the different ducks can be distinguished. mature ducks can, if desired, be leg banded in order to furnish a distinguishing mark. nomenclature before taking up a description of the matings of the different standard breeds and varieties it is well to indicate the common nomenclature which is used in connection with these fowls and which differs from that used for chickens. the male duck is called drake, the female duck is termed duck, and the young duck of either sex is termed duckling. in giving the standard weights for the different breeds of ducks, weights are given for adult ducks and adult drakes, and for young ducks and young drakes. by adult duck or drake is meant a bird which is over one year old. by young duck or drake is meant a bird which is less than one year old. the horny mouth parts of the duck instead of being termed beak as in chickens are called bill, and the separate division of the upper bill at its extremity is termed the bean. ducks do not show any comb or wattles as in chickens. in england use is made of the terms ducklet and drakerel. ducklet is used to signify a female during her first laying season just as the word pullet is used in contrast to hen. drakerel is used to signify a young drake as contrasted with an older drake just as the word cockerel is used in comparison to cock in chickens. _distinguishing the sex._ the sex of mature ducks can be readily told by their voices and also by a difference in the feathering. the duck gives voice to a coarse, harsh sound which is the characteristic "quack" usually thought of in connection with this class of fowl. the drake on the other hand utters a cry which is not nearly so loud or harsh but which is more of a hissing sound. distinction of sex by this means can be made after the ducklings are from 4 to 6 weeks old. before this age, both sexes make the same peeping noise. mature drakes are also distinguished from the ducks by the presence of two sex feathers at the base of the tail. these are short feathers which curl or curve upward and forward toward the body of the bird. in ducks these feathers are absent. size an idea of the size of the different standard breeds can best be obtained by giving the standard weights. they are as follows:- adult drake. adult duck. young drake. young duck. pekin 9 8 8 7 aylesbury 9 8 8 7 rouen 9 8 8 7 cayuga 8 7 7 6 muscovy 10 7 8 6 blue swedish 8 7 6½ 5½ crested white 7 6 6 5 buff 8 7 7 6 runner 4½ 4 4 3½ there are no standard weights for the call duck and for the black east india duck but these are all small in size, being really bantam ducks. the drakes will weigh from 2½ to 3 pounds and the ducks from 2 to 2½ pounds. popularity of breeds in the meat class by far the most popular duck in this country is the pekin. it is the breed which is used exclusively on the large commercial duck farms. next to the pekin in this class probably comes the muscovy which is quite commonly kept in some sections of the country, particularly in the south. the aylesbury duck has never proved to be very popular in the united states perhaps due to its white bill and skin, although it is the popular market duck of england. the other breeds included in the meat class are kept more or less commonly but do not approach in popularity either the pekin or the muscovy. any of the breeds in this class will prove to be satisfactory for a farm flock, although the colored breeds and varieties are at a disadvantage when dressed due to their dark pin feathers. in the _egg_ class there is included only the indian runner and this of course is the breed which is kept wherever the production of duck eggs is the primary object. the fawn and white is the most popular variety of this breed. in the ornamental class there is no particular outstanding breed, since the ducks belonging in this class are kept very largely to satisfy the pleasure of the owner and the selection of a breed is entirely a matter of personal preference. egg production while the conditions under which ducks are kept and the care they are given will affect their egg production greatly, there are certain rather definite comparisons that can be made between the different breeds. the pekin is a good layer and will produce from 80 to 120 eggs. the aylesbury and the rouen are about alike in laying ability, neither being quite as good as the pekin. the cayuga is a good layer ranking with the aylesbury and rouen or between these and the pekin. the muscovy is an excellent layer being fully as prolific as the pekin, especially if broken up when broody and not allowed to sit. the blue swedish is about equal to the cayuga in laying ability. the buff duck is an excellent layer comparing favorably with the pekin or even with the runner. the runner ducks are the best layers of the duck family and if given proper care and good feed will compare favorably with hens in egg producing ability. the crested white duck is not a particularly good layer. the calls and the black east india ducks will lay from 20 to 60 eggs per year, approaching the latter number if the eggs are collected as laid and the ducks are not allowed to sit which will induce some of them to continue to lay for quite a portion of the year. extremely large ducks of any breed do not lay as well as the more medium sized birds. _size of duck eggs._ the eggs of the different meat breeds will run about the same in size with the exception of the muscovy whose eggs run a little larger. actual weights of eggs from representative flocks show pekin, rouen, aylesbury and cayuga eggs to average about 2½ pounds per dozen although there is a tendency for the rouen eggs to run somewhat larger and for cayugas to run a little smaller. muscovy eggs weigh about 3 pounds per dozen with selected large eggs weighing as high as 3¼ pounds. eggs of the runner duck are smaller but are considerably larger than average hens' eggs or about the size of large minorca eggs. they weigh about 2 pounds per dozen. eggs of the bantam breeds of ducks, the calls and the black east india, together with those of the mandarin and wood ducks will weigh from one pound to 1½ pounds per dozen depending upon the size of the ducks themselves. eggs of the mallard duck will run from 26 to 32 ounces to the dozen. the size of eggs laid by ducks, especially the bantam breeds and the mallard can be increased somewhat by liberal feeding. average hens' eggs should weigh about 1½ pounds per dozen. [illustration: fig. 3. upper--comparison of size of goose egg on the left a black egg of a cayuga duck in the center and a hen egg on the right. lower--duck eggs--at the left is a pekin duck egg, next a black egg laid by a cayuga duck, third a muscovy egg, fourth a duck egg of green color and on the extreme right the egg of a runner duck. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _color of eggs._ the color of duck eggs ranges from white to a polished black. pekin eggs run mostly white although some show a decided blue or green tint. aylesbury eggs run quite uniformly white. the color of rouen eggs varies from white to a dark green. the cayuga produces very few white eggs, most of them being green or black, some being as black as though polished. muscovy eggs run from a white to a greenish cream in color. the eggs of the blue swedish and the buff ducks usually run white. the runner duck lays white eggs as a rule while the crested white duck lays eggs which range in color from white to green. the eggs of the call ducks run from white to green while the eggs of the black east india, like the cayuga, for the most part run from green to black. a peculiarity in regard to the egg color is that the same female may lay eggs which are widely different in color. it is likewise true that the color of the shell is influenced to some extent by the feed. ducks on range will lay darker colored eggs than those which are yarded. there is also a tendency for the eggs to run darker in color when laying first begins and for the eggs to lighten as laying proceeds. a peculiarity in regard to duck eggs with a dark colored shell is that a thorough washing will lighten up the shell color decidedly. _broodiness._ the muscovy, the call and the black east india ducks are broody breeds. the ducks of these breeds will make their nests, hatch their eggs and are good mothers. all the other breeds are classed as non-broody breeds. of course, a certain percentage of them will go broody and show a desire to sit but they do not make reliable sitters and mothers and are not as a rule used for this purpose. considerations in making the mating[1] since ducks are kept for different purposes there will of course be certain fundamental differences in the different classes in the selection of the individuals to make up the mating. whatever the purpose, however, the first consideration in selecting the breeders must be to secure those which possess excellent vigor and general health and which meet insofar as possible the standard requirements for size. where the call duck and the black east india are concerned the selection for size must be for smallness since that is a characteristic greatly desired. in the other breeds the selection for size must be to see that they come up to the standard weights for the particular breed in question. as in other classes of fowls the condition and cleanliness of the plumage and the general appearance and actions of the birds are good indications of their health and thriftiness. a bright eye is likewise a valuable indication of good health while a watery eye is usually a sign of weakness. it is necessary to guard against birds which show any tendency toward crooked or roach back, hump back, crooked tails, or twisted wings. since all breeds of ducks should have clean or unfeathered legs it is likewise necessary to guard against any breeders which show down on the shanks or between the toes as this sometimes occurs. [footnote 1: for a more detailed discussion of the principles of breeding as applied to chickens and which is equally applicable to ducks, the reader is referred to "the mating and breeding of poultry" by harry m. lamon and rob r. slocum, published by the orange judd publishing company, new york city.] in selecting the mating for any one of the meat breeds use birds which have good length, width and depth of body so that they will have plenty of meat carrying capacity. for breeders of market ducks, birds which are active, well matured and which are not extreme in size for the breed are preferable as the fertility is likely to run better than with the extremely large birds. where birds are bred for exhibition purposes, it frequently happens that it is desirable to use large breeders and to hold them for breeding purposes as long as they are in good breeding condition. where this is the case it becomes necessary to mate a smaller number of females to a drake than would be the case with smaller and younger breeders. where old birds are used as breeders better results will be secured by mating old ducks to a young drake or vice versa than by mating together old birds of both sexes. while ducks of any of the meat breeds are kept primarily for meat production, it is essential that the egg production be good throughout the breeding season in order to raise as many ducklings and secure as great a profit as possible. selection of the females as breeders should be made therefore on the basis of good egg production as well as good meat type if the conditions under which the ducks are kept are such as to make it possible to check this in any manner. in selecting the mating in the runner breed it is necessary to keep in mind that the general type of body is quite different from that of the meat breeds, being much slimmer and much more upright in body carriage. for this mating select thrifty, healthy birds and those which are active. some breeders trapnest their runner ducks or have some other means of checking up the better layers. as in chickens, it is of course desirable to use these better layers as breeders since the purpose in keeping this kind of duck is primarily egg production. in selecting the mating in the call and east india breeds it is necessary to use the smaller ducks since the object here is to keep the size small. in addition, with these breeds or with any other breeds kept and bred primarily for fancy or exhibition purposes, it is necessary to conform just as closely as possible to the standard requirements[2] both insofar as size and type are concerned, and also with respect to color. [footnote 2: for a complete and official description and list of disqualifications of the standard breeds and varieties of ducks, the reader is referred to the american standard of perfection published by the american poultry association, and obtained by orange judd publishing company, new york, n. y.] breeds of ducks _the pekin._ while this variety wants to be of good size and to have length, breadth and depth of body it is somewhat more upstanding than some of the other meat breeds, showing a definite slope of body downward from shoulders to tail. the back line of the pekin should show a slight concavity from the shoulders to the tail and the upper line of the bill is likewise slightly concave between the point where it joins the head and its extremity. the shoulders should be broad and any tendency toward narrowness at this point must be avoided. while a good depth of keel is desired, the standard does not call for so deep a keel as in the aylesbury. as a matter of fact, however, the winning specimens as seen in the shows are not as a rule as erect in carriage as called for by the standard illustration, there being a tendency to get them almost if not quite as deep in keel as the aylesbury. in fact, some breeders seem to strive for a low down keel approaching a condition where they are nearly as low in front as behind but this is not desirable pekin type. sometimes a drake will show a rough neck, that is, the feathers on the back of the neck will be crossed or folded over showing a tendency to curl. these birds should be avoided as breeders since there is a tendency for them to produce ducks having a crest. sometimes a green or a greenish spotted bill will be encountered. since the bill should be a clear yellow, breeders showing this defect should be avoided particularly as they are likely to produce birds having greenish or olive colored legs. the shanks and toes should be a clear deep orange. black sometimes occurs in the bean. this may occur in birds of either sex but is more common in the ducks than in the drakes. in the drake black in the bean disqualifies but while it is undesirable and a serious defect in the duck it does not disqualify. the color of the plumage is white or creamy white throughout. creaminess in this variety is not a serious defect as it is in white chickens. the use, however, of yellow corn and of foods very rich in oil tends to increase the creaminess of the plumage and should not be used to excess for birds which are to be exhibited. [illustration: fig. 4. upper--young pekins which on account of their size, thriftiness and rapid growth were selected out of a lot about to be killed for market and saved for breeders. lower--aylesbury drake--notice the depth and development of the breast. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the aylesbury._ this breed is particularly noted for its deep keel. it differs from the pekin in type in that it is more nearly level in body. there is a decided tendency for the aylesbury to run too short in body which has probably come about by extreme selection for deep keel. it is well, therefore, in making the mating to select breeders with good length of body. since the deep full breast and keel is characteristic of this breed it is necessary to avoid breeders which show any tendency toward a flat breast. as in the case of the pekins avoid any birds which have green or olive colored bills. the back line of the aylesbury should be straight, showing no tendency toward a slight concavity as in the pekin. birds showing this shape back should be avoided. as in the pekin black on the bill or bean of the drake will disqualify and in the duck is a serious defect. the color of plumage should be white throughout and should show no tendency toward creaminess. the bill in this breed is flesh colored instead of yellow as in the pekin. the aylesbury is not quite as nervous a breed as the pekin. _the rouen._ the rouen duck is a parti-colored breed and is therefore much more difficult to secure in perfection of color and marking than is the case with the white breeds. moreover, the dark pin feathers make the ducks more difficult to dress than in white breeds. in type these birds are very level in body and are massive, carrying a great deal of meat. avoid birds showing a lack of length of body or depth of keel or which are too flat in breast. the back of the rouen should have a slightly convex or arched shape from neck to tail and it is necessary to guard against birds which have a flat or a concave back. the body of the rouen should be carried practically horizontal. the upper line of the bill should be slightly dished or concave. the white ring about the neck of the drake is an important part of the marking. this should not be too wide but should run about a quarter of an inch in width. it should be as distinct and clean cut as possible but should not quite come together in the rear. any approach to a ring in the female is a disqualification. white in the primary or secondary wing feathers is a serious defect since it constitutes a disqualification. it must therefore be carefully avoided. white feathers in the fluff of the drake is another color defect which must be guarded against. _breast of drake._ the farther the claret color on the breast of the drake extends down the better will be the females secured from the mating. drakes which are deficient in the amount of claret on the breast should therefore be thrown out as breeders. a purple rump in drakes must be avoided as must black feathers over the rump as they tend to keep up too dark a body color in the female. on the other hand too bright or light a color in the male or exhibition female will produce females which are too light in color. drakes with light olive colored bills must be avoided as these will have a tendency to produce offspring which show too much yellow in the females' bills, and clear yellow bills constitute a disqualification. in the females solid yellow bills, fawn colored breasts and absence of penciling must be avoided. females which are dark or nearly black over the rump are good breeders as they tend to keep up the ground color of the body and tail. the rouen shows some tendency to fade in color. this is evidenced first on the tips of the wings. the fading will also show in the fluff of drakes. the drakes of this breed and likewise of the gray call and the mallard show a peculiar behavior with respect to the color of their plumage. about june 1 the drakes moult, losing their characteristic male adult plumage and the new plumage is practically that of the female. this female plumage is retained until about october when they gradually regain their normal winter male plumage. young rouens of both sexes have female plumage until the last moult which occurs at about four or five months of age, when the drakes assume the adult male plumage. the sex of the young rouens can, however, be told by the difference in the color of the bills. [illustration: fig. 5. upper--rouen drake. notice the low set, nearly horizontal body, the massive appearance and the arched back. lower--pair of black east india ducks. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 6. upper--rouen drake showing summer plumage. at this season the rouen drake assumes a plumage resembling quite closely that of the female. in the fall the drake again assumes the normal male plumage. lower--rouen duck. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the cayuga._ the cayuga is much like the other breeds of the meat class in general type or shape of body showing good length, breadth and depth. it is a very solid duck and weighs heavier than it looks. the body carriage is slightly more upright than the rouen but not so much so as the pekin. the back line should be straight and any tendency toward an arched back must be avoided. it is slightly smaller than the pekin, aylesbury and rouen, averaging about a pound less. in making the mating, size is important and breeders should be selected which are up to standard weights if possible. while this breed is not kept very widely at the present time, nevertheless it is an excellent market duck, dressing out into a very plump yellow carcass in spite of its black plumage which is a disadvantage in dressing. the color should be a lustrous greenish black throughout, being somewhat brighter in the drake than in the duck. the duck is more likely to show a brownish cast of plumage, particularly as she grows older. it is hard to hold good black color with age. moreover, white or gray is apt to occur in the breast of females. with age also a little white sometimes develops on the back of the neck, around the eyes and underneath the neck at the base of the bill. the white which occurs in breast is more likely to come in ducks and is not commonly found in the drakes. in the drakes on the other hand, there is a tendency for the white to come on the throat under the bill. drakes as a rule run truer in color and hold their color better than do the ducks. where the white mottling occurs in plumage with age one need not hesitate to breed from these birds if they were of good black color as young birds. the drakes of the best color do not as a rule fade or become mottled to any great extent with age. it is necessary to guard against birds as breeders which have a rusty brown lacing on the breast and under the wings, also those which have a wing-bow laced with brown. there is a tendency for the bill of drakes, which should be black, to be too light or olive in color and this tendency increases with age. drakes with bills of this color should be avoided as breeders. when cayugas are first hatched the baby ducks all show a white breast. [illustration: fig. 7. upper--cayuga duck. lower--cayuga drake. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the call._ the call ducks are the bantams of the duck race. there is always a tendency for them to grow too large and this is especially true when they have an opportunity to eat all they want as for example when they are fed with the larger ducks. they should not be fed too liberally and should be given wheat or some other solid grain rather than any mash. if there is a good pond of water to which the call ducks can have access they do not need to be fed much of anything. in breeding, the smallest individuals which are suitable in other respects for breeders, should be selected in order to keep down the size and offset the tendency to breed larger in successive generations. in type the calls are practically miniature pekins except that they should have a very short, rather broad head and bill. the broad flat and short bill and the round short head give the head an appearance which is often described by the term "button headed". in this breed avoid birds which show arched backs. the body should have what is known as a flatiron shape, that is, should be broad at the shoulders and taper toward the tail. too deep keels and narrow shoulders should be avoided as should also too long bills. call ducks, together with east indias and mallards should have their wings clipped or be pinioned, that is, have the first joint of one wing cut off, to prevent them from flying away. _the gray call._ the plumage of the gray call is practically that of the rouen although they are not quite as good in color as a breed. there is more of a tendency for some of the birds to run to dark and others, especially the males, to run too light in color. while they are likely to be well penciled the shade of color is apt to be wrong. white in the flights and under the wings must be guarded against as must also absence of ribbon or wing bar in females. the color of the plumage is likely to fade with age but after the birds moult and secure their new plumage, the color is usually higher again. in general the same color characteristics hold true as with the rouen and the same defects must be guarded against. [illustration: fig. 8. upper--gray call drake. lower--gray call duck. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture_.)] _the white call._ this variety is, both in type and color, practically a miniature pekin except for the short, rather broad head and bill. they breed very true in color and should be free from creaminess. the same general defects must be watched for and avoided as in the pekin. [illustration: fig. 9. upper--white call duck. lower--white call drake. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the black east india._ this is a black breed which is small in size being a bantam duck like the call. as a matter of fact it is a miniature cayuga. the color should be black throughout and the same color characteristics hold true as in the case of the cayuga. the same color defects must therefore be guarded against, the worst one being white in the breast of females especially. avoid breeding from a drake with a black bill as in this respect the breed differs from the cayuga since the bill of the duck should be black but that of the drake should be very dark green. purple barring must be carefully selected against. _the muscovy._ this breed differs in certain respects very markedly from the other standard breeds of ducks. they are long and broad in body which is carried in a horizontal position but are not so deep in keel as the pekin, aylesbury or rouen. the longest bodied young ducks will make the largest individuals. the head should have feathers on the top which can be elevated at will to form a crest. guard against breeders having smooth heads, or in other words, lacking a crest. the face is covered with corrugations or caruncles and should be red in color. at the base of the upper bill there is a sort of knob-like formation in the drake which serves as one of the distinguishing characteristics between the duck and drake of this breed. the more prominent the knob and the more wrinkled or corrugated the face the better is the specimen in this respect. the wings are long and strong and these birds fly very well. they will also climb fences. the drakes are quite pugnacious and fight one another badly at times. they are especially pugnacious when they have young. this breed of ducks will often roost on roosts like chickens or in the trees or on the barn. they do not quack like other ducks and unlike other domesticated breeds which moult two or three times a year, they moult only once, taking longer to do so, usually about 90 days, although the female may complete her moult a little sooner. the period of incubation for muscovy eggs is longer, being from 33 to 35 days as compared to 28 days for other breeds. in size the male and female differ considerably as will be seen from the standard weights given (see page 14), the male being considerably larger. these ducks lay well, the fertility runs good, the eggs hatch well, and the little ducks are hardy and easily raised. they are a broody breed. the ducks will make their nests and hatch out their eggs if allowed to do so and are excellent mothers. sometimes they will fly up and make their nests in a hollow tree. a muscovy duck can cover properly about 20 eggs. in spite of the fact that they fly well they are easily domesticated. it takes about two years for the males of this breed to fully mature although the ducks get their full size when one year of age. the muscovy is perhaps the best general purpose breed for a farm flock. the extent and intensity of the red of the face increases up to maturity and the redder the face the better. the plumage of the muscovy is not as downy or oily as other breeds, the feathers being harder. for this reason the birds are more apt to become water soaked and to drown as a result when they have not been accustomed to water in which to swim. this is especially true of the drakes on account of their large size and long wing feathers. muscovy ducks dress well, having a rich yellow skin, and therefore make a good market duck, although the difference in size of the duck and drake and the dark pin feathers of the colored variety are disadvantages from a market standpoint. select against breeders which run small in size as there is more or less of a tendency for this breed to decrease in size. the muscovy is long lived, specimens having been known to breed until they were eight or ten years of age. _the colored muscovy._ although the standard calls for more or less white in different sections of this variety, as a matter of fact breeders desire to get the birds as dark as possible except for a very small patch of white on the breast and a small patch of white on the center of the wing. indeed, birds without the white on the breast and with very little on the wing are valuable breeders since there is a tendency for too much white to occur in the plumage. occasionally all black birds occur and these can be used to advantage in breeding when there is a tendency toward too much white in plumage. plumage more than half white is a disqualification. the dark plumage birds such as are wanted are very likely to show considerable black or gypsy color in the face which should be a good red. this must be selected against insofar as possible. the nearly black or the darkest birds are quite likely to show some white or grizzling on the head. grizzled or brownish penciled feathers sometimes occur in various parts of the plumage and must of course be guarded against as the markings should be distinctly black and white. the baby ducks of this variety are quite apt to show considerable white although the best of them come yellowish black. this variety tends to run a little larger in size than the white variety although the standard weights are the same for both. dun or chocolate colored ducks sometimes come from colored muscovies while blue muscovies can be produced by crossing the colored and the white varieties. [illustration: fig. 10. upper--colored muscovy drake. notice the partly erect crest feather on top of the head. lower--white muscovy drake. notice the long, horizontal body and the rough or carunculated face. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the white muscovy._ this variety should have pure white plumage throughout. young muscovies of both sexes often have a patch of black on top of the head up to the time they moult at maturity. since black disqualifies it is impossible to show young ducks in this condition but these black feathers usually come in white after the moult and such birds need not therefore be discarded as breeders. when it is desired to show young white muscovies which have black on the head it is customary to pluck these black feathers a sufficient time before the show so that the white feathers which come in their place will have time to grow out. there is little or no trouble with black or gypsy face in this variety. [illustration: fig. 11. upper--crested white drake. lower--young white muscovy duck showing black on top of the head. this is not an unusual occurrence and the black is lost when the bird gets its mature plumage in the fall. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the blue swedish._ in type and size this breed is about the same as the cayuga although perhaps slightly more upstanding. in selecting the mating it is important to use birds which are close to standard weight as there is somewhat of a tendency for the size to be too small. as its name indicates the color is largely blue except for a white heart-shaped patch or bib which should be present on the breast. sometimes this white extends along the underside of the body from the under-bill almost to the vent. such birds are undesirable as breeders since they show too much white. on the other hand birds lacking a prominent white bib must also be avoided. two of the flight feathers should be white and birds lacking these must be avoided. guard against any red, gray or black in any part of the plumage. sometimes, however, birds having more or less black throughout the plumage are used as breeders for the purpose of strengthening the blue color. avoid any tendency toward a ribbon on the wing-bow and also birds that are too light, ashy or washed out in the blue color. sometimes birds show lines of white feathers around the eyes and over the head and these should be selected against as breeders as they are likely to cause white splashing in the plumage. yellow or greenish bills must likewise be avoided since the first of these is a disqualification. in general this variety in breeding behaves insofar as color is concerned, very much like the blue andalusian chicken.[3] the young ducks when hatched are yellow or creamy blue and from blue matings there are also produced black and white ducklings. as in other colored breeds and varieties, the dark pin feathers are somewhat of a disadvantage from a market standpoint. [footnote 3: for a detailed discussion of the behaviour of the blue andalusian in breeding, the reader is referred to "the mating and breeding of poultry" by harry m. lamon and rob r. slocum, published by the orange judd publishing company, new york city.] [illustration: fig. 12. blue swedish duck showing white flight feathers. the standard calls for only two white flights, but there is a decided tendency as shown here for more flights to be white. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the crested white._ although not so large, this breed is much like the pekin but with body carried more nearly horizontal and with a crest on the head. the type varies considerably however, the principal selection practiced having been for crest. the plumage is white in color throughout. what is desired in the crest is to have as large a one as possible, round and perfect in form, and set squarely on the head. not infrequently crooked crests occur and also double or split crests, that is to say, where the crest is parted or divided. in some cases the crests may even come treble, that is, split into three parts. entire absence of crest is by no means uncommon. in fact, it is considered a pretty good proportion if one half of the ducks hatched have crests although the matings vary considerably in this, occasionally one producing practically 100% of the offspring with crests. avoid as breeders birds with small crests, lopped crests, split crests or showing an absence of crest. avoid also breeders showing mottled or green bills in females and black bean in the bill of drakes. _the buff._ in type this breed is similar to the swedish. as will be seen from the standard weights it is one of the medium sized breeds and makes a very nice market bird as it dresses out into a nice round fat carcass and is a good layer. in color the birds of both sexes should be as uniform a buff as possible except that the head and upper part of the neck in the drake should be seal brown when in full plumage. color defects which are likely to be encountered and which should be avoided are the tendency for the head of the drake to run to a chestnut color and for his neck to be too light or faded out in color. sometimes the head of the drake runs too dark in color approaching a greenish black like the head of the rouen. this is of course undesirable. the wings of both sexes are apt to run to light or even in some cases, pure white flights. blue wing bars are sometimes shown and these must be carefully avoided. penciling such as is found in the fawn and white runner sometimes occurs and since it is a serious defect must be rigidly guarded against. any tendency toward a white bib or a white ring around the neck of both sexes must likewise be avoided. greenish or mottled bills must be avoided in ducks which are to be used as breeders. not much trouble is experienced in the bill of drakes which as a rule comes good. any blue cast in the feathers on the rump and back of both sexes must be selected against. as a rule the females of this breed tend to be better colored than the males. at certain periods of the moult the head coloring of the drakes becomes a good buff color and later when the moult is complete, it changes to a copper color. when hatched the ducklings are a creamy yellow. [illustration: fig. 13. pair of buff ducks--drake on the right (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the runner._ the type of this breed is quite different from that of the other breed of ducks and type is very important. the runner wants to be decidedly upstanding and to be very reachy. it should have very slim slender lines. the neck should be straight and the head should be carried at right angles to the neck. the bill should be perfectly straight on top and on a line with the skull showing absolutely no tendency to be dished. the legs of this breed are longer than those of other ducks and this accounts for the fact that they run rather than waddle when they move about. it is from this fact that they get their name. they are very active and are troublesome about crawling through fences. they are good layers and non-sitters and they have often been called the leghorns of the duck family. it must be remembered, however, that while they have the inherent ability to lay as well as hens they will do this only when they receive proper feed and care. it is quite useless to expect a high egg yield from them when they are carelessly fed and improperly housed and cared for. avoid as breeders ducks of both sexes that are too heavy behind, or in other words, are too heavy-bottomed. avoid birds which are too short in legs. avoid crooked or sharp backs. round heads must likewise be avoided. _the fawn and white runner._ in this variety the markings must be very distinct and definite. there is a tendency which must be avoided for the head to run to black instead of chestnut, especially in males. it is likewise necessary to avoid females which tend to show penciling on the sides of the breast or on the wing-bows. these defects are apt to be associated with colored flight feathers which is also a defect to be avoided. guard against too much fawn extending up the neck from the body to the head as the neck should be white in color. too dark tail coverts approaching a greenish black sometimes occur and are undesirable. in type this variety will not average quite as good as the white. _the white runner._ this variety is best in type and it likewise runs good in color which should be white throughout. sometimes foreign color will be shown in the back of females and this of course must be avoided. also avoid birds as breeders with green or mottled bills. [illustration: fig. 14. penciled runner drake on left and white runner drake on right. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _the penciled runner._ in type this variety runs about the same as the fawn and white. the color combination is rather difficult to breed as it is hard to get the good penciling desired in the female together with the white markings. in general, in breeding this variety there is a tendency to pay more attention to type than to color. the penciling is like that of the rouen but lighter in color consisting of a brown penciling on a fawn colored ground. avoid any grayish stippling on the breast of the drake and also on the wing-bows. these defects are likely to be associated with colored flights which are undesirable. the colored portion of the head of the drake is darker than that of the duck in this variety. avoid lack of white on the neck in both sexes and avoid females which are lacking in penciling. _preparing ducks for the show._ aside from selecting the individuals which most nearly approach the standard requirements there is very little which can be done in the way of preparing the birds for the show as these fowls are practically self-prepared. for a period of at least a week or ten days before they are shipped to the show those intended for exhibition should be given access to a grass range and also if possible to running water. the grass range will keep them in good condition and the running water will allow them to clean themselves. any broken feathers should be plucked at least six weeks before the birds are to be shown in order to allow the feathers time enough to grow out again. it must be remembered that most ducks after getting in a good condition of flesh do not tend to hold this for a very long period but soon grow thinner again and will not take on fat the second time for some little period. often there will be a difference in weight as high as 3 pounds when a duck is in good condition and after it has thinned. in order to have the ducks in top form, therefore, it is necessary to bring them up to flesh at the proper time. in order to bring ducks which are to be exhibited up to standard weight, they should be fed twice daily, for at least 10 days before shipping, a grain mixture consisting of one part corn and two parts oats. give them all they will eat of this mixture. with runners and the small breeds of ducks there is a danger of their putting on too much weight if corn is used in the ration and it is therefore best to give them oats alone. when the birds are shipped to the show they are quite likely to get their plumage soiled during the journey. when this occurs fill a barrel about half full of water. then as the ducks are taken out of the shipping coops take three of them at a time, put them in the barrel and cover it over, leaving them for a few minutes. when they are taken out they will usually be clean. catching and handling ducks ducks should never be caught by the legs which are short and weak and are very likely to be injured. for the same reason they should never be carried by the legs. ducks should be caught by the neck, grasping them just below the head. they can be carried short distances without injury in this way but it is not advisable to carry fat ducks by the neck for any considerable distance. the best way to handle them is to catch them by the neck, then carry them on the arm with the legs in the hand just as one would carry a chicken. see fig. 15. a scoop net about 18 inches in diameter and with a six foot handle can also be used to excellent advantage in catching ducks. [illustration: fig. 15. two methods of carrying ducks. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] packing and shipping hatching eggs eggs for hatching must be shipped when they are fresh as duck eggs tend to deteriorate in quality quite rapidly. they may be shipped fairly long distances. shipment may be made either by express or by parcel post. in order to prevent breakage and to lessen the effects of the jar to which the eggs are subjected during shipment, they must be carefully packed. one of the best methods is to use an ordinary market basket. line the basket well on the bottom and sides with excelsior. wrap each egg in paper and then wrap in excelsior so that there will be a good thick cushion of excelsior between the eggs and they will not be allowed to come in contact with one another. pack the eggs in the basket securely standing them on end so that they cannot move or shift around. cover the top of the eggs with a thick layer of excelsior using enough so that it runs up well above the sides of the basket. over the top sew a piece of strong cotton cloth. instead of sewing the cloth it can be pushed up under the outside rim of the basket with a case knife, this being quicker and equally as effective as sewing. chapter iii commercial duck farming--location--estimate of equipment and capital necessary in starting the business _distribution._ commercial duck farming is confined very largely to the sections within easy shipping distance of the larger cities. a great majority of these farms are located about new york city, particularly on long island. some duck farms are located on the pacific coast and a few commercial plants are scattered about here and there throughout the country. the size of these farms ranges all the way from plants with an output of 5,000 or 10,000 ducklings up to those with an output around 100,000 yearly. _stock used._ the stock used on the commercial duck plants of the united states consists exclusively of the pekin. the reasons for the use of this particular breed are the fact that it has white plumage and therefore dresses out well, that it is of good size, that its egg production is good, and that it makes quick growth. _location of plant._ on long island the commercial duck plants are located along the streams, especially those on the southern shore of the island, which empty into the various bays. locations along these streams are not easy to secure at the present time owing to the fact that duck farms are not allowed in many sections where summer homes have been built. a water site of this sort is very valuable, although not absolutely essential, since it provides water yards for the breeding ducks and for the fattening ducklings if desired, and reduces the labor and cost of equipment materially since the ducks always have access to water and no additional provision need be made to provide them with drinking water. it also enables the ducks to keep their plumage clean. usually these locations are on fresh water streams but some of them are further out toward the bay where the water is salty or at least brackish. the mature ducks thrive well on the salt water and do not have to be furnished with fresh drinking water in addition. for the young ducks, however, with a salt water location it is necessary to provide fresh drinking water. a few farms in other sections of the country are what are known as dry land farms, that is to say, they are not situated on the bank of a stream. in such locations running water is carried through the yards so that the ducks have an ample supply of drinking water and in some cases artificial ponds are constructed to provide water in which the breeding ducks can swim. formerly the idea was universally held that swimming water was essential for the breeders in order to secure good fertility, and many duck farmers still believe that better results can be secured in this way. on some of the dry land duck farms, however, breeding ducks are successfully kept without such swimming places. the young market ducklings do not require water to swim in although some raisers prefer to have it and it is commonly allowed where readily available. on the dry land farms provision is made simply for a continuous supply of fresh drinking water for the fattening ducklings. ducklings kept out of the water, do not take as much exercise and, in consequence, fatten a little more readily. making a start in duck farming duck farms or plants are sometimes operated on a considerable scale at the beginning, the plans being carefully laid by some experienced duck man. in these cases, operations at the start may be of sufficient magnitude so that the output will amount to 15,000 or 20,000 ducklings in a year. in most cases, however, these places have been the result of a more gradual growth from a small beginning, a condition made necessary either by the inexperience of the grower or by lack of capital. not infrequently men engaged in other forms of farming but possessing a suitable location will keep 200 or 300 breeding ducks and from this gradually build up a good sized duck plant. _equipment, capital, etc. required._ the estimates given as to the amount of equipment and capital required are based on the assumption that a plant is to be operated of sufficient size to have a yearly output of about 30,000 ducklings. it must be understood in this connection that location and various other conditions or circumstances will influence the cost of different items of equipment and for this reason these estimates must not be considered as absolute but should rather serve as a guide or basis on which to figure. the figures here given contemplate the building up of an establishment which is efficient but which is in no particular elaborate, the buildings and other equipment being as simple and inexpensive as possible. _lay-out or arrangement of the plant._ the plant must be carefully planned so as to make the best possible use of the land and particularly of the water frontage. it is particularly important to arrange the buildings in such a manner as to cut down labor as much as possible. if there is any expectation of enlarging the capacity at some future time, this must also be borne in mind in the arrangement of the various buildings and yards. the incubator cellar should be convenient to the no. 1 brooder house and the various brooder houses to one another. the brooder house must likewise be convenient to the growing and fattening houses and yards and these in turn to the killing house. the feed room should be centrally located so as to save labor as much as possible in feeding the ducks. _land required._ for a duck plant of the size indicated 10 acres of land should be ample. this, however, means that no effort would be made to grow any of the feed for the ducks or ducklings with the exception of green feed. in some cases where the lay of the land is unusually favorable so that the plant can be laid out to the very best advantage, a smaller amount of ground than this might be sufficient but it is not well to figure on less than 10 acres. _number of breeders required._ with the usual methods of management and with good success, one may estimate that 40 young ducks can be marketed each year from each breeding female. this is a good average although in some good years duck raisers will do a little better than this. on the other hand in poor years they will not do so well. for a plant having an output of 30,000 market ducks there would therefore be needed in the neighborhood of 800 breeding ducks in addition to 100 drakes. _housing required for breeders._ in figuring on the amount of housing required for this number of breeding ducks, it is necessary to figure on 2½ to 3 square feet of floor space per bird, 3 square feet being better than 2½. this would require a housing space 20 feet deep by 120 feet long. however ducks are not usually housed in one building of this size, and in fact it is better not to do so since the smaller the flock of breeders kept together the better they will do. in no case should a duck raiser run more than 400 ducks in a flock and it is very much better to run them in pens of 100 each. in fact, some breeders do not place more than 25 to 50 breeding ducks in a pen. _incubator capacity._ incubators are used exclusively for hatching the eggs. at the present time in practically all cases some form of hot water mammoth incubator is utilized for this purpose. an investment is required both in incubators and in a cellar in which to operate them. in figuring on the incubator capacity necessary to take care of a proposition of this size, it is necessary to base the estimate on the number of eggs produced during the season of flush production. the duck raiser figures on incubating all eggs suitable for the purpose rather than to sell any of them for other purposes as there is a greater profit in rearing and marketing the ducklings. for that reason he must have incubator capacity enough to take care of all the eggs laid at any time of the year. during the season of flush production the yield will ordinarily run in the neighborhood of 80%. the period of incubation is 28 days but 2 days more should be added to this to allow for cleaning out the machines, etc., before starting another hatch. this means that there would be 30 days between hatches. figuring on 800 ducks with an 80% production for 30 days an incubator capacity of around 19,200 eggs would be required. _brooder capacity._ a brooder house capacity, where artificial heat can be supplied, sufficient to take care of about half of the total output of the plant at one time is necessary. this means there would have to be on this plant a heated brooder house capacity for 15,000 ducklings. about half of this number or 7500 would need accommodations in the number 1 or warmest brooder house where the heat can be kept up to 65 or 70 degrees in the house itself, and warmer of course under the hover. the other 7500 ducklings capacity would be in the number 2 house, that is, a house where heat could be supplied in the early spring and where the temperature could be run up to 60 degrees. hovers in such a house are not really needed but it is common to cover the hot waterpipes with a platform in order to provide a runway on which one can run a wheel barrow and thus simplify feeding. ordinarily after may 1 no heat is needed in the number 2 brooder house. the young ducks are usually 2 to 3 weeks old when they go into the number 2 house and they stay there for about 2 weeks depending on the weather. heat for the brooder houses is supplied by means of hot water pipes and a coal burning stove such as are used in brooder houses for chickens. a number 3 or cold brooder house is also needed where ducklings can be housed and can be driven in at night and in cold weather after they have graduated from the number 2 house. from the number 3 house a part of the ducklings are taken directly to the yards where they are housed in open front sheds. _fattening houses or sheds._ in addition to the brooder houses, there are required fattening houses or sheds for the ducks when they are moved from the no. 3 brooder house to the yards. suitable houses for this purpose are 16 feet deep by 24 feet long. in front they are 5 feet high and in the rear 3½ feet. they are set on posts with a base board around to make them tight. the fronts are entirely open and provided with curtains which are used only in the winter to keep out the snow. the ducklings are shut in these houses when desired by means of wire panels which close the lower part of the front. houses such as described are divided into two parts and each side will accommodate 200 ducklings. _feed storage._ considerable feed storage room is necessary as it is very desirable to be able to buy feed in quantity and also to carry a considerable stock on hand in order to offset the possibility of not being able to secure feed at any time. there should be storage capacity for 4 cars of 30 tons each, in other words, for 120 tons of feed. still greater capacity than this is desirable. in connection with the feed storage there should be a place where the feed can be mixed and where feed can be cooked. two power operated feed mixers are required as one is not sufficient during the busy season to allow the mixing and feeding of the mash for both the breeders and the young stock at the same time. a feed cutter is necessary in preparing the green feed which is mixed in the mash. the usual type of kettle feed cooker is commonly used for boiling fish and preparing other cooked feeds but in its place a small four-horse steam boiler can be utilized to good advantage as this makes it possible to cook the feed right in the mixer by using a steam hose. _killing and picking house._ a killing and picking house where the ducks can be prepared for market is another necessary building but this need not be an expensive building. it must be located with reference to its convenience to the rest of the plant. it is also desirable to locate it over a spring if one is available for the spring water can be used to excellent advantage in cooling the dressed ducklings. when a spring is not available water must be piped to this building. the killing house is usually built with at least one side open or partly open. a place is provided outside the picking room where the ducks can be hung and bled. inside room is required for six or eight pickers. a kettle for heating water to be used in scalding the ducks is necessary as are also tanks in which to place the ducks after they are picked. additional room is needed where the ducks can be weighed and packed ready for shipment. _residence._ in addition to the other buildings enumerated, a residence would of course be necessary. the size and elaborateness of this and consequently its cost depends entirely upon the owner's needs and wishes. _horse power._ one horse and wagon for the purpose of drawing the feed about the plant and for certain other necessary work would be required. if the owner desires to do his own hauling of the feed from the railroad and the other necessary trucking he would, of course, have to keep more horses, a team at least, or an automobile truck. where only one horse is kept, this trucking must be hired done. _feeding track._ on many of the larger duck farms, a feed track is employed in feeding the stock. such a track consists of a framework of sufficient strength to support a car filled with mash which is pushed along the track by hand. the track leads from the feed mixer across the various yards where the ducks to be fed are located, including both the breeding ducks, yard ducks and brooder ducks in yards. this involves a considerable amount of trackage which must be fairly level and which runs over the yard fences or along the ends of the yards so that the feed can be shoveled directly from the car into the feeding trays in the yards. the use of a feed track simplifies the feeding considerably but its construction is quite expensive. where a track is not used, the feed as mixed is dumped into a low wagon which is driven along the yards, or through them by removing movable panels in the fences and the feed shoveled from the wagon to the feed trays. [illustration: fig. 16. power feed mixer. the feed is dumped into a low wagon from which it is shoveled to the ducks. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _electric lights._ most duck farms at the present time are located where electric lighting is available. it is desirable and in fact almost necessary to have the various houses wired so that lights can be turned on when desired. in addition, lights are usually provided in the yards for fattening ducks and are used at night and especially during storms to keep the ducks from stampeding. _water supply._ an adequate water supply is essential. this will consist of a well or spring furnishing an ample amount of water, a power pump and a water supply tank. from the tank, the water must be piped to the incubator cellar, the brooder houses, the killing house, the feed house and to any of the yards where the ducks do not have access to a natural supply of good water. in addition, of course, the water from the same tank is usually used to supply the residence. _fences._ not a great deal of investment is necessary in fences since the yards are rather small and the fences are low. two-foot fences of two-inch mesh wire are used for the yard ducks while for the little ducks 18-inch wire of one-inch mesh is used. the biggest items of expense connected with the fences are the cost of the stakes or posts used in their construction and the labor used in this work. the portion of the yards extending into the water are the most troublesome and most expensive to build. in some cases, rather elaborate wooden picket fences are used in the water yards. these are more permanent but are more expensive to build. _labor._ for a plant of the size indicated there would be required in addition to an active working proprietor three other men. one man would be needed to operate the incubators, one man would devote his time to the brooder houses, one man would feed the yard ducks and the fattening pens, and one man would do the killing and packing, take care of the feathers, clean the yards, etc. of course, there would be periods when these men would not have their entire time taken up with their particular duties and this would permit them to turn in and help with the miscellaneous work on the plant. in addition to the regular men employed, additional labor would be necessary to do the picking. for this purpose pickers are usually brought in and work by the piece. during the spring of 1920 these pickers received six cents per duck and they will average about 75 ducks a day, beginning work at 6 in the morning and finishing by noon or a little later. some pickers will average as high as 100 ducks a day. in the busy season from 800 to 1200 ducks will be marketed per week and the usual practice is to kill and pick not over three days a week, usually during the first part of the week. _invested capital._ investment in the business exclusive of working capital, that is to say, the money in the land and buildings and other equipment would require under present conditions about $1,000 for each thousand ducks marketed. in other words, in a plant of this size, close to $30,000 would be invested. the amount of invested capital depends to some extent upon location and upon the elaborateness of the buildings and other equipment but with a well laid out economical plant an investment of the size indicated should be sufficient. _working capital._ in addition to the capital invested in the plant there would be required a considerable amount of working capital. from the first of november to the beginning of the marketing of the ducks there would be required from $6,000 to $8,000 with which to purchase feed, meet the pay roll, and for other running expenses. even after the marketing begins there would be a period of from a month to six weeks when the expenses will continue to be greater than the receipts so that some additional capital might be necessary. however, returns would begin to come in which could be used to take care of the more pressing current obligations so that additional working capital which might be needed over that indicated would not be large. _profits._ the profits in commercial duck raising vary widely, as must be expected, depending upon the management, upon the season and upon prices received. after deducting all overhead charges and interest on the investment, the net return per duck should be at least 10 cents per duckling marketed. in fact the return should be 15 cents to provide much inducement to engage in the business. some seasons the returns will run greater than this but on the other hand, there is always the chance of occasional big losses. chapter iv commercial duck farming--management of the breeding stock _age of breeders._ on most large commercial duck plants the entire breeding stock is renewed each year. in other words, the breeders are kept only through their first laying season. this makes it necessary to select from the young stock reared and save for breeders as many head as it is desired to carry for the coming year. this practice is used for the reason that ducks lay best during their first year. therefore, since it is desired to keep up the maximum egg production in order to raise as many market ducks as possible, young breeders are considered better. some raisers, however, keep a part of their breeding ducks for two years and occasionally for 3 or even 4 years but this is not the usual practice. recent comparison made between young and two year old ducks as breeders would seem to indicate that ducklings hatched from the eggs of the latter live a little better. _distinguishing young from old ducks._ in this connection it is of interest to know how young ducks can be readily distinguished from the older birds. the young ducks have bright yellow legs and bills while the old ducks after a period of laying, lose a considerable amount of the yellow from these sections. in addition, soon after the ducks begin to lay, their bills as a rule will begin to be streaked with black. young ducks can also be told from the old ducks by feeling of the end of the breast bone which runs to a point at the abdomen. in the older ducks this is hard while in the young ducks it is gristly and bends easily. the windpipe of an old duck is hard and rather difficult to compress or dent while in the young duck it is softer and easily dented. _selection of breeding ducks._ the breeders are usually selected from the ducklings which reach market age from the last week in june through july. as these lots become ready for market and are driven into the pens to be slaughtered each duck is handled and any especially good birds which the proprietor thinks will make good breeders are thrown out at this time. in making selection of breeders those are chosen which are healthy and thrifty and which have good wide, long and deep bodies. ducks with crooked wings, crooked tails, hump backs or paddle legs are rejected for this purpose. after the young ducks for breeders are selected they are put in a yard or fattening pen until the number which the owner expects to keep is complete. these young breeders generally begin to moult soon after they are selected and from this time on they are fed whole corn and plenty of green feed until it is time to begin feeding the laying ration. some of the breeding ducks will usually begin to lay about december 1 although they will not lay heavily at that time. the laying ration described later should be begun about that time or a couple of weeks earlier. _number of females to a drake._ as a rule on commercial duck farms the birds are mated in the proportion of about one drake to seven ducks. this proportion will vary to some extent under different methods of management and weather conditions and may run all the way from 1 to 5 to 1 to 8. the smaller number of drakes should be used late in the season while the larger number will give better fertility early in the breeding season. since the drakes do not fight seriously, flock matings can be made. better results will be obtained from smaller flocks than from large flocks and there will also be less cracked eggs and less very dirty eggs from the smaller flocks. before the ducks are let out in the morning there is a tendency for them to run back and forth through the pens, and in this way they tramp over many of the eggs which are laid anywhere about the floor. the larger the flock the more cracked and dirty eggs will result. while the drakes do not fight each other they do at times injure and kill the ducks to some extent when three or four drakes may chase one duck. in this way they may injure the ducks' backs and often pick their eyes and necks. whenever a duck is found which is injured she should be removed from the flock. difficulty of this sort is most prevalent about the 1st of march. if the trouble gets very bad it can be stopped to some extent by cutting back the upper bills of the drakes about one-fourth of an inch with a tinsnip or by reducing the proportion of drakes. _securing breeding drakes._ it is common practice on duck plants to avoid inbreeding by securing drakes from some other flock each year. this is usually accomplished by buying the drakes outright from some neighboring duck farmer. it may also be accomplished by purchasing a few eggs for hatching in order to secure new blood. in any particular community there is a tendency for the duck farmers to trade breeding drakes among themselves for a period of years with the result that they all have much the same blood and not a great deal of benefit is obtained from securing the drakes from some neighbor's flock. it is undoubtedly good practice to go farther afield occasionally for a supply of breeding drakes. in purchasing stock for new blood be sure that it is as good as the home stock and better if it can be found. it will do no good to purchase and use inferior stock and may do much harm. houses and yards for breeders the breeding flocks are usually confined to breeding yards. the size of these yards depends upon the size of the breeding flock but large yards are not required. a yard for 200 breeders is not as a rule larger than 100 by 200 feet including the water part of the yard. houses and yards should be located on sand if possible as this is easier to keep clean and therefore keeps the birds in better condition. occasional flocks of breeding ducks are allowed their liberty but this is not common practice nor is it good practice unless the surroundings are clean and the ducks do not have access to stagnant mud or refuse in which they can work. if ducks work too much in this kind of material they will eat more or less of it which injures the eggs for hatching purposes. many different styles of houses are used for breeders, some of which are decidedly more elaborate than is necessary. a very satisfactory economical house is one 20 feet deep, 7 feet high in front and 4 feet at back, with a shed roof. this can be constructed of tongue and groove material or may be made of unmatched stuff and covered with paper. a house of this proportion makes a good light house and it can be carried in length according to the size of the flock. for a breeding unit of 200 ducks, which is a good unit to use, a house 20 feet deep and 30 to 40 feet long is suitable. no floor is used in the house but it should be well filled up with dirt so that the water will not come in. one or more good sized openings are left in the front of the breeding house for ventilation, or windows may be placed in the front which can be used for this purpose. good ventilation is necessary. additional ventilation is secured from the doors. if the weather is mild the doors are left partly open, if cold they are nearly closed, while when the weather is hot they are left entirely open. a good scheme is to use a sort of dutch door so that the bottom or top half can be opened independently. in this way the top part of the doors can be left open so as to let in the sunlight and still keep the ducks in the house or the top may be left closed and the bottom opened so as to allow the ducks to go in or out and still cut down the amount of ventilation. when the weather is warm the doors may be left entirely open except for a board 18 inches to 2 feet wide inserted in the bottom of the door when it is desired to keep the ducks in. shade is essential for the breeders and if not provided naturally by trees must be supplied by means of artificial shelters. [illustration: fig. 17. upper--rear and end view of house or shed used for fattening ducks. lower--general view on a duck plant, showing open front fattening houses in the foreground and houses for breeders in the background. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 18. a good house for breeding ducks. it is 20 feet deep, 40 feet long, 7 feet high in front and 4 feet in the rear and will accommodate 200 breeders. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _bedding and cleaning the breeding houses._ usually straw, meadow hay, or swale hay is used for bedding. shavings make good material for this purpose if they do not contain too much sawdust. the principal objection to shavings is that it takes longer to bed with them. often a few joists are laid at the back of the house on which to pile bales of straw or other bedding so that it will be kept dry and will serve as an emergency supply available for bedding the house in stormy days. the houses should be bedded fairly often in order to keep the floors clean and dry and so as not to allow the ducks' feet to get cold. the frequency with which bedding is necessary will depend upon the weather. in winter it may at times be necessary to bed every day. in may it may be necessary only twice a week and still later in the season only once a week. in wet weather the ducks track in lots of mud and water and frequent bedding helps to keep the eggs clean. the houses are cleaned out only once a year and this is usually done after the ducks have stopped laying. to clean out the houses while the ducks are laying would disturb them and tend to stop their egg production. _cleaning the breeding yards._ the yards should be cleaned whenever they need it, that is, whenever they begin to get sloppy or sticky. it is a matter of judgment to decide when this is necessary. the character of the soil influences this, as sandy yards absorb the droppings better and do not need cleaning as frequently as heavier soils. in the yards for the breeding ducks, or the water yards, this will as a rule not be over 2 or 3 times a season. in dry weather cleaning is accomplished by sweeping the yards with a broom. in wet weather the droppings spread over the yard and are packed down by the ducks' feet until they form a layer of putty-like material which cannot be swept off but is scraped off by means of a hoe. _water yards for breeders._ formerly it was the consensus of opinion that breeders needed water in which they could swim in order to keep in good breeding condition and to give the best results in fertility of the eggs. at present it is not considered necessary to have sufficient water to permit swimming although many breeders prefer to do this and feel that they get better results from it. however, breeding ducks have been and are being kept successfully in dry yards where water is supplied to them simply in an amount sufficient to allow them to drink and to clean themselves. where water yards are provided this should not be on stagnant water but there should be some circulation of the water so as to keep it clean and fresh. where the lay of the land is such that it is not possible to run all the yards down to a stream for this purpose it is sometimes possible to dig a canal or ditch from the stream to the yards so as to allow the ducks access to the water. where the yards can extend into the water it saves a great deal of labor or considerable expense in equipment as it is not then necessary to provide the ducks with drinking water by means of some artificial arrangement such as a concrete gutter or ditch extending through the yards or by means of artificial ponds. if the water yards used freeze over in winter it is necessary to cut holes in the ice so that the ducks can get water for drinking purposes. sometimes the ducks will go into these water holes and after getting their plumage wet will come out and sit down in the yard and freeze fast to the ground. during such weather conditions it is necessary to make the rounds of the yards frequently and to loosen any ducks that have frozen fast. if they are left in that condition they are apt to injure themselves in trying to pull free and if left too long will die. [illustration: fig. 19. another successful type of house for breeding ducks. it is 20 ft. by 40 ft. and is divided into two pens each of which will accommodate 100 breeders. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 20. meal time for the breeders. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _feeding the breeders._ breeding ducks are fed twice a day, in the morning and at night. it is usual practice to feed the breeders last in the morning and first at night. the reason for feeding them last in the morning is that they are usually fed in the yards rather than the house and they should be kept in until they are through laying which will be after daylight. a good breeding ration consists of the following, the proportions being given by measure in bushels. 1 bushel bran. 1 bushel low-grade flour. 1 bushel corn meal. 1 bushel green feed. ½ bushel either raw or cooked vegetables. 1 bushel in 10 of beef scrap. ½ bushel in 10 of cooked fish. this ration will keep the breeding ducks in good flesh but there will be no difficulty in their getting too fat. it is also a good laying ration and will promote good egg production. the vegetables used in this ration usually consist of sugar beets, cow beets, potatoes, etc. however, if potatoes are used the amount of flour in the ration should be reduced a little so as not to make the ration too heavy. beets, when used, are fed raw cut up and mixed in the feed. small potatoes, boiled and mixed in the feed are more valuable as they have a greater food value than beets. some duck growers feed fish entirely, using no beef scrap. this is done where a plentiful supply of fish can be secured by going out into the bay after them. however, this is not very good practice for a sufficient supply of fish may not always be available and the ducks are so fond of the fish that they will not eat well the beef scrap used as a substitute for the fish, until they have become used to it. fish is prepared for feeding by boiling it thoroughly in a feed cooker. the available land on the plant is used to grow a supply of green feed. rye is used for this purpose early in the spring as soon as it is high enough to mow. it is mowed the first time when it is like a lawn. at this stage it does not have to be cut up. oats are used in the same way. during the summer fodder corn is used. this is the poorest crop for the purpose but is as a rule the only one available at that time. rape is sowed in august and its use begun about the time of the first frost and kept up until the hard freezes come or until it is buried under the snow. creek grass which is secured from the fresh water streams on long island by going out in a flat bottom boat and raking it off the creek bottom with a wooden rake, is very much relished by the ducks and is used whenever it is available. however, the supply of this material is not as plentiful as it was formerly and it is rather hard to get. when it is available it can be used either in winter or summer. good field clover cut up and boiled with the potatoes or with the fish makes a good green feed. all of these green materials for use in the ration, unless they are already in short lengths, are cut up by means of a power feed cutter before they are mixed in the mash. when no other form of green feed is available ground alfalfa is used but only half as much of this material is mixed with the ration as is used of any of the other kinds of green feed. wherever possible the various duck yards should be used to grow a crop of green stuff such as oats or rye as this not only helps out on the supply of green feed but also helps to sweeten the soil. the growing of a crop on the heavier types of soil used for ducks is especially important as such soils are more likely to become contaminated from the droppings. the ration for the ducks is mixed up in a power feed mixer which works much on the principle of a power dough mixer. in fact, dough mixers are used on some plants. in mixing the feed enough water should be added to bring the material to a consistency where it will hold together when squeezed in the hand. in fact, the consistency should be between crumbly and sticky, but should never be sloppy. the feed is dumped from the mixer into a low horse drawn wagon and driven around to the various yards where it is shoveled off on to the feed troughs or trays. on some large duck plants a track is provided which runs over the yards and over this a car loaded with feed is pushed and the feed shoveled into the feed trays. the breeders should be fed in the same place. if feeding is begun in the house this practice should be continued. if feeding is begun in the yards it should be continued there. to change disturbs the ducks and interferes with their egg production. coarse ground oyster shell about as large as corn should be kept before the breeders all the time in boxes where they can help themselves. a flock of 700 or 800 breeders will eat upwards of 200 pounds a week of this material. unless sand is available in the yards where they can get it, ducks should also have access to a supply of good sharp creek sand but when kept in sand yards no other form of grit need be furnished. the usual method of feeding is to utilize flat troughs on which the feed is shoveled. only as much feed should be given at the regular feeding time as the ducks will eat up clean. this makes it necessary to watch the feeding carefully and to regulate the amount accordingly. it is good practice to gather up any feed that is left by the ducks so that it will not lie there to sour and spoil as such feed is bad for the birds. egg production the average egg production of pekin ducks kept under commercial farm conditions will run from 80 to 125 eggs per head for the season. this will vary somewhat from year to year and also with the management and feed given the ducks. the laying begins to a small extent about december 1 and gradually increases until the ducks are laying freely in february. as the hot weather of summer begins to come on the laying drops off until about july 1 and after this not enough eggs are produced as a rule to pay to hold the breeding ducks longer. often many ducks will stop laying considerably before this, especially those which have started laying early and it may not pay to keep such pens later than may. laying takes place early in the morning and practically all the eggs are laid soon after daylight. it is for this reason that the ducks are usually shut up at night so that all the eggs laid will be secured as some of them would otherwise be lost by their being laid around in the yard or in the water. in the spring the ducks can be let out about 6 a. m., as the laying will be pretty well over by that time, but in winter they must be kept shut up later in order to secure all the eggs. after the ducks start laying in the spring they are very regular and continuous layers and will miss fewer days than most hens. after the breeding ducks are first put in the breeding pens and shut in the houses at night it is common practice to use electric lights for the first 2 or 3 weeks in order to keep them from stampeding as ducks in strange surroundings are quite nervous and are quite likely to stampede and to run over one another thus causing cripples. electric lights have also been used to some extent during the late fall and winter for the purpose of inducing egg production earlier than the natural season. as a rule the ducks can be started to laying about 4 weeks after turning on the lights but the average production under this system is not likely to run more than 60 eggs for the season as so handled they moult quite early in the spring. a single 25 watt light is sufficient for a house or pen 16 × 24 feet and the lights are left turned on all night. the object in feeding and caring for the breeding ducks is to keep them from moulting and to keep them laying as long as possible. it must be remembered that any radical change in feed or manner of feeding, shutting them up too closely, change of temperature, or other disturbing conditions are likely to cause moulting and to check egg production. any change in feed must be made carefully and gradually, not suddenly. it must also be remembered that ducks are excitable birds and must be handled and driven carefully so as to disturb them as little as possible. time of marketing breeders the breeders should be turned off to market whenever their egg production drops off so decidedly that it no longer pays to hold them. in most cases this will be about the 1st of july but it may range considerably earlier than this, especially with pens of ducks that have started laying early. when the ducks finish laying their eggs they begin to moult and it is at this time that they should be marketed. if marketing is delayed, the ducks will lose condition as the moulting progresses and will therefore be held at a loss. diseases and pests _disease._ old ducks, that is, mature ducks, are practically free from disease. of course, there will be a certain amount of loss in the breeding stock from various causes but this should not run for the entire season more than 10% of the flock. ducks do not become egg bound, but sometimes, especially during heavy laying, they become ruptured. _insect pests._ ducks are remarkably free from lice and other insect pests and those which they do have do not trouble them much. it is unnecessary therefore to take any precautions in the way of treating the ducks to keep them free of insects. _dogs._ occasionally trouble may be experienced from dogs. if these animals get into the yards with the breeders or the fattening ducks, they may kill a good many and in addition will seriously injure the rest by chasing them and by the fright which the ducks are given. chapter v commercial duck farming--incubation the pekin duck is essentially a non-broody breed. it, therefore, becomes necessary to resort to incubators for the purpose of hatching the eggs. occasional ducks will sit if allowed to do so but it is not the practice on commercial duck farms to allow them to sit and hatch their young. no special means are taken to break them of broodiness other than not to allow them eggs to sit on. _kinds of incubators used._ both the smaller kerosene lamp heated incubators and the large or mammoth hot water heated incubators are used for hatching duck eggs. at the present time the mammoth hot water machines are those which are in principal use due largely to the lessened labor required to operate them. _incubator cellar._ it is necessary to provide some room in which the incubators can be installed and operated. this may take the form of a cellar, or the incubators may be operated in rooms above the ground. many of the incubator cellars on duck farms are only partially under ground and not a few of them are built entirely out of ground. the particular size and shape of the cellar or incubator room will, of course, depend upon the number of incubators to be installed and upon their make and shape. usually these buildings are constructed with rather thick walls so that the temperature of the room will fluctuate less with changes in outside temperature. provision is also necessary by means of windows or other ventilating devices to provide for good ventilation in the room. the cellars are usually constructed with cement floors as moisture is used freely and wooden floors would rot out quickly. _incubator capacity required._ the aim on commercial duck farms is to hatch all of the eggs produced which are suitable for the purpose. practically no eggs are sold except the cracked eggs or those which would not give good results in the incubator such as too large or too small eggs. occasionally, of course, there will be sales of duck eggs in comparatively large lots for incubation purposes where someone is starting a duck farm. occasionally also duck farmers buy from each other a few eggs for incubation in order to secure new blood. on the whole, however, practically all of the eggs laid are incubated and it is necessary to have an incubator capacity sufficient to take care of the eggs as they are produced during the flush season. since the egg production at this time will run around about 80% and since the period of incubation is 28 days and a couple more days must be allowed to take the ducklings out of the machines and to clean up the machines, it is necessary to figure on 30 days between hatches. to take care of the flush production at this time there would be required an incubator capacity of from 20 to 25 eggs per head of breeding ducks. the latter figure is a safer estimate than the former. of course, eggs sufficient to fill the entire incubator capacity are not put in the machines at any one time but different lots are put in as soon as a sufficient number is obtained to make it worth while. there will be, therefore, eggs in various stages of incubation in different sections of the machines at the same time. while pekin duck eggs will run about ½ heavier in weight than hens' eggs they do not take up a proportionately greater amount of space in the incubator. an incubator tray will accommodate about 5/6 as many pekin duck eggs as it will hens' eggs. _age of hatching eggs._ duck eggs should be set as often as enough are secured to fill one or more trays in the incubator or enough to produce a sufficient number of ducklings to utilize brooding space to advantage. since duck eggs deteriorate more rapidly than hens' eggs they cannot be kept so long before they are set. it is best not to save them for longer than one week. during the season of flush production it is not, of course, necessary to save them that long since enough eggs will be secured to set each day if desired. the usual practice at this time is to set twice a week. during the early part of the season when the production of eggs is low and the temperature cool the eggs are often saved for as long a period as two weeks without noticeably bad results. _care of hatching eggs._ eggs for hatching should be kept in a cool place. any place suitable for keeping hens' eggs for hatching is a suitable place for duck eggs. the temperature should be from 50° to 70° fahrenheit. where the eggs are not kept longer than one week, it is not necessary to turn them, especially if they are kept on end. if kept longer than this it is safer to turn them once a day or once in two days, handling them carefully so as not to crack any or to injure their hatching qualities. _selecting the eggs for hatching._ medium sized eggs are preferred for this purpose. therefore, the extremely large eggs and the very small ones are thrown out. rough shelled eggs or eggs with crooked or deformed shells are likewise thrown out since they are not likely to hatch well. eggs that are badly soiled so that they cannot be tested easily are washed but the clean eggs are not. all the eggs intended for incubation purposes are sounded by striking them gently against one another in order to detect and remove the cracked eggs. no selection is made on the basis of color. the eggs may be white, creamy white or a blue, or bluish green in color. at the present time a considerably less proportion of the eggs show a blue tint than formerly. as the egg laying season advances the eggs laid by the ducks tend to get a little larger. _temperature._ up to the time of testing, that is, about the fifth day, the incubator is run at a temperature of from 101 to 102 degrees. after the fifth day the temperature is kept as near 103 as possible. the most sensitive period for a duck egg is during the first 3 or 4 days of incubation. if they are allowed to get too warm during this time the germ may be killed while if the temperature is too low, development will be retarded. _position of the thermometer._ in figuring on the proper temperature at which to run the incubator, the thermometer should be so placed that the bulb is on a level with the top of the eggs, preferably touching a fertile egg. if the thermometer bulb rests on an infertile egg the temperature recorded will be lower than the actual temperature of fertile eggs in the later stages of incubation, due to the animal heat of the developing embryos, with the result that the machine would be operated at too high a temperature. _testing._ it is common practice to make only one complete test. this is done on the evening of the fifth day. testing may be done by means of an ordinary candling device such as is used with hens' eggs, each egg being examined separately. to save time a piece of apparatus may be used which is simple in construction and which simplifies the process of candling considerably. this may be termed a testing table. it consists of a table the same width as an incubator tray and longer than the tray. in the table there is an opening the size of a row of eggs and beneath this are placed several electric light bulbs with reflectors back of them so as to throw the light up through the eggs. by sliding the tray along the table each row of eggs is brought over the lights and their condition can be quickly noted. at this test all the infertile eggs are taken out as well as any eggs in which the germs have died. the infertile eggs after a careful retest are then packed in cases and sent to market where they are usually sold to bakers as tested eggs. while no second test is made of the eggs left in the machines the experienced incubator operator is constantly on the watch for and is constantly removing any eggs which die at a later time. to the experienced eye the color of the egg indicates that it has died as it takes on a sort of pinkish or darkish tint. duck eggs after they die will spoil very quickly and must be removed promptly as the odor which they throw off is very strong and will prove harmful to the other eggs. the inexperienced operator can readily locate dead eggs by smelling over the tray. [illustration: fig. 21. interior of house for breeding ducks. notice the heavy bedding and the feeding track. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 22. incubator cellar on large duck plant. trays of eggs set out to turn and cool. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _turning the eggs._ the eggs are neither turned, cooled nor otherwise disturbed after they are put in the incubator until after they are tested on the fifth day. from this time on they are turned twice a day, morning and night, until they begin to pip. _cooling the eggs._ there is a considerable difference in the practice of incubator operators with regard to cooling. no cooling should be done until after the first test. after this some incubator men cool the eggs by dropping the doors of the machine. others take the trays of eggs out and put them on top of the machine. cooling is usually done once a day. the amount of cooling which the eggs require seems to vary greatly and here again the judgment of the operator comes into play. about the best general rule which can be given is that the eggs should be cooled until they do not feel warm to the face but they should never be cooled to the extent that they feel cold to the face or hands. the length of time to bring this about varies with the age of the eggs and the temperature of the room. _moisture._ a good deal of moisture is used in incubating duck eggs. it is usual to begin to spray the eggs with water the next day after testing. however, this may vary anywhere from the sixth to the tenth day. they are sprayed quite thoroughly, some men using water enough so that it runs out of the bottom of the machine. no particular care is taken to see that the water used is warm. ordinary water just as it comes from the pipes is commonly used and is applied by means of a spray nozzle attached to a hose. however, extremely cold water should not be used for this purpose. this spraying is done once or twice a day as the operator may think necessary until the eggs begin to hatch. in many cases even then if the ducklings seem to be drying too fast after they come out of the shell, or to be having difficulty to get out it is well to open the machines and wet the eggs down thoroughly. _fertility._ the fertility varies with the season that is, with the weather. at the beginning of the laying season when the weather is cold the fertility usually runs rather low. this is likewise true at the end of the laying season when the heat of summer sets in. during the interval between these two times of low fertility there will usually be one or more periods during which the fertility will go down and then come back again. this seems to occur even though the weather remains about the same and though there is no change in the method of feeding. fertility may be considered to be good when it runs about 85%. when the fertility is running poor the hatching of the eggs left in the machines after testing will usually be poor also. _hatching._ it takes longer as a rule from the time that the ducklings pip the eggs until they hatch than it does with chicks. to retain the moisture which is so necessary during hatching, the machines are usually shut tightly and are not opened until the hatching is pretty well completed unless it becomes necessary to add more moisture as indicated above. the little ducklings should be left in the incubator until the hatching is over and they are thoroughly dried off. as soon as the hatching is completed, the ventilators in the machines are opened to hasten the drying process. if the ducklings open their bills and pant it is an indication that they are not getting enough ventilation and this should be supplied by fastening the machine door open a little way. if the ducks are not ready to be taken out of the machines by noon or soon after, it is best to leave them until the next morning before removing them to the brooder house. in the meantime, however, the old eggs and shells and other refuse should be taken out. usually the hatch is completed in time so that the ducklings can be removed to the brooder house on the afternoon of the 28th day. as a rule the earlier the hatch is completed the better are the ducklings. figures secured on results in hatching for the entire season on long island duck farms indicate that as a whole the duck raisers will not average much over 40% hatch of all eggs set. some hatches may run as high as 60% or even more and in some seasons the average percentage will run higher than 40. some especially skilled operators may also secure considerably better average results than this. it is quite a common practice on the part of duck farmers to pay their incubator man a bonus on all ducklings over 40% hatched during the season. this bonus may range anywhere from $1 to $5 per thousand ducklings. such an arrangement serves to give the incubator man a greater incentive to give the machines good attention and to secure just the best results of which he is capable. _selling baby ducks._ within the last two or three years there has sprung into existence a small but increasing trade in baby ducks. they are handled and shipped about the same as baby chicks. baby ducks are ready for shipment as soon as they are thoroughly dry, usually about 12 hours after the hatch starts to come off. they are neither fed nor watered before shipment and are packed in cardboard boxes used in shipping baby chicks. as a rule the shipping boxes will accommodate about half the number of ducklings that they will chicks. of course the outside temperature very largely governs the matter of the number to a compartment. in warm summer weather, a two compartment box intended for 50 chicks will accommodate 26 ducklings if well ventilated at the sides and top. they are shipped by parcel post and can be sent anywhere within a radius of one thousand miles if the trip does not require more than 36 hours. for best results the ducklings should not be allowed to go much beyond this length of time before they are fed. on receipt they should be placed immediately in a brooder already prepared for them. chapter vi commercial duck farming--brooding and rearing the young stock young ducks are easier to brood than chicks. they seem to learn more quickly where the source of heat is and they are less likely to cause trouble from crowding. they are also less subject to disease. _removing the newly hatched ducklings to the brooder house._ the ducklings should be left in the incubator until they are thoroughly dried off. usually they will be dried so that they can be moved on the afternoon of the 28th day of incubation. if, however, they are not ready early in the afternoon it is best to leave them in the machine until the next morning. in moving the ducklings, place them in boxes, baskets or other suitable carriers and cover them with burlap or cloth to avoid any danger of the ducklings becoming chilled. _brooder houses repaired._ there are many different types and styles of brooder houses which are used with success. for this reason only one type of each class of brooder house needed is described in detail. these particular houses have been in successful use for a considerable period of time and are given because they embody all the necessary requisites for such houses and at the same time utilize the space to good advantage and are economical in construction. in general there are required three different brooder houses. the first of these requires sufficient heating capacity so that the temperature of the house itself can be maintained at 65 to 70 degrees even in the cold weather of winter or early spring. in addition, hovers are required in this house under which a temperature can be maintained from 80 to 90 degrees. for convenience this house will be spoken of as brooder house no. 1. a second brooder house which can be called brooder house no. 2 will be required which is equipped with heating apparatus so that the temperature can be run up to 60 degrees when required. the third brooder house known as brooder house no. 3 is a cold brooder house or one without artificial heat. it furnishes shelter for the young ducks where they can be driven in at night and during the day in cold weather. as the ducklings pass out of the brooder house no. 3 they are housed in sheds or shelters with yards which usually extend into the water but which may not do so in all cases. brooder house no. 1 the length of this house determines its capacity, the required amount of which will depend upon the output of any particular plant. there should be brooder capacity in this house sufficient to care for approximately ¼ of the total output for the year at one time. _construction of house._ a suitable house which has been in practical use for some time consists of one 20 feet wide and running east and west with windows in the south or front side. if the location were right such a house could be run north and south to good advantage and should then have windows on each side so as to let in the sunlight from both directions. the front wall of this house is 7 feet high, the back wall 4 feet. the ridge of the house is about 2 feet in front of the center, the front slope of the roof having an eight inch pitch while the back slope has a 6 inch pitch. the roof rafters are 2 × 4's placed every two feet. the studs and plates are likewise 2 × 4. the walls are made of matched material. the roof is constructed of 1 × 2 inch strips placed every 4 inches and these covered with shingles. tie beams every 8 feet extend from front to rear plates. this particular brooder house is not ceiled but a good tight ceiling 8 feet above the walk or runway would make it easier to keep the house clean and would also render it somewhat easier in cold weather to maintain the temperature desired. the house is built on a concrete wall or foundation and a dirt floor is used but the dirt must be filled in well above the level of the ground outside so that there is no danger of water coming into the house or the floors becoming damp or sloppy. windows are placed in the front wall, one to each pen. in every other pen there is a small door in the back of the house to facilitate cleaning out the pens. a window can be substituted for this door to good advantage as it makes the house lighter. [illustration: fig. 23. interior of no. 1 brooder house showing walk and hover combined in the middle of the house and pens on each side. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _heating apparatus._ heat is furnished by means of a coal burning stove which heats water and causes it to circulate through pipes run the length of the house. the heater must always be placed in the windward end of the building as otherwise it is hard to get the heat down to the other end as the wind tends to drive it back. the hot water pipes are carried down the center of the house and the return pipes are located in the same place. a low partition is run lengthwise of the house dividing the pipes and thus forming double pens, half extending from the center to the front and half from the center to the rear of the house. the pipes and the partition between them is covered over with boards making a 4 foot walk or runway directly over the pipes, which comes into most convenient use as a place to convey, by means of a wheelbarrow, feed or other material needed in the house, and as a convenient place from which to care for the ducklings in the pens on each side. this board covering over the pipes also serves to hold the heat and thus forms hovers. it is advisable to partition off the first third of the house, that is, the portion in which the heater is located, with a solid partition. then by having suitable valves in the pipes, the heat can be cut off from the rest of the house and only the smaller partitioned off end used as a separate and independent section of the brooder. this is especially useful when only a small number of ducklings are being hatched early in the spring when the weather is cold and it may be difficult to heat the whole building properly. it is also economical in fuel under such conditions. if, on the other hand, the number of ducklings hatched during the cold weather is so large that all or nearly all of the house capacity is needed to care for them, it will usually pay to install an additional heater, the pipes from which can be run along the rear wall of the building, in order to keep up a proper house temperature when the weather is severe. _pens._ having the hovers in the center of the house, makes it possible to have double sets of pens, one running from the center to the front wall and the other from the center to the rear wall. the pens are divided off by means of partitions made of one foot boards. these are high enough to confine the ducklings to their own pen and at the same time are easy to step over. in a house of this width, 20 feet, with 4 feet in the center taken up by the double hovers or walk, each pen is 8 feet long in the clear or 10 feet to the partition under the hover. the pens in the first third of the house are made 5 feet wide, in the next third 6 feet and in the last third 7 feet wide. when the ducklings are first brought from the incubator cellar they are placed in the pens nearest the heater as the temperature will run somewhat higher there than in the portions of the house more remote from the heater. these 5 × 10 foot pens will accommodate 125 baby ducklings although better results will be obtained by placing only 100 in a pen if sufficient room is available. some duck growers use boards which can be slipped into slots made of cleats nailed to the pen partitions at different distances from the hover and which serve to confine the baby ducklings close to the hover for the first few days or until they learn to go under the hover to get warm. as additional ducklings are hatched later and brought to the brooder house, the ducklings already there are moved along the necessary number of pens in order to accommodate the new-comers in the pens nearest the heater. for this purpose, a small door is made in each partition next the outside wall of the house through which the ducklings can be driven. a broom is a handy implement to use in driving the ducklings as they can be pushed along in front of it. it is best to drive the ducklings just after they have been fed as they are not so nervous and afraid at that time. the increased width of the pens in the second and third portions of the house is for the purpose of taking care of the growth of the ducklings as they are moved along the house. pens of the same width as those in which they were started become too crowded as the ducklings increase in size. _equipment of the pen._ the equipment of the pens is quite simple. water is piped through the house along both walls so that it is available to each pen. a spigot is provided in each pen and under this is placed the drinking dish, which consists of a round metal pan about a foot in diameter and 3 or 4 inches deep. a square pan should never be used as the ducklings are apt to get their bills caught in the corners. one quarter inch mesh wire netting is bent in a circle and placed in the drinking dish as a guard to keep the ducklings from getting into the pan. this guard should be made of such size that there is a space between the wire and the edge of the dish of about 1½ inches all around. this guard should be about 8 inches high. the water pan itself is set upon a wire covered frame about 18 inches square under which is dug a pit 4 or 5 inches deep to drain away any water which the ducklings slop out of the pan. such an arrangement keeps the pens from becoming sloppy and damp. each pen must also have a flat metal dish on which to place the feed for the little ducks. metal pans are better than wooden feeding trays as they are easier to keep clean. in each pen is provided a small hopper filled with fine sharp creek sand to which the ducklings have access at all times. some duck growers prefer to mix the sand in the feed rather than to provide it in hoppers. after the ducklings are allowed to run in the yards, sand need not be furnished if the yards are sand as the ducklings will help themselves. if the land in the yards is not sand, however, it is necessary to continue to furnish this material. [illustration: fig. 24. watering arrangement in the brooder pens for young ducklings. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 25. another type of no. 1 brooder house. here the hovers are along the back of the house and the work is done from an alleyway along the front. the box with handles on top of the hover is used in carrying the newly hatched ducklings from the incubator cellar to the brooder house. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _grading and sorting the ducklings._ as the ducklings are moved from pen to pen through this house as well as the other houses, they are constantly graded for size and thriftiness, the smaller, less thrifty individuals being left with younger lots. some ducklings do not grow as quickly as others, and these if left with ducklings larger than themselves will not get their share of the feed and will not do as well. in this connection it should be noted that when young ducks are not fairly clean it is a good indication that they are not doing as well as they should. _cleaning and bedding the pens._ careful attention must be given to keeping the pens and the ducklings themselves clean if they are to do well. therefore the pens must be cleaned out as often as may be necessary to accomplish this purpose. the judgment of the brooder man must decide how often this is necessary but it will be at least once a week. when cleaning the pens the old bedding is thrown out from the front pens through the windows and from the back pens through the door provided in the rear wall for this purpose. bedding the pens must be done more frequently, usually about every other day. fresh bedding will help to absorb the droppings and will keep the pens from becoming sloppy or sticky. for bedding, straw, meadow hay, swale hay or any other suitable material available should be utilized. _ventilation._ plenty of ventilation is required in the brooder house in order to take out the ammonia odor which arises from the droppings. properly managed, the doors and windows provide sufficient means of ventilation but some duck growers prefer to have roof ventilators in addition. _other types of brooder houses._ many other types of brooder houses are used, some of them being shed roof construction and many of them being built narrower than this house, that is to say, 14, 16 or 18 feet wide with an alleyway along the front or rear side of the house from which the work is done. the hovers are placed at the back of the pens when the alley-way is in the front, otherwise, they are placed next to the alley-way. the disadvantages of these houses are that only single pens are provided and that valuable brooding space is used up by the alley-way. the advantages of the house described above lie in the fact that the hovers are in the center of the house with the pens on each side of this, thus doubling the capacity, and that by making use of a walk over the hover pipe no room is wasted in an alley-way. having pens on each side also lessens the labor of taking care of the ducklings to some extent as the arrangement is more compact. length of time in brooder _in house no. 1._ as a rule the ducklings are kept in the no. 1 house until they are from 2 to 3 weeks old, this of course depending somewhat upon the time of year and the weather and also upon the number of ducklings for which accommodations must be provided at any particular time. as the ducks are moved down through the house and eventually reach the last pens they are taken from this house and placed in brooder house no. 2. _brooder house no. 2._ this is a heated house like brooder house no. 1 but in which it is not necessary to maintain so high a temperature. sufficient heating apparatus should be installed to make it possible to maintain the temperature at 60 degrees if this becomes necessary in the early spring. the particular brooder house described is 14 feet wide and has a shed roof. it is provided with a window in the front of each pen. no openings are required along the back since this is not a double pen house. the space in such a house could undoubtedly be used to better advantage if it were constructed as wide as the no. 1 house and the hot water pipes and walk put through the middle of the house so as to provide double pens. in this house the hot water pipes are run along the rear of the pens, and while hovers are not really necessary, a walk is constructed over the pipes in order to save space and provide a convenient place from which to do the work, and this forms hovers. ordinarily after may 1 no heat is needed in the no. 2 house. the pens in this house are 12 feet wide and they are equipped with feeding and watering arrangements as in brooder house no. 1. as the ducklings are moved to this house from the no. 1 house from 150 to 200 are placed in each pen. they are moved through the house from pen to pen in the same manner as in the no. 1 house to make way for new arrivals. as a rule they stay in this house about two weeks depending somewhat on the weather and upon the number of ducklings being brooded. yards are used in connection with this house which are the same width as the pens and 50 feet in length. as in the no. 1 house the pens in this house should be cleaned at least once a week and they should be bedded with straw or other bedding material every other day. as soon as the ducks have been moved through this no. 2 house they are put in brooder house no. 3. [illustration: fig. 26. brooder house no. 2 and yards. the trees furnish fine shade for the growing ducklings. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] brooder house no. 3 this is a shed roof house 16 feet wide equipped with single pens. no heat is required in this house. yards of the same width as the pens and 50 feet deep are used. usually the ducks are fed outside the house from a wagon driven along a roadway just in front of the yards. the pens are 16 feet wide and the same number of ducks is used in them as in the no. 2 house. as a rule the ducks stay in this house about 2 weeks and are then moved to the duck pens or shelters with the larger yards which may or may not have water. from this point on the ducks are termed yard ducks. in all three of the brooder houses the young ducks are supplied with their drinking water from pipes through the houses. they are not given access to water until they are moved to the yards. [illustration: fig. 27. brooder house no. 3. at the time this picture was taken there were no ducklings in the house and advantage was taken of this fact to give it a good cleaning by throwing out the bedding and droppings, which will be hauled away and spread on cropped land. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 28. long brooder house and yards with feeding track. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 29. upper--pekin ducklings 3 days old. lower--pekin ducklings 2 weeks old. duck egg used for size comparison. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 30. upper--pekin ducklings 3 weeks old. lower--pekin ducklings 6 weeks old. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 31. interior of a cold brooder house. the low partitions can easily be stepped over. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] yard accommodations for ducklings as the ducklings get to be 8 weeks old they can stand ordinary weather conditions and it is not absolutely necessary to have houses for them. however, it is common and good practice to provide shelter where they can be housed at night and can take refuge from storms. a suitable house for this purpose consists of a building 16 × 24 feet divided into two parts with 200 ducklings to a side. this house is 5 feet high in front and 3½ feet in back. it is set on posts with a baseboard around it to make it tight. it can be constructed of matched stuff or unmatched stuff covered with paper. the front is left open but curtains are placed on the front which can be used to close the openings so as to keep out the snow. these are used only in the winter. when the ducklings are first started in these sheds they are shut in when desired by means of wire panels fitted into the lower part of the open front. the ducklings are left in these yards and fed there until they are ready for market. [illustration: fig. 32. eat, drink and grow fat for tomorrow they die. fattening or yard ducks with fattening house or shelter used. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _shade._ shade is important for the ducklings as soon as the sun gets hot. exposure to the sun without shade will cause quite a heavy loss in ducklings. if natural shade is not furnished by trees, some artificial means must be adopted to supply the shade. this may take the form of shelters or low frames covered with boards, brush or burlap. _feeding._ the first feed and water is given as soon as the ducks are placed in the no. 1 brooder house or when 24 to 36 hours old. they are fed 3 times a day, in the morning about 6 a. m., at noon, and at night about 4:30 or 5 o'clock. the time of feeding should be regular, and fairly early in the morning but not any earlier in the afternoon than one can help so that the time between the evening and the morning feed will not be too long. some growers prefer to feed 4 or 5 times daily for the first week or two. the birds are fed as much as they will clean up at each feeding and if any feed is left it should be gathered up so that it will not sour and cause digestive troubles. the first feed consists of the following:--one measure corn meal, one measure bran, one measure ground crackers, stale bread or shredded wheat waste, one measure in 10 of beef scrap or fish, one measure in 6 of creek grass or other very fine green stuff. green rye or oats should never be used for this purpose after it becomes jointed. if the feed is mixed up with cold water about ½ measure of low-grade wheat flour should be used to cause it to stick together. if hot water is used in the mixing this is not needed. sand must be fed either by mixing it in to the extent of about 3% of the ration or the sand can be fed separately in hoppers as previously described. this same mixture may be fed in the no. 1, no. 2, and no. 3 brooder houses, or in other words, until ducklings go to the yards, or ration no. 2 given below may be substituted either at the start or after a week or ten days. after the ducklings go to the yards the following fattening ration is used: 200 pounds corn meal, 100 pounds low-grade flour, 100 pounds bran, 1 part in 10 of beef scrap and 2 tubs or bushels of green stuff. some duck growers prefer to feed 300 pounds of corn meal instead of 200 pounds. this ration like the other is fed 3 times a day. of course, there are many different rations in use with good results, every grower having more or less personal preferences in this matter. a proper proportion of animal feed, consisting of beef scrap or fish is very important as the ducklings will not grow and make normal gains if this is omitted or reduced in amount. much has been written about the feeding of celery seed to fattening ducklings for the purpose of improving the flavor of the flesh and formerly ducklings were advertised and sold as "celery-fed". as a matter of fact, the amount of celery seed fed was small and it is questionable how much influence it had on the flavor of the birds. at the present time, celery seed is not used in fattening the ducklings on most of the large duck farms of long island. a comparison of gains made by ducklings on two different rations is shown in the following table. ration no. 1 consists of the fattening ration given above. ration no. 2 consists of 100 pounds bran, 100 pounds corn meal, 50 pounds rolled oats, 50 pounds gluten feed, 10% beef scrap. the ducks used were three days old at the first weighing and there were 27 in each lot. after the second weighing the number in each lot was reduced to 24 ducks. feed no. 1 feed no. 2 total weight average weight total weight average wt august 14 4¾ lbs. 0.176 4¾ lbs. 0.176 august 21 10 " 0.37 9½ " 0.352 august 28 16½ " 0.687 17½ " 0.729 september 5 25 " 1.041 27 " 1.125 september 13 44½ " 1.854 48½ " 2.02 september 19 50 " 2.083 56½ " 2.354 september 27 64 " 2.666 67 " 2.62 october 4 78½ " 3.27 82½ " 3.437 october 11 99½ " 4.145 103½ " 4.312 october 18 115½ " 4.812 119 " 4.958 october 25 126 " 5.25 135 " 5.62 _lights for ducklings._ often when the ducks are about one-third grown or about 4 weeks old they will stampede at night at any unusual noise or any other disturbance. in doing this, especially when they are in fairly large lots, they surge back and forth in the pens, running over one another with the result that their backs are torn and scratched while not infrequently more serious injuries result and may cause cripples. to keep them quiet it is common to use lights at night. formerly lanterns were used but now on most duck plants electric lights are available for this purpose. for a house 140 feet long, six 15-watt lights scattered at equal intervals will be sufficient, and these can be used in like proportion for houses of other lengths. the lights are left on all night. even when the ducks are half grown and may be out on the yards it is still necessary to use lights on stormy nights so that they will stay in and keep quiet and not get drowned in the rain. with a 16 × 24 foot house such as described previously, a single 25 watt light is sufficient. ducklings are especially likely to be stampeded during thunderstorms and if a storm is coming up it is well to turn on the lights and to shut the ducklings in their shelters when they are first placed in the yards. one should not carry a lantern when moving among the ducklings at night as this will cause moving shadows which are very likely to frighten and stampede the birds. [illustration: fig. 33. another type of duck shed used on long island. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 34. convenient feeding arrangements. at the right of the feeding track runs a water pipe with spigots and pans at frequent intervals. at the left are the feeding trays. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _pounds of feed to produce a pound of market duck._ it is stated by long established duck growers that from 5 to 7 pounds of feed is required, this including the feed given to the breeding ducks for the season, to produce a pound of market duck. _water for young ducks._ drinking water is provided to the ducklings while in the brooder houses by means of a piped supply. the drinking pans are filled at each feeding time but at no other time. water is not left before them continuously while they are in the brooder houses as they would be working in it all the time and this would keep them dirty and make the house sloppy. after they are put out on the yards they may or may not be provided with water in which they can swim. most duck growers on long island allow them to have access to water. while it is undoubtedly true that swimming in the water induces them to take more exercise and thus tends to reduce somewhat the rapidity of fattening, at the same time it lessens the labor very materially as they do not need to be provided with a supply of drinking water other than the water in which they swim. ducklings can be grown very successfully with only a limited amount of water, that is, only enough to drink and in which to wash themselves. _age and weight when ready for market._ ducklings are usually marketed when they are 10 to 12 weeks old. a partial moult on the neck and breast occurs about this time giving them a somewhat rough look. this indicates that they are in proper condition to kill. if killing is not done within a week after this moult starts they will begin to lose flesh and it will be some time before they will fatten again. ducks when ready to ship will average from 5 to 6 pounds. a majority will weigh nearer 5 than 6 pounds. a pen of fattened ducks is driven up to the killing house and into a pen where each one is caught up and examined to see if it is in good condition. if the duck has a good smooth breast so that the breastbone is not felt when handled and is well fleshed on the back it is ready to kill. if it is not in this condition it is thrown out and these thin ducks are returned to the yards for further fattening or are utilized for shipping alive. thin ducks are generally used for live shipments as they will not shrink as much as well fattened ducks. [illustration: fig. 35. an important part of rations for ducks. green feed ready to be cut up into short lengths suitable for mixing in the feed. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 36. feeding fattening or yard ducks from the feeding track. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _cripples._ there will always be found in the flocks more or less crippled ducks and those with crooked backs, twisted wings, etc. as a rule ducks with twisted wings fatten well and are in good condition and can be killed about as soon as any of the others. the crippled ducks are sorted out into a lot by themselves where they are held until they can be put into condition to market. it is doubtful whether it pays the duck growers to bother with these ducks since they are rather difficult to condition and it would probably pay better to kill them. however, it is quite common practice to carry them until they can be marketed. _cleaning the yards._ the yards must be cleaned whenever they need it. it is a matter of judgment to decide when this is necessary but they must be cleaned whenever they get sticky or sloppy. the weather will have a considerable influence upon the frequency of cleaning which may be necessary once in two weeks, or in the yards of brooder houses nos. 2 and 3 may run as often as once a week. in dry weather the yards are cleaned by sweeping up the droppings and carting them away. in wet weather the ducks in running about over the yard pack down the droppings until they form a sort of putty-like layer which has to be scraped off with a hoe. _critical period with young ducks._ the critical period with young ducks is the first week of their existence. with good management after they have passed this point not many are lost. the loss in young ducks from the time they are hatched until they are ready for market will range all the way from 5 to 30%. when the loss does not average more than 10% for the season this is considered good. undoubtedly many duck raisers lose a greater percent than 10. [illustration: fig. 37. yard ducks at rest. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry. u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 38. on this plant, the lay of the land was such that not all of the yards could be run down to the stream. so a shallow canal was dug from the stream through the yards which were without natural water frontage. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] disease prevention trouble from disease in young ducks is not severe although there is a greater loss from this source than in the case of mature ducks. the aim of the grower should be to use such methods of management and feeding as will keep the ducklings in good health and reduce the losses to a minimum. to accomplish this care must be taken to see that the brooding temperatures are correct, that the feed used contains what the ducklings need, that they are not overfed and that the house and yards are clean and dry and the feed and water dishes are clean. remember that green feed and animal feed are essential ingredients in the ration. _gapes or pneumonia._ one of the principal troubles is a disease which is called "pneumonia" by some duck raisers and by others "gapes". it is not the same disease which is called gapes in chickens. in fact, it is a form of cold which approaches pneumonia. the little ducks stretch their necks up and breathe hard and usually die within a comparatively short time. this disease may affect either the baby ducks or ducks which are old enough to kill. all that can be done is to make sure that the housing and brooding conditions are such as to correct the trouble which causes the colds. _fits._ in addition, the little ducks for the first 3 or 4 days may be more or less subject to a disease which is called "fits" by some duck growers. with this disease they simply keel over and soon die. it is probably a digestive difficulty of some sort. the feeding of plenty of green stuff or the turning of the ducks out on grass will usually stop this trouble. _diarrhoea._ this is a fairly common trouble. it may be due to improper feeding, or to too high or low temperature in the brooder. the obvious treatment is to remedy the cause or causes of the trouble. _lameness._ not infrequently growers, particularly beginners, experience difficulty from a fairly large proportion of their ducklings becoming lame. this may grow worse until a considerable number of the birds will die. this trouble may be due to a lack of animal matter and mineral matter in the ration or may be due to digestive troubles caused by poor rations, by over feeding, by failing to gather up feed not eaten by the ducklings and leaving it to sour, or by lack of cleanliness of the feed and water dishes. where the pens are allowed to become damp and sloppy this may also cause some lameness. _sore eyes._ occasionally duck growers complain that their ducklings suffer from sore eyes. this may be due to a cold causing a discharge from the eyes or may be due to the use of too sloppy feed which adheres to the eyes and causes an irritation. affected birds should be placed in a separate pen from the others and the eyes should be bathed with an antiseptic solution. _feather eating or "quilling"._ this is a bad habit which is apt to cause more or less trouble when the ducklings are about two-thirds grown. it is much more likely to occur when the birds are kept in cramped quarters. it is usually started by one or a few individuals but when the feathers are injured so that they begin to bleed, which they will very quickly do, the vice will spread among the whole flock and serious damage will occur. it is therefore necessary to be on the lookout for this trouble, and as soon as detected, the birds responsible should be removed. if the culprits are placed with older birds which are already feathered, they will not trouble by trying to eat the feathers. it is the blood in the growing feathers which attracts them. if the habit has become general, it is more difficult to check. about the best thing that can be done, is to turn them out in a roomy yard, one with a growing green crop, if available, where they will be so busy as to stop the feather eating of their own accord. _rats._--rats are very destructive if they get into the brooder house. a single rat has been known to kill and drag off as many as 200 ducklings in one night. if a rat gets into the brooder house it is therefore of the utmost importance that it be hunted down and killed without delay. otherwise serious losses will result. cooperative feed association a very large proportion of the feed used on a duck plant is that which is fed to the market ducks. by purchasing feed in considerable quantities the duck grower is able to cut down the cost to some extent. a number of the duck raisers on long island have developed this idea further by forming a cooperative feed organization. stock in this concern is held both by the duck growers and by outsiders but is controlled by the duck growers. the feed association maintains a feed warehouse, purchases feeds in quantity and does business both with the duck growers and with other persons in the market for feed. the existence of a cooperative feed purchasing association of this sort not only cuts down to some extent the cost of feed but likewise makes it possible for the duck growers to have greater assurance of securing the supply which is so necessary to them during the growing season. chapter vii commercial duck farming--marketing on commercial duck farms, the business consists mainly of producing large quickly grown ducklings which are marketed before they are mature. because of this immaturity, the ducks are quite commonly termed green ducks. the business has also become so highly specialized on long island and this is such a center of the industry, that the birds are commonly quoted on the new york market as long island ducklings. _proper age to market._ it is important that the ducklings be marketed as soon as they have reached the proper age and stage of development. when the ducklings are about 10 to 12 weeks old they begin to shed their first growth of feathers. this is apparent first on the neck and breast, giving them somewhat of a rough appearance. the ducklings must be marketed within one week after they begin this moult. if they are allowed to go longer than this they will begin to get thin and as it will take them 6 weeks or more to grow a new crop of feathers it will be a considerable period before they get back in market condition again and any additional weight which they may attain will not be sufficient to pay for the feed eaten during this period. _weights at the time of marketing._ well grown ducklings should average in weight from 5 to 6 pounds at 10 to 12 weeks of age when they are ready to be marketed. a majority of the ducks will weigh closer to 5 pounds than they will to 6. the vast majority of ducklings are marketed at this age as it does not pay to keep them past the time they reach prime market condition. on commercial duck farms practically the only ducks which are marketed at an older age than this are the breeders which are turned off at the end of the laying season and the ducklings which by reason of their being crippled or less thrifty are not in suitable market condition at this time and are held longer until they are in good condition. the ducklings are marketed from early spring until late fall. the time at which ducklings are first available for market in any quantity depends upon the earliness with which the breeders begin to lay and the end of the season depends upon how late the breeders continue to lay at a profitable rate. _the last feed for market ducks._ it is important in order to have the dressed ducklings appear to the best advantage and also in order to insure their keeping qualities as much as possible that they should have no feed in their crops when they are killed. this means that if they are to be killed in the morning, which is the usual practice, they should be fed for the last time the previous night. if, however, they are not to be killed until afternoon they can be fed lightly in the morning. _sorting market ducklings._ when a pen of ducklings which are being fattened are deemed ready to be killed they are driven up to the killing house and a few of them at a time driven into a small pen where it is easy to catch and examine them. each duck as it is caught is examined to make sure that it is in proper market condition. the examination consists of feeling of the duck's body to see that it has a good smooth breast so that the breast bone cannot be readily felt. if it is in that condition it is ready to kill. ducks which do not show this condition are thrown out and returned to the yards where they are fed for a longer period unless it is desired to ship them alive. at the proper season of the year when breeders for the next season are to be selected, suitable birds for that purpose are picked out from the market lots as they are examined. in any lot of ducks there will be found some cripples. it is common practice to sort these out and group them together in a pen by themselves where they are held until they are in suitable condition for marketing. it is doubtful whether it pays to hold these cripples as they are hard to get in good condition and in many cases are probably kept and fed at a loss. some ducklings will show twisted wings but as a rule they are thrifty and will fatten readily and be in good market condition. [illustration: fig. 39. awaiting slaughter. the fattened ducklings are driven into these catching pens. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 40. carrying the ducklings from the catching pen to the killing place. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _killing._ as the ducklings suitable for killing are selected, 10 or 12 of them, depending upon the capacity of the killing room, are hung up by their feet, the head being fastened down by means of a hook or else weighted down by means of a blood can hung from a hook inserted through the bill. by means of a long, narrow bladed sharp knife the veins in the throat just beyond the skull are severed so as to cause free bleeding. the blood flows either into the blood can or into a trough above which the birds are hung. the birds are not stuck or brained unless it is desired to dry pick them nor are they as a rule stunned by hitting them on the head before bleeding. in some states, however, the law requires that all birds bled shall first be stunned in this manner. the bleeding of the ducks causes their death and they are allowed to hang until they are thoroughly bled out. they are then taken down, the blood washed off of their heads and placed on a table or on the floor convenient to the pickers, other ducks being hung in their places. [illustration: fig. 41. the ducks are hung by the feet and the veins in the neck cut from inside the mouth to cause free bleeding. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 42. after the throat veins are cut, the ducks are allowed to hang until they are well bled out. the blood is caught in the trough below. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 43. ducks which have been bled, ready to have the blood washed from their heads and mouths before they are picked. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 44. after they are bled and washed, the ducks are laid in the picking room ready for the pickers. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _scalding._ the picker selects a duck from the table where they are placed after being taken down and carries it to a large kettle of water which is maintained at a temperature just below boiling. they are thoroughly soused in this water holding them by the head and feet so as to allow the water to penetrate into the feathers until they can be readily plucked. the picker tests the readiness with which the feathers come out by plucking a few from the breast or body and thus determines whether the scalding is sufficient or whether more is required. care is taken not to dip the feet or head in the water as this might discolor these parts. practically all market ducks from long island are scald picked at the present time. dry picking which is demanded in some markets such as boston makes a somewhat better looking carcass and also increases the value of the feathers, but is generally considered too slow and too highly skilled a process for use on the average duck farm. [illustration: fig. 45. holding the head in one hand and the feet in the other, the picker dips the duck in water heated nearly to the boiling point and souses well to work the water into the feathers until they pluck easily. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _picking._. after scalding the picker starts removing the feathers. in doing this the duck is held either on the lap or on a board nailed to the side of the feather box. the feathers on the breast are picked first, then working down toward the tail, pulling the feathers with the grain. the soft body feathers as plucked are thrown into the feather box, the coarser feathers being thrown on the floor. the main wing and tail feathers are left on as are likewise some of the feathers of the neck next the head. the most troublesome part of picking ducks is removing the down. this may be removed to some extent by rubbing with the hand although care must be taken not to bruise the skin severely. in some cases the down is shaved off with a sharp knife. in some of the commercial packing houses the duck's body is sprinkled with powdered rosin and then dipped into the hot water. this melts the rosin so that the down and rosin can be rubbed off easily with the hand leaving the body clean. pin feathers are usually removed by grasping them between the thumb and a dull knife. in some packing houses, ducks are steamed before picking. where this is done they are picked clean and the wing and tail feathers are pulled before steaming takes place. six or eight ducks which have been bled are hung at the same time in the top of a steam box or barrel which can be made air-tight and the steam turned on until the soft feathers of the breast come off easily. the length of time to steam depends on the temperature of the steam itself and varies from one-half to 2 minutes. in some cases the ducks are hung in a steam box with the heads outside so as to prevent the steam from coming into contact with the heads, possibly discoloring them. on long island women are used very largely for picking and they secure for this service 6 cents per duck. a good picker should do 75 ducks or even more a day. the value of the feathers will slightly more than pay for the cost of picking. picking usually begins early in the morning about 6 o'clock and is generally finished by noon or soon after. most duck raisers figure on doing their killing and picking during the first half of the week and do not like to kill if they can help it during the latter days of the week. [illustration: fig. 46. picking the ducks. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _dry picking._ where the market requires it, the ducks must be dry picked. in doing this the procedure is the same as in dry picking chickens. after the cut is made to bleed the ducks, the point of the knife is plunged through the roof of the mouth until it reaches the brain when it is turned to cause a paralysis of the muscles which enables the feathers to be plucked more easily. the duck is then struck on the back of the head with a club to stun it and make it easier to handle when picking. the picker seats himself by the feather box, with the duck on his lap, holding the head pressed against the outside of the box and held there by the picker's leg. he then proceeds immediately and as quickly as possible to pluck the feathers. it is necessary to accomplish this without delay, for the feathers soon set and are then much harder to pluck and are more likely to result in tears in the skin. when removing the down, the hand is moistened when much of the down can be rubbed off. pin feathers are removed by grasping them between the thumb and the edge of a dull knife and any which cannot be gotten in this way are shaved off with a sharp knife. after picking, the carcasses are cooled in cold water the same as the scalded birds. _cooling._ after the birds are plucked they are thrown into cold water and are left there for several hours or until the body heat is entirely removed. it is most important that this be thoroughly accomplished for if any body heat is left in the carcasses they are almost sure to become green-struck when packed. the length of time that they must be left in the water depends upon the weather conditions. if the weather is warm so that the water is not very cool it is necessary to add ice in order to hasten the cooling and to accomplish it thoroughly. cooling in water also serves to plump the carcasses somewhat. _packing._ after the ducks are thoroughly cooled they are removed from the water and packed. long island ducklings are usually packed in barrels. forty-five ducks will pack in a sugar barrel and 33 in a flour barrel. the proper number for the barrel used is placed on hanging spring scales and weighed before being packed. the best method of packing is to lay the ducks on their sides. if they are packed on their backs or bellies, the ice used between the layers is apt to cause a cutting or bruising of the soft abdomens and injure the appearance of the carcasses. between each layer of ducks a scoopful of cracked ice is used although in cool weather it may only be necessary to use half a scoop of ice. after the barrel is packed it should be allowed to stand for a while to settle. then the top of the barrel is piled up with cracked ice and covered with burlap. on the side of the barrel is marked the number of ducks and their weight. later a card is tacked alongside of this showing the consignee's and the shipper's names as well as the number of ducks and their weight. [illustration: fig. 47. dressed duckling. the main feathers of the tail and wings and the feathers of the neck part of the way from the head to the body are left on. the rest of the body is picked clean. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 48. after thorough cooling a sufficient number of ducks to fill a barrel is weighed out and packed with or without ice depending upon the weather. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _shipping._ the barrels should be packed and shipped the same evening. shipping may be done either by express or by automobile truck. a good many of the long island ducklings are now shipped into new york city by truck. _cooperative marketing association._ the duck growers on long island have formed a cooperative marketing association. this association maintains its own house in new york city and sells practically the entire output of long island ducklings, controlling probably 90%. during the year 1919 there were in the neighborhood of 800,000 head of ducks marketed through this house. practically all of the capital stock of this concern is held by the duck growers and they are not allowed to sell any of their stock without first offering it to the association. _prices for ducks._ early in the season the ducklings bring the best prices, that is to say from march 1 to may 1. then as the output of ducks increases prices gradually drop. the heaviest shipments occur in june, july and august. in september as the output of ducks begins to drop off the price begins to climb a little. the following prices as quoted in the new york produce review show the range from march, 1920, to june, 1921. long island ducklings--fresh dressed 1920 march 31 45c per lb. april 21 45c " " " 28 38c " " may 5 35c " " " 12 35c " " " 26 35c " " june 2 35c " " " 9 35c " " " 16 35c " " " 23 35c " " " 30 35c " " july 7 35c " " " 14 35c " " " 21 35c " " " 28 35c " " august 4 36c " " " 11 36c " " " 18 36c " " " 25 36c " " september 1 36c " " " 8 37c " " " 15 37c " " " 22 38c " " " 29 38c " " october 6 38c " " " 13 38c " " " 20 39c " " " 27 39c " " november 3 40c " " 1921 march 30 48c per lb. april 6 46c " " " 13 38c " " " 20 38c " " " 27 38c " " may 4 35c " " " 11 32c " " " 18 28c " " " 25 28c " " june 1 28c " " the following quotations from the same source give the prices for frozen long island ducklings. 1920 january 7 41c per lb. " 14 41c " " " 21 41c " " " 28 41c " " february 4 41c " " " 11 41c " " " 18 41c " " " 25 41c " " march 3 41c " " " 10 41c " " " 17 41c " " november 10 40c " " " 17 40c " " " 24 40c " " december 1 40c " " " 8 40c " " " 8 40c " " " 15 40c " " " 22 40c " " " 29 40c " " 1921 january 5 40c per lb. " 12 40c " " " 19 40c " " " 26 40c " " february 2 41c " " " 9 41c " " " 16 41c " " " 23 41c " " march 2 41c " " " 9 41c " " " 16 41c " " " 23 41c " " quotations from the same source are given below to give some idea of the range in price of the live long island spring ducklings and likewise of live old long island ducks or breeders. long island spring ducklings--live. 1920 march 3 50c per lb. " 24 50c " " " 31 55c " " may 5 40c " " " 12 40c " " " 19 36 @ 40c per lb. " 26 40 @ 41c " " june 2 40c per lb. " 9 36 @ 38c per lb. " 16 36c per lb. " 23 37c " " " 30 38c " " july 7 38c " " " 14 38c " " " 21 40c " " " 28 40c " " august 4 38c " " " 11 34 @ 36c per lb. " 18 38c per lb. " 25 38c " " september 1 40c " " " 8 42 @ 45c per lb. " 15 45c per lb. " 22 45c " " " 29 40c " " october 6 42c " " " 13 42c " " " 27 42c " " november 3 42c " " " 10 42c " " " 17 44c " " " 24 44c " " december 1 44c " " " 15 42 @ 46c per lb. 1921 march 2 55c " " " 9 55c " " " 16 52c " " " 23 50c " " " 30 55c " " april 6 50c " " " 13 40c " " " 20 45c " " " 27 38 @ 42c per lb. may 4 38c per lb. " 11 38c " " " 18 33c " " " 25 33c " " june 1 32c " " long island old ducks or breeders--live 1920 march 17 45c per lb. " 31 45c " " may 19 30c " " " 26 35c " " june 9 30 @ 32c per lb. " 16 32c per lb. " 23 32c " " " 30 35c " " july 7 35c " " " 14 35c " " " 28 30c " " august 4 35c " " april 6 42c " " " 13 36c " " " 20 39c " " " 27 33 @ 37c per lb. may 11 33c per lb. " 25 30c " " _shipping ducks alive_. while the great majority of ducks are shipped dressed there is some shipment of live ducks. this is particularly true during the jewish holidays in march and in september and october when the demand for live ducks and the price paid for them is excellent. as a rule it pays better to ship alive the ducks which are inclined to be a little thin rather than to ship those which are in top market condition. this is due to the fact that fat ducks will shrink very considerably when cooped and shipped alive, this shrinkage running from one-half to three-quarters of a pound per head where they are cooped not to exceed 12 to 15 hours. the ducks which are in the fattest condition will shrink the most. at the season of the year when live ducks are in best demand it often pays to ship alive the ducklings which are sorted out as not being in the best condition rather than to hold them for further fattening. _saving the feathers._ the feathers from the ducks form quite an important source of revenue to the duck farmers. as stated before the value of the feathers will a little more than pay for the cost of picking and since this is a considerable item of expense the grower cannot afford to neglect the feathers. the soft body feathers are kept separate from the coarser feathers, the latter being thrown on the floor as they are plucked. these coarser feathers are later swept up and are commonly spoken of as sweepings. feathers from dry-picked ducks are superior in quality and bring a better price but most of the duck feathers now marketed from commercial duck farms are scalded feathers. the feathers after each day's killing are gathered up and spread out in a loft where they can be placed in a layer not over 3 or 4 inches deep. this should be an airy place so as to give the feathers a good place to dry out. on the second day they are scraped up in a pile and then spread out again, thus turning them over and changing their position. they are then left until they are dry enough to sack which should be in a little over a week. unless the feathers are thoroughly dried out they will heat when sacked and this will seriously hurt their market quality. when dry they are packed either in the large special feather sacks made for this purpose or in smaller sacks, about as big as two bran sacks, which will hold from 60 to 80 pounds of feathers. the feathers are shipped to regular feather dealers or manufacturers. [illustration: fig. 49. a valuable by-product of duck plants. the feathers from a duck will pay for the cost of picking. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _prices and uses of duck feathers._ the soft body feathers and the coarser feathers often called "sweepings" should be kept and sold separate. while scalded feathers are not worth as much as dry picked feathers, the former if properly dried out or cured will find a ready sale. feathers packed before they are thoroughly dried out, are likely to arrive at their destination in a matted and musty or heated condition. this, of course, injures their quality and the price paid for them is discounted according to their condition. the soft body feathers of ducks are used almost entirely for bedding purposes, that is, are put in pillows and feather beds. white feathers are preferred and usually bring a somewhat higher price. the prices paid for the feathers vary quite widely at different times of the year, and in different sections of the country, and also of course with the condition of the feathers themselves. the quotations given below represent the prices paid in june, 1921. duck feathers cents per pound pure white, dry picked 50 " " stained and scalded white 40 " " dark or mixed, dry picked 33 " " dark or mixed, scalded 20 to 25 " " _marketing eggs._ on commercial duck farms very few eggs are marketed. this is due to the fact that the duck growers find it more profitable to incubate all eggs suitable for that purpose and to rear and market the ducklings rather than to sell the eggs. there are always, however, a certain number of cracked eggs and others which may be too large or too small to use for hatching and which are therefore marketed. in addition the infertile eggs tested out on the 5th day are sold. the eggs may be packed in ordinary 30 dozen egg cases such as are used for hens' eggs, utilizing a special filler 5 cells square. with these fillers a case holds 20 5-6 dozen duck eggs. a special duck case, holding 30 dozen duck eggs may be used, the fillers in this case being 6 cells square like the fillers used for hens' eggs. the cells in these fillers are 2 inches square and 2¼ or 2½ inches deep. chapter viii duck raising on the farm duck raising as ordinarily conducted on the general farm consists of the keeping of a comparatively small flock purely as a side line. ducks on the general farm may be kept for the production of meat and eggs, for egg production, or mainly as a breeding proposition where the idea is to produce birds of exhibition quality. on occasional farms ducks of the rarer breeds are kept mainly for ornamental purposes. _conditions suitable for duck raising._ a small flock of ducks on the farm can be kept to best advantage where they can be separated from the other poultry and where they can have access to a pasture or an orchard which will provide them with a plentiful supply of green feed. ducks stand confinement quite well but if they are closely confined it is necessary to provide for them the green feed which they cannot secure for themselves. on many farms the flock of ducks is allowed to range at liberty and under these conditions the cost of maintaining them is much lower since they pick up a considerable part of their feed. an enclosed run or yard, however, should be available where they can be confined when desired. it is also necessary to provide a house or shed in which they can be shut at night and during the early morning. otherwise, many of the eggs may be dropped anywhere about the place or in the water with the result that some of them will be lost. a pond or stream to which the ducks can have access and in which they can swim is a great advantage since it helps to keep them in good breeding condition. it is a common but mistaken idea that low, wet land is best suited for ducks. _size of flock._--the average farm flock of ducks is small, rarely running over 15 to 20 head. in many cases not over 10 or 12 ducks with one or two drakes will be kept. a flock of this size will furnish quite a large number of ducks for the farmer's table or for sale in addition to more or less eggs which can either be used at home or sold. _making a start._ in making a start with a farm flock of ducks it is probably best to figure on keeping only a few head. if the farmer begins with 4 or 5 ducks and one drake he can make his start at small expense and from this number he will be able to increase the size of his flock if he finds that results warrant it. probably the best way to make a start is to purchase the desired breeding stock in the fall. this will give the ducks a chance to get settled and to be in good condition and accustomed to their quarters by spring so that they will begin to breed and lay. eggs for hatching can be purchased if desired and the young ducklings hatched and reared with chicken hens. baby ducks are rarely purchased in making a start as are baby chicks. _selecting the breed._ any one of the breeds forming the so-called meat class will prove satisfactory for a farm flock. this class includes the pekin, aylesbury, muscovy, rouen, cayuga, buff and blue swedish. the birds of any of these breeds are of good size and therefore produce a suitable table fowl. at the same time they are layers and will produce eggs for the table or for market as well. where the purpose in keeping the ducks is mainly that of producing eggs for market the runner is undoubtedly the breed to select. while these ducks are smaller in size the ducklings will make good carcasses of broiler size for the table being killed for this purpose when about 2½ to 3 pounds in weight. in addition, the runner is the best laying breed and by many persons is considered to be equal in its egg producing qualities to any of the breeds of chickens. selection of any breed or variety of the meat or egg classes and especially the selection of a breed or variety for ornamental purposes or for the pleasure of breeding will depend upon the individual preference of the owner for body shape, color of plumage and other characteristics. a pure breed of some kind should by all means be kept in preference to the common or so-called "puddle" duck. not only will the pure breeds give greater uniformity in the carcasses produced but the results in egg production will likewise be better. _age of breeding stock._ the best results in breeding are secured from ducks during their first laying season. not only is egg production better but they are less likely to become so fat and large as to interfere with the fertility and hatchability of the eggs. in fact, on commercial duck farms the breeding stock is entirely renewed each year. however, ducks can be profitably kept until they are 2 or 3 years old, and it is common practice in a farm flock to hold over some of the breeders after they have finished their first year. of course, where the duck breeder has some especially fine stock which will produce just the quality he desires in the offspring, he holds and utilizes these birds just as long as they are in good breeding condition. as a rule it is best not to hold breeding ducks after they have finished their second laying season. _size of matings._ the proper number of ducks which should be mated to a drake varies with the different breeds. pekins and aylesbury can be mated in the proportion of one drake to 6 to 8 ducks. in the rouen mate 4 or 5 ducks to a drake and in the cayuga 5 or 6 ducks to a drake. in the muscovy as high as 10 females may be mated with one male. in the blue swedish and buff mate in the proportion of 6 or 7 ducks to one drake. in the call and east india breeds from 5 to 8 ducks can be mated to one drake. in the crested white use 5 or 6 ducks and in the runner 6 to 8 ducks to a drake. where young drakes are used more ducks can be mated to them than is the case with old drakes. it is also true that where especially large exhibition birds have been reserved for breeding purposes it is necessary to reduce the number of ducks mated to a drake as otherwise the fertility is very likely to run lower with these older heavier ducks. _breeding and laying season._ under ordinary farm conditions where the ducks receive only fairly good care and feed the laying does not begin to any extent until february or march. with exceptional care the ducks will begin to lay in january and a few may even lay in december. the ducks lay very persistently and continue their laying until hot weather sets in or usually about the first of july. they gradually let up in their laying until it ceases almost entirely soon after that date. the breeding season is at its height in the months of april and may. at this time the fertility will run best and the results in hatching will be most satisfactory. however, it is possible to continue to hatch the duck eggs which are produced with fair results as long as the ducks continue to lay. management of breeders. _housing._ some sort of house or shelter must be provided for the breeding flock. any available shed or a part of the poultry house may be utilized for this purpose. no special requirements are necessary except that the house should provide sufficient ventilation. this is best furnished by means of a window and in addition, an opening in the front of the house should be provided which can be closed by means of a curtain during severe winter weather. a board floor is not necessary if the dirt floor is filled up 6 or 8 inches above the ground level outside the house. the floors should be provided with an abundance of litter which is usually changed only once or twice during the year. as the litter tends to become dirty more litter must be added. no equipment is necessary in the houses as the birds rest on the floor and lay their eggs anywhere about the house or wherever they may make their nests. the house should be so arranged that the ducks can be shut in at night and can be kept there until they have finished laying in the morning. as most of the duck eggs are laid early in the morning they can be let out by 8 or 9 o'clock in the summer. if let out earlier than this they are likely to lay some of their eggs in the pond or stream to which they have access and these would be lost. _feeding._ on many farms the breeding flock of ducks is fed on the same ration which is given the farm fowls. however, better results will be obtained if they are given special feeds. after the laying season is over the breeding ducks can be fed sparingly on a mash consisting of one part by weight corn meal, 2 parts bran, 1 part low grade wheat flour, 1 part green feed, 8% beef scrap and 3% oyster shell. this mash is mixed up with water until it has a consistency just between sticky and crumbly. it should never be fed in a sloppy condition. a feed of this mash should be given in the morning and at night and during the long days of summer it is well also to give a light feed of cracked corn or mixed grains in the middle of the day. however, judgment must be used in feeding ducks especially if they have range over which they can roam where they can pick up more or less animal feed and other material. in this case it is not necessary to feed nearly so much. another mash which may be used instead of the one given consists of 3 parts by measure of corn meal, 4 parts bran, 2 parts low grade wheat flour, three-fourths part beef scrap and 2 parts green feed with a supply of oyster shell. along about december 1 the feed should be changed with the idea of inducing egg production. a feed consisting of one part by weight corn meal, 1 part low grade flour or middlings, 1 part bran, 15% beef scrap, 15% vegetables or green feed together with oyster shell should be fed morning and evening and in addition a feed consisting of corn and wheat may be given at noon in a quantity of about one quart for each 30 ducks. as much mash should be given them at the morning and evening feed as they will clean up. another good mash feed which may be used consists of 2 parts by weight of bran, 2 parts middlings, 2 parts corn meal, 1 part beef scrap, 1 part ground oats and one-tenth of the total weight sand. in addition, of course, green feed must be added to the ration if it is not available at all times in the yard. this mash is fed in the morning and in the evening. the noon feed consists of 1 part by weight of corn and 2 parts oats. where green feed is not available and must be supplied, cut clover, alfalfa, rye, oats and corn may be utilized cut up into short pieces and mixed in the mash. the mash should be fed either to breeding stock or to ducklings on flat trays or boards rather than in troughs as the ducks can get at it better in this form. it must be kept in mind that while ducks are good egg producers during the laying and breeding season they will not lay any great number of eggs unless they are fed for this purpose. for rations used on commercial duck farms see chapter iv. _water._ it is important that a plentiful supply of drinking water be available to the ducks. a fresh supply must be provided at each feeding time before the feed is thrown to the ducks as they like to eat and drink alternately when feeding. where the breeding ducks have access to a stream or pond of fresh water it is not necessary to provide any other supply of drinking water. where water is available in which the ducks can swim it is essential to see that provision is made so that the ducks can get in and out of the water easily. if this is not done they may become exhausted and unable to climb out or they may become partially cramped when the water is very cold with the result that they will drown. if given access to water in which they can swim during cold weather it is necessary to be on the look-out to see that the ducks do not freeze fast to the ground when they come out of the water. _yards._ where yards are provided for ducks poultry netting about 2 feet high is ordinarily used. this will confine most of the breeds but higher fences even 5 or 6 feet high must be provided for the breeds which fly readily such as the muscovy, call, east india, mallard, wood and mandarin. in some cases it is even necessary to cover over the tops of the yards in order to keep the birds from flying out or to pinion the birds, that is, to cut off the outermost joint of one wing. the netting used for yards should be strung on posts set in the ground and the lower edge should be pegged down so that the birds cannot get under it. _care of eggs for hatching._ duck eggs for hatching must be gathered each day and should be put in some cool place to be held until they are set. they should be turned daily, the same as hens' eggs and the general care is exactly similar. it does not, however, pay to keep duck eggs as long before setting them as they spoil more quickly than hens' eggs. in fact, it is best to set duck eggs when they are not over a week old if this can be arranged. _hatching the eggs._ the period of incubation for duck eggs ranges from 26 to 28 days for all of the breeds except the muscovy. in this breed it takes from 33 to 36 days for the eggs to hatch. inasmuch as most of the commonly kept breeds are not very broody and therefore do not make reliable hatchers and mothers it is necessary to resort either to the use of chicken hens for this purpose or else to utilize incubators. either one of these methods can be used with good success. with the small farm flock it is very common to utilize hens. the ordinary hen will be able to cover 9 to 11 duck eggs to advantage depending on her size and upon the season of the year. in cold weather the smaller number should be used rather than the larger number. before setting the hen she should be thoroughly dusted with insect powder to free her from lice. several hens can be set in the same room but they should be confined on their nests allowing them to come off only once a day for feed and water. cracked corn makes an excellent feed for sitting hens. if desired muscovy, call, east india, mallard, wood or mandarin ducks can be allowed to make their nests and to hatch their eggs as they are reliable sitters and good mothers. after the duck eggs first pip there usually elapses a longer period of time before the ducklings get out of the shell than is the case with chicks. for this reason it is well to take the hens off for feed and water when the first eggs are pipped returning them to the nest as quickly as possible and confining them there until the hatch is over. during the last week of incubation it is desirable to sprinkle the eggs daily with water using quite a liberal amount as duck eggs seem to require more moisture than hens' eggs in order to hatch well. all duck eggs which are at all badly soiled should be washed before they are set. washing does not seem to injure their hatching qualities. in fact, some breeders prefer to wash all duck eggs whether dirty or not, feeling that this opens up the pores and causes a better hatch. this belief is based upon the idea that when ducks hatch their own eggs under natural conditions they have access to water in which they swim and in coming back on the nest their wet feathers serve to wash the eggs. where an incubator is used for hatching the eggs are placed in the machine just as hens' eggs. for the first week the temperature is kept about 102 degrees and for the rest of the period is maintained as close to 103 degrees as possible, the bulb of the thermometer being on a level with the tops of the eggs. often the temperature will run up a little higher than this at hatching time but this does not do any harm. an incubator will accommodate from four-fifths to five-sixths as many duck eggs as it will hens' eggs. about the fifth or sixth day the duck eggs are tested and all infertile and dead germs removed. from this time on eggs are turned twice a day and usually cooled once a day until they pip. a second test may be made about the fifteenth or sixteenth day when any eggs which have died are removed. if dead germ eggs are left in the machines they spoil very quickly and cause a strong odor which makes it necessary to remove them. during the last week or ten days and in some cases for a longer period than this incubator operators supply moisture daily to the machine. this is usually provided by sprinkling the eggs liberally with water which has been warmed to about the temperature of the machine. however, if warm water is not available, water of ordinary temperature may be used although it is not well to use extremely cold water. as a rule the eggs begin to pip about the twenty-sixth day. at this time the machine should be tightly closed up and left so until the hatching is over. in case moisture seems to be lacking and the ducklings are having a hard time to get out of the shell the machine can be opened and the eggs sprinkled again. if there seems to be sufficient moisture, however, the machines should not be opened or disturbed. as a rule it takes ducklings from 24 to 48 hours to hatch after the pipping first begins. it is advisable to leave the ducklings in the incubator until they are well dried off before removing them to the brooder. as a rule the hatching will be entirely over by the twenty-eighth day. _brooding and rearing._ ducklings can be brooded if desired by means of chicken hens. in this case the ducklings which the hen hatches should be given to her and she should be confined to some kind of a coop which will allow the ducklings to run at liberty. if the hen is given her liberty she goes too far and takes too much exercise for the little ducks. where artificial brooders are used any type of brooding apparatus can be utilized which is used with success for chickens. it must be remembered, however, that ducklings do not require as high a degree of heat as do baby chicks and should be started off at a temperature of about 90 degrees under the hover. this can be reduced rather rapidly until it is down to 80 at about 2 weeks of age. the length of time that the ducklings require heat after this depends upon the season and the weather. even in fairly cool weather they do not need any heat after they are 5 or 6 weeks old. it is necessary to keep the brooders clean and in order to do this they must be cleaned out frequently and new litter supplied. while the ducklings are small the brooders should be cleaned at least every other day and as they get larger, cleaning once a week with the addition of fresh litter between times will be sufficient. _feeding the ducklings._ ducklings do not need to be fed until they are from 24 to 36 hours old. at this time they may be given a mixture composed of equal parts by measure of rolled oats and bread crumbs with 3% of sharp sand mixed in the feed. this may be given them five times daily although some duck raisers feed only 3 times daily from the start. about the third day this feed is changed to equal parts of bread, rolled oats, bran and corn meal. after the seventh day the ration may consist of 3 parts bran, 1 part each of low-grade wheat flour and corn meal, 10% green feed, 5% beef scrap with about 3% of sand mixed in. the ducklings should be fed four times daily after the seventh day until they are two or three weeks old. after that time they need be fed only three times daily, morning, noon and night. the sand may be given to the ducklings either by mixing it in the mash or by feeding it in a hopper where they can help themselves. the mash feed which is prepared for the ducklings is mixed with water until it has a consistency a little wetter than crumbly but not exactly sticky. sloppy feed should never be used. as the ducklings grow older the amount of beef scrap can be increased until it consists of 15% of the ration by the end of the third week. the proportion of corn meal can likewise be increased and simultaneously the amount of bran decreased until the ducklings are on a fattening ration. unless they have a plentiful supply of green feed in the yards to which they have access it is necessary to provide this to the extent of about 10% of the feed and it should consist of tender green stuff rather finely chopped and mixed in with the mash. about 2 weeks before the ducklings are to be marketed they should be put on a ration consisting of three parts by weight of corn meal, two parts low-grade flour or middlings, one part bran, one-half part beef scrap, 10% green feed and about 3% oyster shell or sand. this mash is fed three times daily. another ration which can be used for fattening purposes consists of 3 parts corn meal, 1 part low-grade wheat flour, 1 part bran, 5% beef scrap and 3% oyster shell with green feed and grit in addition. where fish is available it can be substituted for the beef scrap but on most farms this is impractical. the fish where fed is boiled and mixed in the mash. however, no fish should be fed up to within 2 weeks before the ducks are killed as there is danger of giving a fishy taste to the carcass. for additional information as to feeding methods used on commercial duck farms which could be utilized to advantage for the farm flocks, see chapter vi. birds which are to be reserved for breeders should be selected out and taken away from the ducklings which are to be fattened. these breeding birds should be carried along on the ration which they have been receiving until about december 1 when they should be put on a laying ration. it is very necessary to see that the ducklings have a plentiful supply of drinking water. it is especially important to renew this supply just before the ducklings are fed so that they will have ample water while they are consuming their feed. the water should be given in dishes deep enough so that the ducks can immerse their entire bill as this enables them to wash the sand out of their nostrils. _water for ducklings._ in addition to the drinking water provided duck raisers sometimes allow the growing ducklings access to water in which they can swim. if it is desired to fatten the ducklings quickly and turn them off on the market as green ducks many raisers do not consider this advisable as it induces the ducklings to take more exercise and makes it more difficult to fatten them. however, access to water in which they can swim makes it unnecessary to provide any other supply of drinking water and for this reason lessens the work considerably. unless it is easy for the ducklings to get in and out of the water there is danger of some of them drowning as they are likely to get tired and unable to climb out. little ducklings allowed access to very cold water are subject to cramp and may be drowned as a result. _distinguishing the sexes._ it is difficult to distinguish the sexes of growing ducks until they begin to reach maturity. there is, however, a difference in their appearance. the drakes are coarser or thicker and more masculine in appearance showing this especially about the head and neck. also as they secure their mature plumage the drake shows curled feathers on top of the tail which are often referred to as sex feathers. in addition, the voice of the duck is harsher and coarser than that of the drake. _marketing the ducks._ most of the ducks produced on farms are marketed alive. this is because the farmer has no special market and he does not find that it pays him to dress and ship the ducks with the chance that they might spoil. in fact, most of the farm raised ducks are not turned off as green ducks at 10 to 12 weeks as is done on the commercial duck plants but are held until fall and then sold as spring ducks. they will weigh somewhat more at that time but as a rule the price received per pound will be lower than that obtained for green ducks during the spring and summer. where there is a special demand for ducklings which the farmer can supply it will pay him to dress and deliver the ducks. if it is desired to dress the ducks, the directions given under chapter vii can be modified to suit the farmer's needs. the soft body feathers should be saved in accordance with the directions given on page 106, as they can be used at home in making pillows or can be sold. such eggs as are produced in surplus may either be utilized on the home table or sent to market. as a rule duck eggs are not in great demand except at certain seasons such as at easter and during the jewish holidays in the spring and fall when they bring somewhat higher prices than hens' eggs. the larger size of duck eggs, however, makes them favored by bakers and they can usually be sold at any time in a city of any size at prices as good as those received for hens' eggs. eggs for market can be packed in the ordinary 30-dozen hen egg cases by using special fillers which hold 25 eggs instead of 36 as in the case of hens' eggs. see page 119. a farmer with a small flock of ducks will usually not have eggs enough to fill a case frequently and for this reason he usually finds it more convenient to market the few eggs he has by taking them into town in a basket. _disease and insect pests._ ducks are very little troubled by insect pests, nor are they greatly troubled by diseases. the usual difficulties encountered along this line are those discussed under this head in chapter vi. losses are often experienced as the result of predatory animals. rats will cause a great amount of havoc among the young ducks if they are able to get at them. a single night's work on the part of one rat may practically clean out a small flock of ducklings. it is necessary to make sure that the ducklings are shut in at night so that rats cannot get at them. geese part ii. chapter ix extent of the industry--opportunities geese can be raised successfully in practically all parts of the united states and are in fact scattered in small flocks over a considerable portion of the country being most abundant in the south and in the middle west. the census figures for the year 1920 show illinois with 195,769 geese to be the leading state in numbers, closely followed by missouri, arkansas and iowa. next in order of importance as goose raising states come kentucky, tennessee, minnesota, north carolina and texas. the census figures of 1920 compared with those for 1910 show a decrease in the number of geese from 4,431,980 to 2,939,203. the only groups of states which showed an increase in the number of geese during this period were the north atlantic and the mountain states. of the total farms in the united states only a small proportion, probably one-tenth, have any geese and the number of geese per farm would not average over 4 to 10 depending on the section. _nature of the industry._ geese are kept almost wholly in small flocks as a side line on general farms. the purpose of goose raising is primarily one of the production of meat although in the past flocks of geese have been kept to some extent, particularly in the south for the purpose of plucking them to secure the feathers. this practice of plucking live geese is decreasing and is much less common than formerly. the eggs of the geese do not enter to any extent into the egg trade of the country. as a rule all the eggs produced are hatched for the purpose of rearing young geese and it is only occasionally that goose eggs are used for culinary purposes. _opportunities for goose raising._ undoubtedly the greatest opportunity along the line of goose raising lies in the small flock kept on the general farm. where conditions are suitable, that is to say, where there is an abundance of suitable pasture land together with some water to which the geese can have access, a small flock can be most profitably kept. they can be reared very cheaply as both the young and old geese will secure practically their entire living during the summer from pasture if an abundant supply of suitable green material is available. the cost of rearing them therefore is low. in addition both the young and old geese are very hardy and require comparatively little care. they are little subject to disease and therefore losses are small. geese live and breed for a long time and this makes it possible to turn off to market a larger proportion of the young stock reared than is the case with most other classes of poultry. for all of these reasons, therefore, a small flock of geese will return a good profit to the farmer without having to supply any great amount of equipment or without having to feed very much in the way of expensive feeds. in addition to the geese which can be marketed, the maintenance of a small flock also helps to provide a variety in the farmer's diet by furnishing suitable birds for the holiday seasons such as thanksgiving and christmas. in addition to the opportunity for goose raising in small flocks on general farms there likewise exists a definite opportunity to specialize along this line somewhat more extensively. in certain places, notably the state of wisconsin, goose raising becomes a more important activity on some farms than merely that of a by-product. larger numbers are reared and special steps are taken in fattening and finishing them for market either by means of pen fattening or by means of hand fattening or noodling the geese. geese so finished for market bring a special price and allow a good profit to the raiser for the time which he has put into them. an outgrowth of the goose raising industry which has been worked to a limited extent consists of the gathering together of the geese raised in any particular portion of the country on one farm and the feeding of them there in large flocks in the fields so as to fatten them for market. there are not many of these special fattening farms but several persons in different sections of the country who have made a practice of gathering together and marketing the geese in this way have found it very profitable. probably a similar opportunity exists in certain other sections where goose raising on the farms in small numbers is common and where no one has yet made the effort to collect and fatten the geese before marketing them. while geese are not exhibited to the same extent as chickens, still there will always be found a market for birds of good quality, both for the purpose of exhibition and also as breeders to be used in improving the stock of other goose raisers. _goose raising as a business for farm women._ like turkey raising goose raising as a side line on the farm offers an excellent money making opportunity for the farm women. without any great outlay of capital to get a start and without its being necessary to provide much in the way of buildings or other equipment, a flock of geese can be started which will allow a nice profit to the farm woman for the care and attention which she gives them. in this connection it should be remembered that while the opportunities for profit may not be so large as in turkey raising, yet the care required is much less and the chances of serious difficulties due to disease and to inability to raise the young stock are relatively small. goose raising therefore offers a most profitable side line employment for the farm woman. _geese as weed destroyers._ as stated before geese are close grazers. in fact, during the growing season of the year green vegetation forms most and in some cases practically all of their diet. the vegetation which they will eat readily is quite varied and in many cases geese will be found to be very valuable in ridding pastures or fields of troublesome weeds. in the southern states geese are often kept on farms where cotton is raised for the purpose of keeping the cotton fields free from weeds. objection to geese an objection to geese often expressed but without good foundation is that they will spoil the pasture for other stock. this is not true if the pasture is not overstocked with geese. of course geese are very close grazers and if too many of them are kept on a field they will eat the grass down so close that there will be none for other animals to get. similarly the idea that other animals will not eat grass grown where goose droppings have fallen is not true except where the birds are too thick so that the grass is soiled badly by the droppings. the fact that geese are noisy creatures makes them undesirable to some persons. it is true that they make a good deal of noise and that their cry is of a very hoarse, rasping character and to a person with bad nerves they may be annoying but this is no valid or weighty objection to the normal, healthy farmer. the chinese geese are the noisiest and consequently the greatest offenders in this particular. a more valid objection to geese lies in the fact of their rather ugly disposition. ganders, especially as they grow older and during the breeding season, are decidedly pugnacious and will not hesitate to attack human beings. they strike heavy formidable blows with their wings and with their strong bills they inflict most painful bites. where there are children about the house it may be necessary to dispose of ugly ganders to safeguard the children from serious injury. chapter x breeds and varieties--how to mate to produce exhibition specimens--preparing geese for the show--catching and handling _breeds of geese._ there are six standard breeds of geese consisting of the following: toulouse, embden, african, chinese, wild or canadian and egyptian. all of these breeds consist of a single variety with the exception of the chinese which is composed of two. the toulouse is known as the gray toulouse, the embden as the white embden, the african as the gray african, the two varieties of the chinese as the brown chinese and the white chinese, the wild or canadian as the gray and the egyptian as the colored. the first four of these breeds are the ones which are commonly kept in domestication. in a general way it may be said that these breeds are meat breeds for the reason that they are kept mainly for the production of meat. the wild or canadian and the egyptian are more in the nature of ornamental breeds since they are not so commonly kept and are principally to be found where ornamental water-fowls are maintained. the chinese are sometimes classed as ornamental geese on account of their smaller size but they are much more commonly kept than either the canadian or the egyptian and make a good market fowl where the demand is not for such a large carcass. in addition to the standard breeds there are several other rare breeds among which is the sebastapol which is kept purely as an ornamental breed by reason of its peculiar feathering. the sebastapol is a white goose in which the feathers of the upper part of the body show a twisted or frizzled condition which gives it much the general effect of the feathers being curled. in addition to the standard breeds of geese there are kept on a great majority of farms ordinary common geese of no definite breed or variety. these geese in general are of smaller size than the larger standard breeds and have probably arisen as the result of the crossing of the standard breeds and the subsequent deterioration in size and color marking is due to careless breeding and selection. in some sections and for certain special purposes definite crosses of standard breeds are made for the production of table geese having certain desired qualities. for this purpose the african ganders are very popular used upon the toulouse geese. to some extent there is produced and marketed a goose known as the mongrel goose. this has excellent table quality and is in good demand on account of its superior eating qualities and its rapid growth. it is produced by using the wild or canadian gander upon toulouse, african or embden geese. the result of this cross is a hybrid goose which has much the appearance of the wild goose but which will not breed although the females will lay eggs. as a rule toulouse or african females are used for the cross rather than embden as from the latter there is a greater tendency to get a lighter cross which would not resemble its wild father so closely and might not therefore be so readily recognized as genuine mongrel geese. _nomenclature._ the term geese is used to indicate the birds of both sexes taken as a whole and also as a plural form for the word goose. the term goose is used to distinguish the female of the species. the male is given the specific name of gander to distinguish it from goose. the young of both sexes are termed goslings. in giving the standard weights for the different breeds of geese the birds are classified as adult ganders and young ganders and as adult geese and young geese. by adult goose or gander is meant a bird which is over one year old, by young goose or gander is meant a bird which is less than one year. not infrequently in connection with market reports use will be made of the term "green geese". this indicates birds which are marketed when they are of large size but still young and immature, the green referring to this immature condition. _size._ an idea of the size of the different standard breeds of geese can best be secured by giving the standard weights. they are as follows: breed adult adult young young gander goose gander goose toulouse 26 lbs. 20 lbs. 20 lbs. 16 lbs. embden 20 " 18 " 18 " 16 " african 20 " 18 " 16 " 14 " chinese 12 " 10 " 10 " 8 " wild or canadian 12 " 10 " 10 " 8 " egyptian 10 " 8 " 8 " 6 " _popularity of the breeds_. of the different standard breeds kept the toulouse is undoubtedly the most popular in this country probably due to its large size as well as to its quick growth. the embden follows the toulouse closely in popularity. the chinese geese are probably third most numerous in numbers while the african ranks fourth. in certain sections the african seems to be very popular and one would expect to find more of this breed than seem to be present on farms. neither the canadian nor the egyptians are to be found in any great numbers, the latter in particular being very rare. egg production it must always be remembered in speaking of the egg production of any breed of poultry that there will be a considerable variation in individuals within a breed and that egg production will also be affected very largely by the conditions under which the birds are kept. for this reason any attempt to give an average egg production for a breed is at best only an approximation. these approximations often serve, however, to show some well established contrast between the different breeds with respect to their egg laying ability. the toulouse is a fairly prolific breed of geese and individuals should average from 12 to 36 eggs, the majority laying about 20 eggs. the embden is very similar to the toulouse in laying ability although probably on the whole not quite so good a layer. the african is generally considered a good layer and is said to average from 20 to 40 eggs. some breeders state that the pure african are not as good layers as this, being about equal to the embden and that the better laying africans really have some brown chinese blood in them which has been introduced to increase prolificacy. the chinese is the most prolific breed. the birds of either the white or brown variety should average from 60 to 100 eggs. the eggs laid by the chinese are smaller than those of the toulouse, embden or african. the wild or canadian and the egyptian geese are small layers. they rarely lay more than one sitting during a season and the eggs will as a rule range from 4 to 8 in number. _size of goose eggs._ goose eggs are decidedly larger than duck eggs. there is a considerable variation in size, depending upon the breed. the eggs of the toulouse, african and embden are of about the same size and will vary from 6½ to 8 ounces each. the eggs of the chinese are smaller and will weigh from 5½ to 6 ounces each, while eggs of the canadian and egyptian are the smallest of the standard breeds, running from 5 to 5½ ounces each. _color of goose eggs._ in general goose eggs are whitish in color but may shade to a gray or buff tinge. the wild or canadian sometimes lay eggs which are off the white, showing a considerable green tinge. about geese and matings _broodiness._ all of the breeds of geese with the exception of the toulouse may be classed as broody breeds, that is to say, they will make their nests and hatch their young if given a chance to do so. not infrequently individuals of the toulouse breed will do this also but as a rule they are not dependable for this purpose. _size of mating._ in making the mating it is usual in order to secure best results to use one gander with from two to four geese in the toulouse, embden and african breeds. in fact, better results will be secured in these breeds where not over 3 geese are used and in many cases the geese are mated in trios or even in pairs. in the chinese geese a somewhat larger mating can be employed, one gander being used with 4 to 6 geese. the wild or canadian and the egyptian geese in most cases pair only. _age of breeders._ geese can be retained and will give good results as breeders for a longer period than most other classes of poultry. while the young geese will often lay during their first year the results from the eggs produced by them are not as a rule very satisfactory. it is sometimes claimed that the eggs of young geese will not hatch but this is untrue and goslings have been raised from such eggs. canadian and egyptian geese do not lay until they are 3 years old. females may be kept for breeding purposes until they are 8 to 10 years old and should give good results during this time. if they continue to lay longer than this and are valuable breeding individuals they should of course be retained just so long as they lay at a profitable rate. instances are reported where geese 15 to 20 years old were still giving good results as breeders. as a rule ganders cannot be successfully kept for breeding purposes as long as can the geese. yearling ganders are often used but they are at their best for breeding purposes when from 3 to 5 years old and it is not generally wise to retain them after they are 6 or 7 years old. egyptian and canadian ganders will not breed before they are 2 years old. in general it is good practice to mate young ganders to older geese and to mate younger geese with older ganders as this seems to get better results both in fertility and in hatching. _marking young geese._ it is often desirable to mark young geese in some way so that their breeding can be told or so that a record can be kept of their age. this can be readily accomplished by punching various combinations of holes in the webs between the toes at the time the goslings are hatched. _considerations in making the mating._[4] in making the mating in breeding geese it must be kept in mind that it is of primary importance to select the breeders first of all for size, prolificacy and vitality. without these qualities no matter what else the breeding geese may be there is scant chance of satisfactory results. having selected birds which are of suitable size and vitality those should then be utilized for breeding which approach most nearly both in type and color to the requirements as given in the american standard of perfection. as a rule, a new mating can be made by taking the birds selected and shutting them up together in a pen away from the other birds and out of sound of the voices of their former mates. as a rule about a month of this treatment will suffice to bring about the new matings desired and the birds can then be allowed to range at liberty. [footnote 4: for a more detailed description of the principles of breeding as applied to poultry and which is equally applicable to geese, the reader is referred to "the mating and breeding of poultry" by harry m. lamon and rob r. slocum, published by the orange judd publishing co., new york, n. y.] some ganders are very troublesome about mating. this is particularly true as they get older. in some cases it is impossible to get ganders to mate at all while frequently they will refuse to mate with more than one goose. as a rule, matings once made are permanent from year to year unless changed by the breeder on account of poor results. where new matings are to be made or where changes are to be made this should be done in the fall so that the birds will have been mated for several months before the breeding season begins in order to insure good results. after the matings are made the geese can be allowed to run together in larger flocks but the practice is frequently employed of keeping the different matings in pens to themselves so as to avoid the fighting which will otherwise occur between the ganders. during the breeding season the ganders are quite savage and will fight fiercely. breeds of geese[5] _the toulouse._ this breed is characterized by its very low down deep broad massive body. the body should come well down in front and should be so deep and full behind that it tends to drag on the ground when the bird walks. the skin of the rear portion of the body should have folds. the appearance or type of the toulouse depends a great deal upon the condition of flesh which a bird may be in at the time as a fat well fleshed condition will improve type very materially. a dewlap, that is to say, a pendulous flap of skin on the throat, is desired but comparatively few birds show a well developed dewlap. it is more likely to appear with age than it is in the younger birds. in color the toulouse breeds quite true. the principal difficulty which is encountered is the occasional appearance of one, two or three white flight feathers in the wing. these white flights constitute a disqualification and must of course be avoided in the breeding. it is necessary also to avoid any birds which lack in size, length, breadth or depth of body, particularly depth in front. birds of this breed are of large size and make quick growth and for this reason are a fine market goose although the dark colored pin feathers are somewhat of a drawback from a market point of view. [footnote 5: for a complete and official description and list of disqualifications of the standard breeds and varieties of geese, the reader is referred to the american standard of perfection published by the american poultry association, obtainable from orange judd publishing company, new york, n. y.] _the embden._ this breed is of good size but somewhat smaller than the toulouse. it has not quite so long a keel or underline as the toulouse and while deep in body it is not so baggy. there should be no dewlap in this breed. the plumage should be pure white throughout, the only difficulty of any importance occurring here being the occasional appearance of slate on the backs of young geese. this, however, is not serious as it almost invariably disappears with the first moult. embden geese are rapid growers and mature early which together with the fact that their plumage is white makes them an excellent market bird. _the african._ in type the african is much the same as the toulouse although not quite as large being about the size of the embden. what is desired is a low down body which is flat in keel and without any folds of skin. the neck should be short. this bird unlike the toulouse is characterized by a knob or protuberance extending out from the head at the base of the upper bill. this knob should be black in color and should show no tinge of yellow on the top or about the base. if the knob gets scarred or injured it is apt to turn yellow and freezing likewise is apt to cause it to turn yellow. birds of this breed both young and old should show dewlaps, the absence of these in adult specimens constituting a disqualification. as in the toulouse avoid any white flight feathers. the african makes an excellent market goose being like the embden and toulouse, quick growing and early maturing. the ganders are especially in favor for use in crossing with other varieties for the production of market geese. it seems probable that some brown chinese blood has been crossed into the africans on various occasions probably for the purpose of increasing the prolificacy of the african as the brown chinese is an excellent layer. it is also true that crosses between the brown chinese and the toulouse are sometimes shown for africans but as a rule this cross results in too dark a bird and such crosses should never be used for breeding purposes since they would not continue to give the uniformity and other qualities obtained in the first generation. _the chinese._ the chinese is quite different in type from the three preceding breeds. it is much smaller and higher set on legs and has a body much more upright in carriage. the neck is long and slender and the head has a large knob. an important part about the type is to secure a very slender neck, another important point being to secure a very large knob; the larger this is the better. there is, however, a decided tendency for the knob to run small when the neck is slender and it is difficult to secure in perfection the combination of a very slender neck and a large knob. the chinese geese should be in good condition but should not be too fat when shown as too good a condition of flesh injures the type materially. if fat there is a decided tendency for the birds to bag down behind which is undesirable. the chinese geese are the best layers but the egg which they lay is smaller. on account of their smaller size they do not make as good market geese where large sized carcasses are desired but where smaller carcasses suitable for family use are in demand the chinese make a satisfactory market breed. _the brown chinese._ in this variety the knob should be dark brown or black. as in the african, injury or freezing may turn the knob yellow which is undesirable. the plumage should be a rich brown shade of color, a faded gray color being very undesirable. the stripe down the back of the neck should be well defined and should be distinctly in contrast with the rest of the neck color. white feathers in the primaries or secondaries must be avoided. _the white chinese._ the knob in this variety should be orange and any tendency toward yellow should be avoided. the plumage should be pure white throughout. occasional young females may show slate in the back but this is not serious as it almost invariably disappears with the first moult. _the wild or canadian._ contrary to expectation this breed when domesticated is very peaceable and very tame. there is often, however, a tendency for them to grow uneasy when the migratory season comes. to keep the birds from flying away it is necessary to clip the flight feathers of one wing or what is safer still to pinion the bird. pinioning consists of cutting off the first joint of one wing. this may be done when the birds are small or may be done at any time and does not seem to bother them much. one of the best ways to accomplish this is to break the joint and then cut it off by using a chisel and hammer. not much bleeding will result but it is well to put a little iodine on the cut. these birds breed very true in type and color and progress in the mating simply consists of continuing to select those birds for breeders which show markings in the greatest excellence. in type a canadian goose is quite different from that of the other breeds mentioned. it is smaller, set much higher on legs and its body is neater and trimmer, and is oblong and carried in a horizontal position. the neck is long and slender. these birds mate only in pairs as a rule and the females do not mature and lay until they are three years old. the ganders often breed when they are two years old. usually only a single sitting of eggs is laid consisting of from 4 to 8. usually, however, all of these eggs will hatch and the young prove to be strong and easily reared. _the egyptian._ this is the smallest of the standard breeds of geese. in type it more nearly approaches the canadian than any other breed but it is somewhat longer in legs, showing more of the thigh beneath the body. the body is not carried in quite such a horizontal position as the canadian but slopes downward slightly from the breast to the tail. the neck is neither so long nor quite so slender as that of the canadian. this breed is the brightest colored of any of the geese and breeds fairly true in color and markings. like the canadian the egyptian goose is likely to become uneasy at times and one wing should therefore be pinioned or the flight feathers clipped to keep the birds from flying away. like the canadian the egyptians mate in pairs only and lay but one sitting during the year. the females do not lay until they are three years old. neither the egyptian nor the canadian geese should be closely confined or no eggs will be laid. the goose should be allowed to make her own nest and hatch her eggs. [illustration: fig. 50. left--egyptian gander. right--sebastapol goose. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 51. left.--toulouse gander. right--embden gander. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 52. left--wild or canadian gander. right--african gander. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] [illustration: fig. 53. left--brown chinese gander. right--white chinese gander. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] preparing geese for the show the preparation of geese for the show is comparatively a simple matter. it requires first of all that individuals shall be selected which approach nearest to the standard requirements both in type and in color. as to the actual preparation for exhibition the geese are practically self-prepared. for a period of at least a week or ten days before they are shipped to the show they should be given access to a grass range and to running water. the grass range tends to put them in good condition while the running water will give them an opportunity to clean themselves. any broken feathers should be plucked at least six weeks before the birds are to be shown so as to give them an opportunity to grow in new ones. since all of the common breeds of geese, with the exception of the chinese, should be shown in a fat condition in order to give them their best type they should be given a grain mixture twice daily for a period of at least ten days before the show in order to get them in good flesh and to bring them up to standard weight. this ration should consist of one part corn and two parts oats. in chinese geese where it is desired to have them in good condition of flesh but without showing any tendency toward bagginess, oats alone should be fed as they are apt to put on too much fat when corn is fed as well. when the birds are shipped to the show they are quite likely to get their plumage soiled during the journey. if this occurs fill a barrel about half full of water. as the geese are taken from the shipping coops place two of them at a time in the barrel, cover it over and leave them for a few minutes. then take them out and they will usually be clean. catching and handling geese never catch geese by the legs which are weak and are easily broken or injured. for the same reason they should never be carried by the legs. in catching geese grasp them by the neck just below the head. often a crooked stick is of value in getting hold of the birds by the neck. geese can be carried short distances by the neck without injury but it is not advisable to carry them for any considerable distance in this manner, particularly if they are fat. the best way to handle the geese is to catch them by the neck, then place one arm over the shoulders and around the bird's body thus holding the wings in place while both legs are grasped with the hand. the neck should be held with the other hand to keep the bird from biting. in releasing the bird in a pen or shipping coop do not let go of the neck until the bird is placed where it is wanted. [illustration: fig. 54--proper manner of picking up and carrying geese with the head and neck under the arm. (_photographs from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] packing and shipping hatching eggs goose eggs for hatching must be shipped when they are fresh if they are to be received in good condition and are to give good results in hatching. they can be shipped long distances either by express or by parcel post. in order to prevent breakage and to lessen the effects of the jar to which the eggs are subjected during shipment they should be carefully packed in a market basket or other suitable receptacle. the same method of packing the eggs should be employed as with duck eggs described on page 137. prices for breeding stock while the demand for breeding stock is not so broad with geese as it is with some other classes of poultry, there does exist a steady and profitable demand for this class of fowls. goose eggs for hatching are usually sold in sittings of 5 and the price varies somewhat depending upon the variety. as a rule, embden and toulouse eggs will bring from 60 cents to $1.20 each. chinese goose eggs will bring from 40 cents to $1 each while the eggs of the african goose will bring from $1 to $2 each. of course the price of eggs for hatching like that of breeding birds depends on the quality of the stock. the prices for the birds themselves for breeding purposes will run anywhere from about $8 to $10 apiece for good birds suitable for breeding on farm flocks, to $25 or even $50 each of birds of especially fine quality. chapter xi management of breeding geese _range for breeders._ since grass or other vegetation, when plentiful, will furnish practically the entire living both for breeding and growing geese, it is by all means desirable to have suitable range for the breeding stock. aside from economy of production range is desirable from the fact that the breeders keep in better condition and better results in breeding and fertility are obtained. the range for breeding geese should therefore consist of grass land or pasture. often rather low wet land can be used for this purpose, particularly if some higher land is also available to provide a more favorable kind of grass. often geese can be ranged on the same pasture with horses or cattle. later in the season after the harvest, both breeding and growing geese can be given the range of the stubble fields to good advantage as they will glean most of the shelled grain. the entire flock of breeders is generally allowed to run together but the flock may be divided if desired, or each mating may be kept in a colony by itself if the fighting of the ganders proves troublesome. _number of geese to the acre._ the number of geese which can be kept or run to the acre depends of course upon the nature of the land available for the purpose. the better the pasture and therefore the more green feed available throughout the summer and fall, the more geese can be run. in general, the practice is to run from 4 to 25 geese to an acre; ten is a fair average under normal conditions. _water for breeding geese._ while water to which the geese can have access for swimming is not absolutely essential for their well being, they like it and it is well to provide water if possible especially during the breeding season. it not only takes care of the problem of supplying drinking water, but in the opinion of many goose raisers, increases the fertility of the eggs laid. a natural water supply such as a stream or pond in the pasture is therefore desirable, but if none is available an artificial pond or tank can be furnished to good advantage. _distinguishing the sex._ it is difficult to distinguish the sex of geese. it is, of course, necessary to know the sex so as to provide the proper number of ganders and so as to know what birds to pen together in making a mating. once the sex of a bird is determined it is well for the novice to mark it by means of a suitable leg band so that its sex can be easily distinguished in the future. it is more difficult to distinguish the sex of young than of old geese. the gander is generally slightly larger and coarser than the goose, with a longer, thicker neck and larger head. the gander also has a shriller cry than the goose whose cry consists of a harsher sound. some goose raisers claim that they can distinguish the sex of mature geese by the body shape, the underline of the body of the gander from the tail to the point where the legs join the body being nearly straight, while in the goose this line tends to round out with the fuller development of the abdomen. this difference is more marked during the laying season than at other times. considerable experience is necessary in order to distinguish sex by any of the means described and the really sure way is by an examination of the sexual organs or by observing the actions of the geese when mating. upon examination the sphincter muscle which closes the anus of the female when stretched will be found to have a folded appearance. if the gander is placed upon his back and pressure applied around the anus, the penis will protrude. this test is more easily made on a mature than on an immature gander and is also easier to make during warm than during cold weather. _purchase of breeding stock._ geese when mated usually stay mated permanently. matings are not, therefore, changed from year to year as a rule so long as they continue to give satisfactory results. if it becomes necessary to make new matings or to break up old matings, this should be done in the fall, so that the birds will be thoroughly used to the new order of things by the time the breeding season arrives, and the results in eggs laid and young stock grown will not, therefore, be adversely affected. for this reason, any breeding stock purchased should be secured in the fall rather than to wait until just before the breeding season opens. as a rule, also, a better selection of breeding stock to choose from is available to the purchaser in the fall. _time of laying._ geese start laying in the early spring and continue to lay throughout the spring. with special attention given to the feeding, they should begin in the northeastern part of the united states about february 1 and should continue to lay until about june 1 when geese of the heavier breeds such as the toulouse, african and embden will generally be pretty well through. some individuals will lay later than this and the chinese geese also have a rather longer laying season extending further into the summer. the length of the laying season is also affected by whether the geese are broken up when they become broody or whether they are allowed to sit. the latter practice, of course, stops the layings. it must be remembered that the canadian and egyptian as a rule lay only a single small setting of eggs during the season. as a rule geese lay during the night or the forenoon. the frequency of laying varies, some geese laying every other day while others lay more or less often. _housing._ geese withstand the weather very well and do not need much in the way of houses or shelter except during winter and during severe storms. in the north it is the usual practice and good practice to provide shelter for the geese, which may take the form of a poultry house, or of any shed or barn available for the purpose. a shed with openings on the south side makes an ideal goose shelter or house. most breeders in the south who give their flocks good attention also provide shelter for them during the winter although geese are also successfully kept in that section without shelter. the houses provided for the breeders must be kept clean and as dry as possible. the best way to do this is to bed them liberally with straw, shavings or some similar material, especially during the winter. as the bedding becomes soiled, more should be added and the house should be cleaned out from time to time and fresh litter put in. no equipment for the houses is necessary. the geese will lay their eggs in nests which they make on the floor and if plenty of clean bedding is provided, the eggs will not get badly soiled. large boxes, barrels, or similar shelter provided with an abundance of nesting material may be scattered about the range to provide places in which the geese may make their nests. _yards._ usually no yards are provided for geese as they are allowed the range of a pasture or are allowed to roam at liberty about the farm. any ordinary woven wire stock fence such as might be used to fence a pasture will serve to keep the geese confined as well as the other stock. if for any reason it is desired to confine geese to a yard, the effort should be made to provide yard enough so that the geese will have a constant supply of green feed. in a small yard this is impossible. a 2½ or 3 foot fence is high enough to confine any of the common breeds of geese and will also serve for canadian and egyptian geese if they have been pinioned which should always be done. _feeding the breeding geese._ while the flock of geese may be allowed to pick most of their living from a good grass range during the summer and fall, it is necessary to feed them during the winter. in fact during the summer it may be necessary to feed them lightly on grain or wet mash if the pasture gets short. the quantity of feed necessary for this purpose depends upon the condition of the pasture and must be judged by the condition of the birds. during the winter, they must be fed regularly. the feed given them should consist of both grain and some form of roughage. it is necessary to be careful not to overfeed so that the geese will become too fat, for while they should be in good condition of flesh at the beginning of the breeding season, if they are too fat, poor fertility and poor hatches will result. _feed._ oats makes the best feed for breeding geese as it is not too fattening. corn, wheat or barley fed alone is likely to prove too fattening but a limited quantity should be fed for variety. the grain should be fed twice a day throughout the winter and should be given rather sparingly, depending on roughage to make up the bulk of the feed. vegetables, clover or alfalfa hay, chopped corn stover or silage make good roughage for this purpose. corn silage is a fine feed if it is not moldy and does not contain so much corn as to be too fattening. about three weeks or a month before it is desired to have the geese commence laying, which should be at such a time that the first goslings hatched will have good grass pasture, a mash should be added to the feed to stimulate egg production. this mash is generally fed in the morning with the vegetables or roughage and may consist of three parts bran or shorts, one part corn meal and one-fourth part meat scrap. if available buttermilk or skim milk can be used to mix the mash and replace the meat scrap. another mash for this purpose consists of corn meal one-fourth part, bran two parts, and ground oats one part, mixed up with skim milk or buttermilk. grit and oyster shell should be kept where the geese can help themselves particularly during the laying season. drinking water must be available at all times and if a natural supply is not available, must be given in drinking fountains or dishes which should be so arranged that the geese cannot get their feet into the water. when they can get into the drinking water, they will quickly get it into a filthy condition. when the geese are running in a field with horses or cattle a small enclosure should be fenced in to which the geese can gain access by means of suitable openings but which will keep the other stock out. in this should be placed the drinking fountain for the geese and in this enclosure the geese should be fed. otherwise the cattle or horses will get most of the feed intended for the geese and in addition, some of the geese may be stepped on or kicked and injured when the stock crowds around at feeding time. chapter xii incubation _care of eggs for hatching._ since egg production usually begins early in the spring while the weather is still cold, it is necessary to gather the eggs at frequent intervals to prevent their freezing or becoming chilled. later in the season daily collection will be satisfactory. the eggs as collected should be kept in a cool place and where the evaporation of the egg contents will not be too great. if set at fairly frequent intervals, there will be no difficulty on this score. if they are to be kept for some time, they may be stored in bran to prevent evaporation. it is well to mark the eggs as gathered with the date they are laid so as to overcome the possibility of saving too long any eggs for hatching. some goose raisers think that it is best to wash goose eggs before setting them. this belief is based on the fact that when a goose makes her own nest and has access to water in which to swim she comes on the nest with her feathers wet. it is to simulate this condition that the eggs are washed. certainly any dirty eggs should be washed. _methods of incubation._ the most usual methods of hatching goose eggs are by means of the chicken hen and the goose. incubators may also be used but do not as a rule seem to give as good results as they do with hen or duck eggs. turkey hens may also be utilized for this purpose but are not commonly available although they make good mothers. probably the most common method of hatching is the use of chicken hens. next common is to allow the goose to hatch her own eggs. goose eggs hatch well under hens or geese. during the height of the season nearly every fertile egg should hatch if the breeding geese are managed and fed so that they are in good condition. early in the season the eggs may not run as fertile or hatch as well as later. _period of incubation._ the period of incubation of goose eggs is approximately 30 days, but may vary from 28 to 33 or occasionally even 35 days. _hatching with chicken hens._ chicken hens are used very commonly to hatch goose eggs both because they give good results and are readily available and also because it is desirable to take the first eggs laid by the geese away and not to let them get broody and sit so that they will lay more eggs. for the latter reason practically all the eggs laid early in the season are hatched by chicken hens. the nest can be prepared for the hen either in a suitable place in a poultry house or in a shed or other building or in a box or barrel on the ground. as soon as the hen shows that she is ready to sit by staying on the nest, in which has been placed a nest egg or two, for a couple of nights in succession, she may be given a sitting of eggs. four to 6 goose eggs will constitute a sitting for a common hen. the hen should be confined to the nest being let off only once a day for exercise, feed and water. the sitting hen must be given good care, being even more particular in this respect than when she is sitting on hens' eggs as the period of incubation is longer. in addition to being careful to see that the hen comes off her nest for food and water she should be dusted 2 or 3 times during the hatch with some good insect powder to keep her free from lice and therefore contented to stay on the nest. two or 3 days before the goslings hatch she should be dusted with especial care so that the goslings will be free from vermin. on account of the large size of the eggs the hen should not be depended upon to turn them and this should be done by hand once or twice daily. _hatching with geese._ all breeds of geese will hatch their eggs although some are more persistently broody than others while there is a considerable difference in individuals in this respect. toulouse and chinese are perhaps the least broody of the breeds and are sometimes termed non-broody. the eggs laid by geese are generally gathered as laid. if this were not done they will become broody and stop laying quicker than they do under this treatment. the goose should be allowed to make her own nest. often she will do this in a barrel, box or other shelter if these are conveniently available. when she shows that she is broody and has stopped laying she should be given a sitting of eggs which will consist of 10 or 11. geese are often difficult to manage when they have young. wild and egyptian geese should always be allowed to make their own nests which they like to do on dry ground near the water, using straw leaves or similar material to make the nest. they should not be disturbed as they are ugly during this time. they will hatch practically every egg. _breaking up broody geese._ a goose which shows a desire to sit, can be broken up quite easily by confining her to a slat-bottomed coop without any feed, but with plenty of water to drink, for from 2 to 4 days. after being broken up she will generally commence laying again after an interval of a few days. _hatching with an incubator._ while it is more difficult to hatch goose eggs in incubators than it is hen or duck eggs, this can be done by an experienced operator with a fair degree of success. the incubator should be operated at a temperature of 101.5 to 102.5 degrees f., with the thermometer so placed that the bulb is on a level with the top of the eggs. beginning with the third day, the eggs should be turned twice a day as with hens' eggs. beginning about the tenth day, the eggs should be cooled once a day, and they need more cooling than hens' eggs require. they should be cooled down to a temperature of about 80 to 85 degrees. all goose eggs whether in incubators or under hens or geese should be tested once during the hatch. the best time to do this is sometime between the tenth and fourteenth days, when any infertile eggs or dead germs should be thrown out. _moisture for hatching eggs._ where eggs are being hatched in an incubator, there is need for the use of considerable moisture. it should be added first at about the end of the first week of incubation and should be repeated a couple of times during the second week. this can best be done by sprinkling the eggs liberally with water heated to about 100 degrees. beginning with the 15th day and until 2 or 3 days before the eggs are ready to hatch soak them in warm water for from one-half a minute to a minute once every 2 or 3 days. for the last 2 or 3 days do this daily. when the eggs are being hatched by chicken hens or geese in nests indoors or in boxes or barrels and in dry weather, moisture should be added in the same manner and with the same frequency and amount as in the incubator. when the nest is on damp ground, it is not necessary to use any moisture on the eggs. _hatching._ goslings as a rule hatch rather slowly and somewhat unevenly, especially when under hens. for this reason it is well to remove each gosling as it hatches from under the hen or goose and place it in a covered, cloth-lined box or basket and keep near the stove until the hatch is completed. as soon as the hatch is over, the goslings that have been removed from the nest can be put back under the hen or goose which is to be allowed to assume the duties of motherhood. chapter xiii brooding and rearing goslings when the hatch is completed all the goslings which have been removed from the nest should be returned; and the hen or goose removed to the coop which she is to occupy while brooding them. at this time, if hatched with a hen the goslings should be examined carefully on the head and neck to see whether there are any head lice present. if any are found the heads and necks of the goslings must be greased with a little lard or vaseline. not too much grease should be used as it may prove harmful to the goslings. _methods of brooding._ the most common methods of brooding goslings are the use of geese, of chicken hens or of artificial means. geese make the best mothers but are not always available especially during the early hatches. geese may also prove rather unruly when they have young and for this reason are not in favor with some goose raisers. when hatching is done simultaneously with geese and hens it is the practice of some raisers to give all the goslings hatched to the geese to rear. hens can be used very successfully for rearing goslings especially if they are confined to a coop for the first week or two so that they cannot range too far and too fast and tire the goslings out. not over 6 or 8 goslings should be given to a hen to brood. artificial methods are very successful with goslings much more so in fact than are artificial methods of hatching the eggs. some goose raisers prefer to use artificial means of brooding, especially if they have only a few goslings and are brooding at the same time some chicks or ducklings. _brooding with hens or geese._ a suitable roomy coop should be provided to which the goslings with their mother, either hen or goose, can be moved when the hatch is completed. the coop should be so constructed by means of a slatted front or otherwise, that the hen can be confined and the goslings allowed to range. it is very desirable to get the goslings out on grass as soon as possible. a goose with goslings is often allowed to have her liberty but many raisers prefer to confine her to a coop the same as when a hen is used. the coop should have a board floor well bedded with straw, shavings or similar material. this will not only help to keep the goslings dry but will also serve to protect them from their enemies during the night. for this same reason the coop should be so constructed that it can be closed at night by means of a wire covered door so as to shut out marauders, and at the same time allow plenty of ventilation. the coop must be cleaned often so as to keep the goslings clean and dry. _length of time brooding is necessary._ the time that goslings need brooding will, of course, depend upon the weather. during mild weather 10 days is usually sufficient, after which they can do without any brooding. early in the season, brooding must be extended over a longer period. this may mean anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks or even longer. _artificial brooding._ for this purpose any brooder utilized for chicks or ducks can be used for goslings. to start with they should have a temperature of about 100 degrees but this can be reduced in a few days until in a week or ten days it is only 70 to 80 degrees or if the weather is mild artificial heat may be dispensed with entirely. where there are only a few goslings they may be put with a brood of ducks as long as they need heat. it does not work so well to put them with chicks both because they do not require a high temperature so long as the chicks and also because they are so large as to be likely to tread on and injure some of the chicks. brooders should be well bedded with straw, shavings or some similar material and should be cleaned out every 2 or 3 days so as to be kept clean and dry. do not crowd the goslings; give them plenty of room. some goose raisers do not depend upon heated brooders at all, especially when only a few goslings are to be brooded. for the first day or two the goslings are kept in a covered basket or box in the house near a fire and after this are put out during the warmth of the day but brought into the house and put in the basket or box at night until they are two or three weeks old. the same practice should be followed with goslings reared in brooders, these being used only during the night after the first 2 or 3 days, the goslings being put out-doors during the day in good weather. when goslings which are being artificially brooded are put out during the day on the grass, they should be confined at first. this can be easily accomplished by building a triangular enclosure, formed of 3 boards, 1 foot wide or wider, placed up on edge. this enclosure can be easily shifted to a new position each day thus giving the goslings fresh ground and fresh grass. general care of growing goslings goslings should be kept dry and for this reason should be kept shut up until the dew is off the grass in the morning. for the same reason they should not be allowed access to water in which to swim until they are at least 3 or 4 weeks old. when allowed to swim, care should be taken to see that they can get out of the water easily. goslings caught in a cold rain will often be overcome and apparently dead. frequently they can be revived and saved by wrapping them in a heated cloth and placing them near a warm fire. while they are still young, goslings should be driven under shelter whenever a rain storm comes up. when allowed to run at liberty, goslings must be kept track of to some extent. they may become lost and have to be driven back to their shelter at night. or they may fall into holes or get caught in fences and corners and must be released. when allowed to run with larger stock they are more or less liable to injury from being stepped upon or kicked. a growing coop or shelter of some sort should be provided for the growing goslings although this is not always done after they are pretty well feathered out. such a coop should be large enough so that the goslings are not crowded, and should be well ventilated. it should have a board floor and be capable of being closed so as to protect the goslings from their enemies, but without cutting off ventilation. if natural shade is not available where the goslings range, artificial shade of some sort must be provided during the hot weather. growing goslings are quite susceptible to extreme heat and will not make as good growth if not provided with shade. artificial shade of boards or brush can be easily provided. if for any reason it is necessary to confine growing goslings, they should be provided with good grass yards or runs and their coops or shelters should be moved to a fresh location frequently. it is better, if possible, to keep the growing stock separate from the old breeding stock as they will do better and make more rapid growth under these conditions. usually, however, where only a few geese are reared each year, old and young stock are allowed to range together. _feeding the goslings._ like chicks or ducks, goslings do not need to be fed as soon as hatched, the yolk of the eggs providing all the nourishment they need for at least 36 hours. they should, however, be furnished water to drink as soon as the hatch is completed. the first feed should consist of stale bread, soaked in milk or water. with this material should be mixed boiled eggs chopped up fine. the goslings should be fed 3 or preferably 4 times daily until they are 2 or 3 weeks old. chopped grass or some other green feed should be added to the feed, the quantity fed being increased steadily. it is important to get the goslings out on grass as soon as possible, which should be after the first 2 or 3 days if the weather is good, so that they will be able to graze for themselves. five per cent of fine grit or sharp sand should likewise be added to the feed. some growers prefer to feed the grit or sand in a hopper to which the goslings have constant access and from which they can help themselves. a constant supply of fresh drinking water is essential and this should be provided in drinking fountains or dishes such that the goslings cannot get their feet or bodies in them. when a good grass range is available, the goslings, after they are 2 or 3 weeks old, will need only one light feed of mash daily in addition to the grass they eat. such a mash will consist of 2 parts shorts and 1 part corn meal, ground oats or ground barley. where the pasture is good many goslings are raised from the age of 2 or 3 weeks until they are ready to be fattened without any other feed than the grass and other material which they get for themselves. however, the feeding of one light feed of mash a day is advantageous as it insures adequate feed for their need and promotes quicker growth. after the goslings are 6 weeks old, if they are still fed, the mash should be changed to equal parts shorts, corn meal and ground oats with 5% meat scrap. this same mash can be continued until fattening time. whole grains are not generally fed to goslings until they are well feathered and often not until it is desired to fatten them. _percentage of goslings raised._ goslings are for the most part quite hardy and are comparatively easy to brood. this coupled with the fact that they are relatively free from disease and are not much troubled with insect pests makes it possible to raise a large per cent of the thrifty goslings hatched. with good care and with good strong healthy stock, it should be possible to raise in the neighborhood of 90% of the goslings hatched. _rapidity of growth._ goslings make a very rapid growth. when marketed as green geese they are usually turned off at from 12 to 16 weeks of age. at this age they should weigh from 9 to 12 pounds, depending upon the breed and upon the rapidity of growth. many, probably most, young geese are not marketed at as early an age as this but are held until the christmas season or later and marketed at heavier weight. the best grown toulouse goslings should attain a weight of 16 to 18 pounds by christmas or when 6 to 8 months old. other breeds will weigh proportionately less. special attention or special feeding will, of course, increase the weight over that attained without such feeding. as a rule the heavier breeds such as the toulouse do not get their full growth until they are about 18 months old. after this as geese of both sexes grow older, they will, of course, fill out more and attain greater weight. _disease._ goslings are remarkably free from disease and a very large percentage of all strong goslings hatched should be reared. one of the principal difficulties is diarrhoea. this is usually caused by faulty feeding. it may be due to feeding too great a quantity of soft feed or to giving soft feed in too sloppy a condition. access to stagnant water, unclean enclosures or unclean drinking dishes may also cause diarrhoea. when partly grown goslings which are being given soft feed are troubled with diarrhoea, this may sometimes be checked by substituting a light feed of corn daily for a part of the soft feed. goslings are sometimes troubled with lameness. this is usually caused by faulty feeding also, particularly by feeding a ration which is lacking in something needed, such as some form of animal feed like beef scrap which may cause a lack of mineral matter in the ration. if the goslings cannot secure it for themselves a supply of grit or gravel should be placed at their disposal. there is an infectious disease of geese which sometimes causes trouble known as goose septicemia or hemorrhagic septicemia. this is a disease similar to fowl cholera and may attack either young or mature geese. it is not often found on farms where the geese are raised in small lots, but sometimes proves troublesome on farms where a large number of geese are gathered together for fattening. the geese are often found dead when one goes to feed them without having shown much preliminary sickness. the disease is usually fatal. shortly before they die the affected geese may acquire an uncertain gait and may twist the head about and burrow it in the dirt. treatment is of no avail. if the disease occurs in a flock, the affected birds should be removed and killed, while the rest of the flock should be moved to new ground if possible. the ground which they previously occupied should be plowed and any houses, shelter, feed troughs, and drinking vessels should be thoroughly disinfected. chapter xiv fattening and marketing geese _classes of geese marketed._ the market geese consist principally of the surplus young ganders not required for breeding purposes and such of the old geese of either sex as it may be considered desirable to get rid of. some young females, when the number raised is in excess of the number required for breeders also find their way to market. while these geese are marketed in the largest numbers during the thanksgiving and christmas holiday season, particularly the latter, some geese of course find their way to market practically throughout the year. there is also a rather limited trade in "green geese" which corresponds to the trade in spring or "green" ducklings. green geese are goslings about 12 to 16 weeks old, generally of the larger breeds, which are forced for rapid growth and are made to weigh in the neighborhood of 10 pounds at that age. these bring a good price and yield a good profit where there is demand for this class of geese. _markets and prices._ as with most classes of poultry, the large cities offer the best market for geese. especially the cities which have a large foreign population make good markets as many foreigners are more in the habit of using geese for a holiday dish than are native americans. the most favorable market usually occurs at christmas when roast goose and apple sauce is in considerable favor. considerable numbers of geese are also used at thanksgiving time and in recent years as the price of turkeys has steadily increased there has been an increasing tendency to substitute goose for turkey on that day. following are prices paid for various classes of geese on the new york wholesale market from may 1920 to june 1921 as reported by the new york produce review. quite a wide variation in price will be noted in many cases which reflects the difference in condition of the geese as received. in the case of express receipts of live geese where a wide variation in prices occurs the high quotations represent the receipt of especially fattened geese from nearby farms. western geese, frozen 1920 may 5 25 @ 31c per lb. 12 25 @ 31c " " 19 25 @ 31c " " 26 25 @ 31c " " june 2 25 @ 31c " " 9 25 @ 31c " " 16 25 @ 31c " " 23 25 @ 31c " " 30 23 @ 29c " " july 7 23 @ 29c " " 14 21 @ 27c " " 21 21 @ 27c " " 28 21 @ 27c " " aug. 4 20 @ 25c " " 1921 jan. 26 26 @ 34c " " feb. 2 26 @ 34c " " 9 26 @ 36c " " 16 26 @ 36c " " 23 26 @ 36c " " mar. 2 26 @ 36c " " 9 25 @ 35c " " 16 25 @ 35c " " 23 25 @ 35c " " 30 25 @ 35c " " apr. 6 25 @ 35c " " 13 25 @ 35c " " 20 25 @ 35c " " 27 25 @ 35c " " may 4 25 @ 35c " " 11 25 @ 35c " " fresh dressed geese 1920 nov. 17 34 @ 43c per lb. 24 30 @ 38c " " dec. 1 25 @ 36c " " 8 30 @ 36c " " 15 30 @ 39c " " 22 30 @ 40c " " 29 30 @ 40c " " 1921 jan. 5 30 @ 37c " " 12 25 @ 35c " " 19 25 @ 34c " " 26 25 @ 34c " " fresh dressed geese 1921 feb. 2 25 @ 34c per lb. 9 26 @ 36c " " 16 26 @ 36c " " 23 26 @ 36c " " mar. 2 26 @ 36c " " 9 25 @ 35c " " 16 25 @ 35c " " 23 25 @ 35c " " live geese--via freight 1920 may 5 18 @ 20c per lb. 12 22c " " 19 20 @ 22c " " 26 20 @ 22c " " june 2 20 @ 22c " " 9 20 @ 22c " " 16 20 @ 22c " " 23 18 @ 20c " " 30 18 @ 20c " " july 7 18 @ 20c " " 14 18 @ 20c " " 28 25c " " aug 4 25c " " 18 25c " " 25 25c " " sept. 1 25c " " 22 26c " " 29 26c " " oct. 20 25 @ 28c " " 27 27 @ 30c " " nov. 3 32c " " 10 32c " " 17 32c " " 24 28 @ 32c " " dec. 1 28 @ 30c " " 8 30 @ 34c " " 15 28 @ 35c " " 22 25 @ 30c " " 29 27 @ 32c " " 1921 jan. 5 26 @ 32c " " 12 26 @ 30c " " 19 25 @ 29c " " 26 25 @ 29c " " feb. 2 27 @ 33c " " 9 28 @ 33c " " 16 26 @ 32c " " 23 25 @ 26c " " live geese--via freight 1921 mar. 2 25c per lb. 9 18 @ 20c " " 16 18 @ 20c " " 23 20c " " 30 20c " " apr. 6 15 @ 18c " " 13 15 @ 18c " " 20 15 @ 18c " " 27 15 @ 18c " " may 4 14 @ 16c " " 11 14 @ 16c " " 18 14 @ 16c " " 25 14 @ 16c " " june 1 14 @ 16c " " live geese--via express 1920 nov. 24 30 @ 33c per lb. dec. 1 30 @ 32c " " 8 32 @ 35c " " 15 30c " " 22 30c " " 29 28 @ 35c " " 1921 jan. 5 29 @ 38c " " 12 28 @ 38c " " 19 28 @ 36c " " 26 27 @ 37c " " feb. 9 28 @ 40c " " 16 28 @ 42c " " 23 26 @ 28c " " mar. 2 25 @ 28c " " 9 20 @ 23c " " 16 18 @ 22c " " 23 18 @ 22c " " 30 20 @ 23c " " apr. 6 17 @ 20c " " 13 17 @ 20c " " 20 17 @ 21c " " 27 16 @ 20c " " may 4 15 @ 18c " " 11 15 @ 18c " " 18 15 @ 18c " " 25 15 @ 18c " " _prejudice against roast goose._ there exists on the part of some persons a prejudice against goose on the grounds that it is too greasy a dish. when improperly cooked, goose will prove to be too greasy to suit many fastidious palates but this condition is not so much the fault of the fowl as it is of the method of preparation and cooking. when dressed if the goose shows a large amount of abdominal fat, as it usually does and should, a large part of this should be removed. this fat when tried out is highly esteemed by many cooks and by other persons is treasured as an efficacious treatment for croup in children. also while the goose is roasting, a part of the fat as it cooks out of the carcass should be removed. treated in this way one need have no fear that the roast goose will prove too greasy but instead one will be pleasantly surprised at the rich taste which the roast goose possesses. _methods of fattening geese for market._ many geese are sent to market without any special treatment or effort to fatten them, being taken right off pasture in such condition as they happen to be or at best with only a half-hearted attempt to fatten them by feeding a little corn or some other grain for a short period. when a real effort is made to fatten geese for the market it is generally done in one of three ways. first is pen fattening which is the method best adapted to small lots of geese on the average farm. second is by noodling which is only attempted in sections where the goose raisers are somewhat of specialists and where the effort is made to turn out geese of superior quality. third is fattening in large flocks which is practiced only by a very limited number of farmers in scattered sections who take the unfattened geese raised on the general farms and finish them for market. _pen fattening._ for this purpose the geese are put in pens large enough to hold them comfortably but without any yards. not over 20 to 25 geese should be penned together for this purpose. to get the best results the geese should be kept as quiet as possible and to accomplish this the pens are partly darkened and the geese disturbed only at feeding time. the geese are fed three times daily; in the morning, at noon and at night, being given all they will clean up. one feed should consist of a moist mash composed of one part shorts and two parts corn meal. this mash should not be sloppy. the other two feeds consist mainly of corn with some oats or barley. some roughage such as vegetables or hay should also be supplied. the pens should be deeply bedded with good oat straw. the geese will eat a considerable amount of this which thus helps to supply the roughage which they need. the straw also, of course, serves to keep the pen and the birds clean. a plentiful supply of good drinking water is also necessary. the usual period of fattening is three to five weeks and a gain of from 4 to 6 pounds per bird can be secured. this method of fattening is commonly used by goose raisers in wisconsin and the geese from this state are noted for their fine quality. a less intensive form of pen fattening is often used by farmers where a small yard is provided in addition to the pen itself and where no effort is made to darken the pen. if no other means for fattening are available, a small yard can be built, a few boards arranged for a shelter at one end and the birds fed in this enclosure as described above. _noodling geese._ noodling geese is a method of hand feeding which has for its purpose the production of the best fattened geese. it is not employed to any extent except in the section about watertown, wisconsin, where the farmers specialize to some extent on goose fattening. it is a method requiring long hours and tedious labor and cannot be profitably carried on unless a special price can be obtained for the product. in noodling geese, 8 or 10 geese are placed in a pen about 8 by 12 feet which is heavily bedded with straw. a partition extends halfway across the pen and is utilized to keep the geese separate as they are fed. young ganders and any old ganders or geese which are to be marketed are used for noodling. the pen is kept dark and the geese should be disturbed only at feeding time. the first feed is given at 5 o'clock in the morning and five feeds are given daily at about 4 hour intervals, the last feed coming at 11 p. m. however, when the geese are first put on feed they are noodled only 3 times a day this being gradually increased to 5 times. the feeder sits on a box or stool in a corner of the pen, grasps each goose in turn holding it between his legs to keep it from struggling as he stuffs it with noodles. the goose is handled by its neck, never by its legs which are easily injured, and is held with its back toward the feeder. the feeder usually wears gloves to protect his hands from the severe bites which the birds will inflict. the feeder must also handle the birds as carefully as possible, especially as killing time approaches for the flesh bruises easily and the discolored patches spoil the appearance of the dressed goose. the feeder at the start usually gives each goose from 3 to 5 noodles, gradually increasing this to 6 or 7 noodles if the birds will stand it, the number of noodles fed depending upon the size and condition of each bird, the feeder being obliged to use his judgment in this matter. in general if any feed can be felt in the craw, no noodles are given until the next feeding time. failure to observe this is likely to cause the bird to go off feed. if any geese are noticed which are off feed they should be taken out and marketed. the noodles are made of scalded corn meal, ground oats, ground barley and ground wheat or wheat flour, using equal parts of each. this material is thoroughly mixed and salted as one would bread and is then put through a sausage stuffer. the product as it comes from the stuffer is cut into noodles about 2½ or 3 inches long and these are boiled for 10 or 15 minutes or until they float. a wash boiler with a wire rack forming a false bottom about 1½ inches above the boiler bottom is used for this purpose. when cooked the noodles are dipped in cold water and then rolled in flour to keep them from sticking together. a supply of noodles is made which will last for 2 or 3 days' feeding. just before feeding, hot water is poured over the noodles to make them warm and slippery. the mouth of the goose is forced open and the noodles are put in, one at a time, and worked down by using the fingers on the outside of the neck. as each goose is fed it is placed on the other side of the partition until all in the pen have been fed. it is important that plenty of drinking water be kept before the geese. the feeding period where geese are noodled usually extends from 3 to 4 weeks. gains of 6 to 10 pounds per bird can be secured and often an increased price of 10 to 15 cents a pound can be secured for such specially fattened geese. noodled geese will average about 25 pounds and some individuals have been made to weigh nearly 40 pounds. one man can noodle from 50 to 100 geese but has to put in long hours. noodled geese should be dressed where fattened as they are soft fleshed and would shrink badly if shipped alive. fattening methods similar to the noodling described are used in parts of europe for the production of the enlarged goose livers which are employed in making "patte de fois gras". methods used on fattening farms as previously mentioned, a few farmers make a specialty of buying the geese in their section of the country in the fall when it is too late for serious trouble to develop from hemorrhagic septicemia, a disease similar to fowl cholera, and to fatten or finish them in large flocks for the thanksgiving and christmas markets. methods are employed in different sections which differ quite widely. on a farm in the middle west the geese are collected from the general farms where they are produced in small flocks and brought to the farm where they are kept in flocks as large as 1,000 or even more, and are allowed to run in a cornfield or orchard. they are fattened for about a month. corn on the cob and plenty of water is kept before the geese all the time and if they are running in a cornfield they eat the leaves off the corn stalks for roughage. roughage is supplied if not available otherwise and straw, hay or vegetables are utilized for this purpose. no shelter is provided during mild weather, the geese getting such protection as they can from the trees or corn stalks. if the weather turns unusually severe, the geese are generally driven into sheds or barns. when fattened the geese are usually shipped to some large market alive. several farms in the neighborhood of boston make a specialty of finishing geese each fall, and the methods used are quite different from those described above. no geese are raised on these farms, the operation being confined to the fattening or finishing of the geese and to killing and dressing them for the market. some of these goose fatteners also have stalls or stands in the boston markets where they are enabled to dispose of their fattened geese to the best advantage. [illustration: fig. 55. large flock of geese fattening in an orchard. (_photograph from the bureau of animal industry, u. s. department of agriculture._)] _fatteners._ in previous years these fatteners depended largely upon the geese produced on the rhode island farms for their supply. in the past few years, however, the supply from this source has dwindled greatly and the bulk of the geese for fattening are now shipped from prince edward island, canada, in carload lots. such summer geese as are now fattened still come from rhode island and are brought in by truck. the fattening season begins in september and lasts until christmas. some early goslings are bought in june but there is not as good a profit from the summer geese, the demand and prices being adversely affected by the supply of spring ducklings available at that time. experience and good judgment will benefit the goose fattener greatly when purchasing his supply of geese for fattening. what he wants are goslings, not older geese, which have made a good growth and which have a large frame but which are in poor flesh rather than fat. such geese will make more rapid and more profitable gains. when geese are bought for shipment by the carload from prince edward island, they should be penned and fed at the point of shipment for 3 or 4 days before they are loaded in the cars, so as to put them in shape to stand the journey well. on the farms from which they come, the goslings are not fed much and in consequence are not in shape to stand shipment. _the goslings_ which are secured from the farms for fattening are mainly common geese of no particular breed. some pure bred geese are also obtained as are some first crosses between the pure breeds. a class of geese which is obtained in some numbers from prince edward island and which is much desired is the so-called "mongrel" goose. these are obtained by breeding a wild or canadian gander to geese of dark plumage similar to the toulouse or african. the mongrel geese much resemble the wild gander in type and color and are in demand on the market because of their wild or gamy flavor. they bring about 10 cents per pound more than common geese. the market, however, is somewhat limited. these geese will not breed although the females will lay eggs. where the wild gander is mated with light colored or white geese the offspring will have more or less light colored feathers and will not as closely resemble the wild parent and for this reason are not as desirable. _shipping._ the geese are loaded into stock cars into which three separate decks are built to accommodate them. from 1200 to 1400 geese can be loaded into a car thus arranged. the journey usually takes about 5 or 6 days and some fatteners send a man along with the car to feed and water the geese 2 or 3 times during the trip. if a man does not accompany the car, buckets of corn should be placed in the car for feed and some potatoes should also be supplied as these will serve in place of drinking water. if the car is not subjected to unusual delay, the geese should come through in good shape, but if much delayed there may be 25 to 100 geese dead when the car arrives at its destination. when the car arrives at the end of its journey, the geese are unloaded and driven to the farm where they are turned into the fields together in a large flock. the fields in which they are thus kept should have a supply of growing green feed or grass and a good supply of fresh drinking water. they are kept here until they are wanted for the fattening pens which may be from a week to 20 days after their arrival at the farm. while in this large supply flock they are fed on corn and grass which they can get for themselves. _summer geese_ to be fattened are placed only about 50 in a pen or enclosure; and are provided with a few boards set on posts to protect them from the hot sun. the later geese are fattened in lots of 3 or 4 hundred or even more, depending upon how many pickers are available to be kept busy. it is for this reason also that the geese are not all put on the fattening ration at the same time, but are started at intervals so as to have a continuous supply coming along to keep the pickers busy. the geese not put in the fattening lots at the start are left in the fields to grow and develop until they are needed. the enclosures in which the geese are penned for fattening are small lots or fields enclosed by stone walls or board fences 2½ to 3 feet high. these lots should be dry and well-drained, a location on a side hill being good for this purpose. the fattening lots must be kept clean and stagnant water must not be allowed to stand in the lots as this is likely to cause sickness, especially diarrhoea. these yards should be plowed up each spring and planted to oats, corn or some other growing crop to sweeten them. no houses or shelters are provided for these geese but some yards are somewhat wooded which affords a measure of protection from the wind. _feeding._ when the geese are placed in the fattening lots, some fatteners prefer to fast the geese for from 3 to 5 days, giving them no feed but plenty of water to drink. this gives them a good appetite and puts them in good shape for fattening. the geese are fed three times a day, in the morning, at noon and at night. the morning and night feed usually consists of a moist mixed feed fed in troughs; while the noon feed is whole corn thrown on the ground. the use of one feed of corn a day is supposed to check any tendency toward diarrhoea. in very cold weather some fatteners feed the mixed feed at noon and the corn at night. at first the geese are not given all they will eat but are worked up gradually, increasing the amount each day until they are getting all they want. as a rule the geese will drop back a little in feed consumption after they reach the point where they get all they want and from this time on, the feeding must be very carefully watched to see that they are not given so much that they will leave some to sour which would cause diarrhoea. the morning and noon feeds are lighter, the heaviest feed being given at night. the bird's appetites will vary from day to day so that it is best to make the rounds twice in feeding to make sure that they have enough and that none is left. if any is left it must be gathered up and carried away. no provision is made for furnishing the fattening geese with green feed or roughage. the practice with respect to drinking water varies. some fatteners keep a supply before the birds in troughs which must be washed out each day to keep them clean. others furnish no water except that used in mixing up the feed. _corn meal_ is the principal ingredient of the fattening mixture. to a sack of corn meal is added 10% beef scrap and five good shovels of grit or medium sized gravel. in addition some fatteners add 10% of flour to bind the mixture together. this material should be thoroughly mixed up in a dry state as a better mix can be obtained in this way. it is then mixed up with water, the practice here varying. some fatteners mix in a trough with boiling water a short time before feeding, while others mix it with cold water letting it soak over night and adding more water in the morning if it is too dry at that time. it should be mixed until it can be shoveled readily but should be quite solid, never in a sloppy condition as this is likely to cause diarrhoea. a little salt may be added, if desired, as an appetizer. while corn meal is generally used, hominy may take its place. after the geese are started on the fattening ration, this must be given throughout the fattening period. changing to some other feed will throw the geese off feed and cause a loss. _feeding._ when the mixed feed is ready it is shoveled into boxes or barrels on a low wagon and driven to the fattening lots where it is shoveled into the troughs for the geese. ordinary v-shaped troughs are favored instead of flat troughs as the latter afford hiding places for rats which may cause damage in addition to the feed which they eat by frightening the geese. geese are easily frightened and must therefore be handled rather carefully and gently as a severe fright will interfere with the gains they will make. some fatteners provide electric lights where the geese rest at night so that they can see and will not be so likely to become frightened. when the geese are ready to be killed they are driven up to the killing house and into a pen where they may be easily caught. each goose as caught is examined to see whether it is in condition for killing. if it is not it is put back with a later lot for additional fattening. good condition in a goose is judged by its weight when handled and also by the condition of its breast and the fat on its back. a good place to test geese for fat is on the side of the body just below the point where the wing joins the body. if fat can be seized between the thumb and finger at that point, the goose is in good condition. _dry picking._ all fattened geese for the boston market are dry picked. the goose is held between the knees of the picker with the wings held fast against the sides of the body. the head is grasped by the left hand, the mouth forced open and the veins in the back of the throat just beyond the skull severed with a sharp knife for the purpose of bleeding the bird. if the bird is to be stuck, which is not always done, the point of the knife is then plunged through the roof of the mouth to the brain. the legs are then seized in the left hand, together with the ends of the wings to prevent the goose from struggling and the goose is struck once or twice sharply on the back of the head with a club held in the right hand. this is for the purpose of stunning the bird. the geese may also be bled by sticking the knife through the neck from the outside just below the head. the picker then takes his seat beside the feather box, holding the goose on his lap with the head held between his knee and the outside of the box. he proceeds to pluck the feathers as rapidly as possible, removing all the feathers except the main wing feathers or those of the first joint of the wing and the feathers of the neck half way from the head to the body. all the soft body feathers are thrown in the box and saved. the coarser feathers are thrown on the floor. the down is removed by rubbing the moistened hand over the skin. to save the hands, ordinary rubber heels dipped in water are often used. sharp knives are also used to shave off the pin feathers which cannot be plucked and any down not removed by rubbing. the dry picked goose presents a much better appearance than a scalded goose and the feathers are more valuable. the skin of a dry picked bird is not so likely to be rubbed off in removing the down. _the value of the feathers_ is sufficient to pay for the cost of the picking or perhaps a little more. the cost of picking in the fall of 1920 ranged from 15 to 20 cents per goose where the picker was boarded and 24 cents without board. a good man can pick about 40 geese in a day. women are not employed for this work as the geese are too big and too strong for them to handle. after the geese are picked, the blood is washed from the head and the feet washed if that is necessary. they are then thrown into barrels of cold water to cool and must be left there until the body heat is entirely removed. the wings are tied in place by means of a string or tape tied around the body and wings and the legs may also be crossed over the back and tied. the geese when ready for market are either shipped in by express or are taken in by automobile truck. _gain in weight._ in fattening according to the methods described above a gain in weight is secured of from 6 to 8 pounds per goose. this does not represent the total gain in value, however, for the fattened geese will bring more per pound as a result of their finished condition. the fattened geese when ready for market will weigh from 12 to 20 pounds. weights taken on two carloads of fattened geese showed an average weight of 14 pounds. on december 2, 1920, fattened geese from these farms were bringing 42 cents per pound on the boston market while the mongrel geese were worth 50 cents or a little better. the question may arise as to the size of farm necessary to carry on a business of this sort. using the methods employed about boston a farm of 30 acres would be sufficient to handle 20,000 geese in a season. in selecting a farm for such a purpose, a location should be chosen where there are no close neighbors as the odor from the geese and yards is offensive to most persons. _selling geese alive._ most farmers who raise only a few geese ship them alive, either sending them to some commission house or selling them to someone who makes a specialty of fattening. such geese are often in poor condition and bring the lowest quotation. large coops similar to those used for turkeys should be used in shipping geese. _killing._ where geese are killed on the farm for shipment to market they are usually hung up by means of a cord about the legs. when geese are to be dry picked the veins in the throat just beyond the skull are first severed with a long bladed knife such as used for killing turkeys to cause good bleeding and the point of the knife is then plunged through the roof of the mouth to the brain performing the stick which serves to make the feathers come out more easily as with other classes of poultry. since it is rather difficult to dry pick geese, they are usually scalded or steamed and where this is done, the stick is not made but after the veins in the throat are cut, the goose is stunned by a blow on the back of the head with a short club. a blood can or weight is then hooked through the lower bill which keeps the neck straightened out and prevents the blood from being thrown about the room or on the birds. the birds are allowed to hang until they are dead and thoroughly bled out. _picking._ when geese are dry picked, the feathers are removed just as soon as the birds are stuck for the longer the delay the harder the feathers pull. the wings are picked to the first joint and the feathers of the neck half-way to the head. the soft pin feathers and fine down may be removed by shaving the skin or rubbing the body with moistened hands will partially remove them. usually geese are scalded or steamed for picking. for steaming a wash boiler three-quarters full of boiling water and with a burlap sack tightly stretched over its top can be used. the goose is simply laid on the sack and the steam coming through the burlap steams the feathers and makes them easy to remove. the breast should be steamed first, then the back and then each side. two or three minutes will be time enough to complete the steaming. the feathers are steamed until they pull out easily. the goose must be kept moving to prevent the flesh from becoming scalded and since the breast is especially tender it is usual to lay the head under the breast to prevent the latter from scalding. after steaming the body feathers are removed and the bird is then singed over a flame furnished by alcohol burned in shallow tin plates, in order to remove the down. the down may also be removed by sprinkling powdered rosin over the goose's body which is then dipped into hot water. the hot water melts the rosin which sticks to the down and the down and rosin can then be rubbed off together. geese may also be steamed by scalding slightly in hot water and then wrapping tightly in burlap or some other cloth. they are kept wrapped for about five minutes which allows the steam to work thoroughly through the feathers which can then be plucked easily. exactly the same methods can and often are employed in dressing geese as are used with ducks. the reader is therefore also referred to the material in chapter vii. there seems to be no great insistence on the part of most markets for dry picked geese. some will pay slightly more for the dry picked birds but others make no difference. _packing for shipment._ after picking, the geese are washed and then placed in cold water to cool. ice water is best for this purpose and is essential in warm weather. the carcasses must be allowed to remain in the water until they are thoroughly cooled, which will take at least one to two hours. if any animal heat is left in the bodies, they will spoil very quickly. often the carcasses are dipped in hot water, before being thrown in the cold water, to plump them. after they are thoroughly cooled, the geese are packed in barrels for shipping. if the weather is cool they may be packed in well ventilated barrels without ice, but if the weather is warm, cracked ice must be used in packing, proceeding in the same way as when packing ducks as described on page 109. it is always risky to pack without ice. _saving the feathers._ goose feathers are valuable and should therefore be saved when the geese are plucked. the soft body feathers and the coarser feathers should be kept separate. the feathers should be cured by spreading them out in a thin layer on the floor of a loft or room, stirring them up occasionally until they are thoroughly dried out, when they can be sacked and sold. failure to dry the feathers thoroughly will result in their heating and molding with the result that they will arrive at their destination in bad shape and will be worth less money. the soft body feathers of geese are practically all used in making beds and pillows while the quills are sometimes utilized in making toothpicks and cigarette holders. prices for goose feathers in june 1921 were as follows: pure white dry picked 75c per lb. good average white " " 65c " " largely gray " " 55c " " largely gray scalded 40c " " long goose quills 5c " " these prices were for good dry feathers. plucking live geese for their feathers in the days of feather beds and home-made pillows the practice of plucking live geese for their feathers was very common. now, however, with the demand for goose feathers less and with the opinion of some breeders that plucking geese is both cruel and injurious, the practice seems to be decreasing. many goose raisers in the south and a less number in the middle west and north however still pluck the feathers from the live geese prior to the time of moulting. the frequency with which the picking is done varies greatly, some picking as often as every six weeks during the spring, summer and early fall while others pick twice, once in the spring and once in the fall, or once in the spring only. geese should never be picked during the late fall or winter when the weather is cold or during the breeding season. both young and old geese are plucked and the average yearly production of feathers per goose is about one pound. when the quills of the feathers are dry and do not contain any blood, the feathers are ripe for picking. in plucking, a stocking is placed over the head of the goose and the goose held on the lap and between the legs during the process. an assistant to hold the goose during the plucking simplifies the work greatly. in plucking, part of the soft feathers of the breast, sides, abdomen and back are taken but these sections should not be plucked clean. it is especially important that enough short feathers be left to support the wings. after plucking, the feathers must be cured before they are shipped. this may be done by spreading them out on a floor as described for the feathers taken from slaughtered geese or they may be placed loosely in burlap sacks and hung up in a garret or loft. hanging in this way and in the loosely woven sacks, they are subjected to a good circulation of air and will dry out without heating. sacks of feathers should not be piled or packed closely together, on top of one another or even be allowed to lie on the floor until they are thoroughly dry as otherwise they are almost sure to heat and mold. index a absence of crest in crested white duck, 34 african goose, 156, 157 age of breeding ducks, 55, 123 breeding geese, 152 duck eggs for hatching, 72 ducklings for market, 96, 102, 136 green geese, 187 muscovy duck, 31 amount of feed per pound of market duck, 95 for noodled geese, 197 amount of land for duck plant, 46 for goose fattening farm, 208 arrangement of cars for shipping live geese, 202 arrangement of duck plant, 45 artificial water yards for ducks, 62 aylesbury duck, 23 b baby ducks, selling, 78 bantam ducks, 27, 29 bean, definition of, 13 black in, 22, 23, 35 bedding brood coop for goslings, 180 duck breeding houses, 60 duck brooder houses, 87 goose breeding houses, 168 pens for fattening geese, 195 beef scrap, feeding, to ducks, 64 bib in blue swedish ducks, 33 buff ducks, 36 bill, definition of, 13 black in, of black east india, 29 black east india duck, 29 black in bean of aylesbury, 23 crested white duck, 35 pekin, 22 black bill in black east india drakes, 29 black head, greenish, in buff drakes, 35 head, in fawn and white runners, 37 in face of muscovy, 32 plumage of blue swedish, 33 on head of young white muscovy, 32 tail coverts, greenish, in fawn and white runners, 37 bleeding ducks, 105 geese, 206, 209 blue cast in buff ducks, 36 muscovy, 32 swedish ducks, 33 wing bar in buff ducks, 35 body shape in breeding ducks, selecting for, 19 braining geese, 206, 209 breaking up goose matings, 154 broody geese, 175 breast-bone as index of age in ducks, 56 breeding drakes, securing, 58 ducks, opportunity to produce, 6 ducks, prices for, 7 season for ducks, 124 breeds of ducks, 9 aylesbury, 23 blue swedish, 33 broodiness of, 18 buff, 35 call, 27 cayuga, 25 common or puddle, 9 crested white, 34 east india, 29 egg, 11 egg production of, 15 mallard, 10 mandarin, 10 meat, 11 mule, 9 muscovy, 29 ornamental, 11 pekin, 21 popularity of, 14 rouen, 23 runner, 36 size of, 14 wood, 10 breeds of geese, 147 african, 156 canadian, 159 chinese, 158 common, 148 egyptian, 160 embden, 156 mongrel, 148 sebastapol, 148 toulouse, 155 wild, 159 brood coop for goslings, 179 brooder capacity on duck plants, 47 houses for ducklings, 80-90 brooders for goslings, 180 broodiness of ducks, 18 geese, 152 geese, breaking up, 175 brooding ducklings, 80-90, 131 goslings, 178 by artificial means, 180 with geese, 179 with hens, 179 without artificial heat, 180 brown chinese goose, 158 brownish color in cayuga ducks, 26 buff ducks, 35 button head in call ducks, 28 buying geese for fattening, 200 c call ducks, 27 canadian goose--see wild capacity of car for geese, 202 farm for fattening geese, 208 incubator for duck eggs, 130 capital, invested, for duck plant, 53 working, for duck plant, 54 care of duck eggs for hatching, 73, 128 goose eggs for hatching, 172 growing goslings, 181 hen sitting on goose eggs, 174 carrying ducks, 39 geese, 162 caruncles on face of muscovy, 29 cases, shipping, for duck eggs, 119, 137 catching ducks, 39 geese, 162 cayuga duck, 25 celery seed, feeding, to fattening ducks, 93 changing feed for fattening geese, 205 chestnut colored head in buff drakes, 35 chilling of goslings by rain, 181 chinese goose, 158 chocolate colored ducks from colored muscovy, 32 claret in breast of rouen drakes, deficiency of, 24 classification of breeds of ducks, 11 cleaning brood coops for goslings, 179 duck breeding houses, 60 brooder houses, 87 yards, 61, 97 goose breeding houses, 168 cleanliness of plumage as indication of health, 19 color of duck eggs, 17 goose eggs, 152 colored flights in fawn and white runners, 37 penciled runners, 38 colored muscovy, 31 commercial duck farming, opportunity for, 4 distribution of, 42 condition of breeding geese, 169 ducks ready to kill, 96 geese for fattening, 200 geese ready to kill, 206 conditioning exhibition ducks, 38 conditions for duck raising on the farm, 120 confining goslings to yards, 181 considerations, general, in making duck matings, 18-21 goose matings, 154 consistency of feed for ducks, 65, 126, 133 fattening geese, 205 construction of brooder houses for ducks, 82 cooking geese to overcome greasiness, 194 cooling duck carcasses, 108 eggs during incubation, 75, 131 cooling goose carcasses, 207, 211 eggs during incubation, 175 coop, growing, for goslings, 182 cooperative feed buying, 101 marketing, 110 copper colored head of buff drakes, 36 cost of picking ducks, 107 geese, 207 creaminess in plumage of aylesbury, 23 pekin, 23 crest, tendency toward, in the pekin, 22 of muscovy, 29 of crested white, 34 crested white duck, 34 crippled ducks, 97, 104 critical period with young ducks, 98 crooked back in ducks, 19 in runner ducks, 37 crooked crest in crested white, 34 crooked tail in ducks, 19 crossed feathers on neck of pekin drake, 22 crossing african and brown chinese geese, 157 curing duck feathers, 117 goose feathers, 211, 213 d darkening pens for fattening geese, 195 for noodling geese, 196 dewlap in toulouse geese, 155 african geese, 157 diarrhoea of ducklings, 99 of goslings, 185 diseases of ducklings, 98-100 of goslings, 185 of mature ducks, 69 prevention of, 98 dished bill in rouen, 24 distinguishing sex in ducks, 13, 135 in geese, 165 young from old ducks, 55 distribution of duck raising, 3 dogs a source of loss in ducks, 69 double crest in crested white ducks, 34 down, removing, from market ducks, 108 from market geese, 207, 210 drake, definition of, 12 adult, meaning of, 13 young, meaning of, 13 drakerel, definition of, 13 drinking dishes for ducklings, 86 for goslings, 183 driving geese from railway to farm, 202 drowning ducks, 31, 128, 135 dry, keeping goslings, 181 dry land duck farms, 44 dry picking ducks, 107 geese, 206 duck, definition of, 12 adult, meaning of, 13 young, meaning of, 13 duck raising as a side line, 120 distribution of, 3 for egg production, 5 for ornamental purposes, 7 kinds of, 4 on the general farm, 5 opportunities for, 4, 120 ducklet, definition of, 13 duckling, meaning of, 12 ducks, number of, in leading states, 3 in u. s., 3 value of, in u. s., 3 dun colored ducks from colored muscovy, 32 e egg class of ducks, 11 egg production, duck raising for, 5 of breeds of ducks, 15 of breeds of geese, 150 of pekins on commercial plants, 66 selection of breeders for, 21 eggs, duck, color of, 17 for hatching, age of, 72 care of, 73, 128 frequency of setting, 72 packing and shipping, 40 prices of, 7 selection of, 73 washing, 130 marketing, 118 size of, 16 eggs, goose, care of, for hatching, 172 color of, 152 size of, 151 washing for hatching, 172 egyptian goose, 160 electric lights for breeding ducks, 67 for duck plants, 51 for ducklings, 94 for fattening geese, 205 embden goose, 156 equipment of pens in duck brooders, 86 examining geese to determine sex, 165 fattened geese for market condition, 206 extent of duck industry, 3 goose industry, 141 eye as indication of health in ducks, 19 f faded gray in brown chinese geese, 158 fading of color in buff ducks, 35 cayuga ducks, 27 gray call ducks, 28 rouen ducks, 25 fasting geese before fattening, 203 fattening farms for geese, 199 fattening geese, by noodling, 196 methods of, 194 on farms in the east, 200 on farms in the middle west, 199 on large fattening farms, 199-208 pen, 195 fattening houses or sheds for ducklings, 48 fattening summer geese, 202 fawn and white runner, 37 fawn colored breasts in rouen females, 25 fawn on neck, too much, in fawn and white runner, 37 feather eating in ducklings, 100 feathered legs in ducks, 19 feathers, saving duck, 117 saving geese, 207, 211 plucking from live geese, 212 feed, cooperative buying of, 101 feed cooker for ducks, 49 cutter for ducks, 49 last, for market ducklings, 103 mixer for ducks, 49 storage for duck plant, 49 troughs or trays for ducks, 66 troughs for fattening geese, 205 wagon for ducks, 65 for geese, 205 feeding breeding ducks, 63 breeding geese, 169 call ducks, 27 ducklings, 92, 132 fattening geese, 195, 196, 203 geese during shipment, 202 goslings, 183 growing and fattening ducklings, 92-94, 132 noodles to geese, 198 show ducks, 39 show geese, 161 supply geese on fattening farms, 202 track on duck plants, 51, 65 fences for ducks, 52, 128 for fattening geese, 203 for geese, 168 fertility of duck eggs, 20, 77 fireless brooding goslings, 180 first feed for ducklings, 92 for goslings, 183 fish, feeding, to ducks, 63, 92, 134 fits in ducklings, 99 flat breast in aylesburys, 23 flatiron shape in call ducks, 28 folded feathers on neck of pekin drake, 22 foreign color in back of white runner ducks, 37 free range for ducks, 120 for geese, 168 for goslings, 182 freezing of ducks to the ground, 62, 128 frequency of plucking live geese for feathers, 212 of setting duck eggs, 72 frightening breeding ducks, 67 ducklings, 94 fattening geese, 205 g gains in weight made by ducklings, 94 secured in noodling geese, 198 secured in pen fattening geese, 195 secured on goose fattening farms, 208 gander, definition of, 149 gapes in ducklings, 99 geese as weed destroyers, 145 goose eggs for hatching, care of, 172 washing, 172 goose fattening farms, 199 goose raising, as a business for farm women, 144 as a side line, 141 distribution of, 141 on general farms, 142 opportunities for, 142 goose septicemia, 186 gosling, definition of, 149 grading growing ducklings, 87 grass yards for goslings, 182 gray call duck, 28 gray, faded, in brown chinese geese, 158 in plumage of blue swedish ducks, 33 stippling on penciled runner drakes, 38 greasing heads of goslings for lice, 178 green bill in aylesbury, 23 in buff ducks, 36 in crested white ducks, 35 in pekin, 22 in white runner, 37 green ducks, 102 green feed for breeding ducks, 64 for breeding geese, 169 for ducklings, 92, 133 for fattening geese, 204 for goslings, 183 green geese, 149, 187 grit for breeding geese, 170 for fattening geese, 204 for goslings, 183 growing green feed for ducks, 64 growth of goslings, rapidity of, 184 gypsy face in muscovy ducks, 32 h handling ducks, 39 geese, 162 geese during noodling, 197 hatches of duck eggs, 78 hatching duck eggs with an incubator, 70, 130 with hens, 129 hatching eggs, duck, packing and shipping, 40 hatching goose eggs with chicken hens, 173 with geese, 174 with incubators, 175 health, selection of breeding ducks for, 19 indications of, in ducks, 19 heating apparatus for duck brooder house, 83 heavy bottoms in runner ducks, 37 hemorrhagic septicemia of geese, 186 horse power required on a duck plant, 50 house capacity for breeding ducks, 46 for fattening ducks, 48 houses for breeding ducks, 59 for breeding geese, 167 hump back in ducks, 19 i identification of ducks by toe punching, 12 incubation, period of, for ducks, 47, 129 for geese, 173 incubator capacity on duck plants, 47, 71 incubator cellar, 70 incubators, kinds of, for duck eggs, 70 injury to ducks, 57, 62 to goslings, 182 insect pests of ducks, 69 k keel, deep, in aylesbury, 23 in call, 28 in pekin, 22 in rouen, 24 killing ducks, 105 geese, 206, 209 house for duck plants, 50 knob on head of african geese, 157 of chinese geese, 158 of muscovy drake, 29 l labor required on duck plants, 52 in noodling geese, 198 lameness of ducklings, 99 of goslings, 185 land required for duck plants, 46 laying ration for ducks, 126 for geese, 169 laying season for ducks, 66, 124 for geese, 167 lay-out of duck plant, 45 length of time in brooder house for ducklings, 88 brooding necessary for goslings, 180 lights for breeding ducks, 67 for ducklings, 94 for fattening geese, 205 live ducks, shipping to market, 116 live geese, shipping to market, 208 plucking for feathers, 212 location of duck plant, 42 of goose fattening farm, 208 lopped crest in white crested ducks, 35 loss in ducklings, 98 in geese during shipment, 202 lost, goslings becoming, 182 lots, fattening, for geese, 203 m making a start in duck raising, 121 making new goose matings, 154 mallard duck, 10 summer plumage of males, 25 mandarin duck, 10 marketing duck eggs, 118, 136 ducks, 102, 135 markets for geese, 187 marking ducklings, 12 goslings, 153 mating ducks, general considerations in, 18 geese, general considerations in, 154 meat class of ducks, 11 mixing feed for ducks, 65 for fattening geese, 204 moisture for duck eggs during incubation, 76, 131 for goose eggs during incubation, 176 molt of ducklings as indication of market condition, 102 mongrel goose, 148, 201 mortality of breeding ducks, 69 of geese during shipment, 202 mosquito larvae, destruction of, by ducks, 8 mule ducks, 9 muscovy duck, 29 n narrow shoulders in call ducks, 28 in pekin ducks, 22 nest, preparing the, for hatching goose eggs, 173 nomenclature of ducks, 12 of geese, 149 noodles, making, for fattening geese, 197 noodling geese, 196 number of breeding ducks required, 46 of ducklings marketed per breeding duck, 46 of ducklings to a pen, 85, 90 of ducks in leading states, 3 of ducks in u. s., 3 of ducks to a drake, 57 of geese carried on fattening farms, 208 of geese in leading states, 141 of geese in u. s., 141 of geese noodled by one man, 198 of geese to the acre, 164 of times ducklings are fed, 92 geese are fed on fattening farms, 203 noodled geese are fed, 197 pen fattened geese are fed, 195 o objections to duck farms, 43 to geese, 145 to goose fattening farms, 208 odor from goose fattening farms, 208 opportunities for duck raising, 4 for goose raising, 142 ornamental purposes, ducks for, 7 class of ducks, 11 output of duck plants, 42, 45 oyster shell, feeding, to breeding ducks, 66 to breeding geese, 170 p packing dressed ducks for shipment, 109 geese for shipment, 211 packing duck hatching eggs, 40 goose hatching eggs, 162 pasturing geese, 164 goslings, 183 patte de fois gras, 199 pay for picking ducks, 107 geese, 207 pekin duck, 21 pekin duck on commercial plants, 42 penciled runner duck, 37 penciling in buff ducks, 35 fawn and white runner females, 37 rouen females, 25 penciling, lack of, in penciled runner females, 38 pen fattening geese, 195 pens for fattening geese, 203 for noodling geese, 196 in brooder house for ducklings 84, 89 percent hatch of duck eggs set, 78 loss in ducklings, 98 in goslings, 184 period of incubation for duck eggs, 129 for goose eggs, 173 for muscovy duck, 30 period of feeding noodled geese, 198 pen fattening geese, 195 picking house for duck plants, 50 picking market ducks, 106 market geese, 206 pin feathers, removing, from ducks, 107 pinioning ducks, 28 wild geese, 159 pneumonia in ducklings, 99 popularity of breeds of ducks, 14 of geese, 150 pounds feed to produce pound of market duck, 95 prejudice against roast goose, 194 preparing ducks for the show, 38 geese for the show, 161 prevention of disease in ducklings, 98 prices of duck breeding stock and eggs, 7 of duck feathers, 118 of goose breeding stock and eggs, 163 of goose feathers, 212 of market ducks, 110 of market geese, 188 of mongrel geese, 208 of specially fattened geese, 208 prince edward island geese, 201 production, yearly, of feathers from live geese, 213 profits from duck farming, 54 protecting feed of geese from other stock, 171 puddle ducks, 9 pulling broken feathers in ducks, 38 in geese, 161 purple barring in black east india ducks, 29 purple rump in rouen drake, 24 q quilling in ducklings, 100 r range for fattening geese, 199 for geese, 164 rapidity of growth of goslings, 184 rations for breeding ducks, 63, 125 for breeding geese, 169 for ducklings, 92, 132 for fattening geese, 195, 197, 203 for goslings, 183 rats as source of loss in ducklings, 101 red in plumage of blue swedish, 33 removing baby ducks to the brooder, 80 newly hatched goslings from the nest, 176 reviving goslings chilled by rain, 181 rhode island geese, 200 ribbon or wing bar, absence of, in gray call, 28 ring, white, in buff ducks, 36 in rouen, 24 width of, in rouen, 24 roach back in ducks, 19 rouen duck, 23 roughage for fattening geese, 195, 199, 204 in rations for geese, 170 round head in runner ducks, 37 runner duck, 36 s sand, feeding, to breeding ducks, 66 to ducklings, 86, 93 to goslings, 183 scalding market ducks, 105 geese, 209 sebastapol goose, 148 selection of breeding ducks, 19 on commercial plants, 56 on general farms, 134 selection of breeding geese, 154 selection of duck eggs for hatching, 73 selecting the breed of ducks, 122 separating growing goslings from old stock, 182 septicemia, goose or hemorrhagic, 186 sex in ducks, distinguishing, 13, 135 in geese, distinguishing, 165 shade for breeding ducks, 60 for fattening summer geese, 202 for goslings, 182 for growing ducklings, 92 sharp backs in runner ducks, 37 shaving market geese to remove down, 209 shelter for fattening geese, 199, 203 for growing goslings, 181 shipping dressed ducks, 109 dressed geese, 208 hatching eggs, duck, 40 geese, 162 shipping live geese for fattening, 201 short legs in runner ducks, 37 shrinking in shipping ducks alive, 116 size of breeding ducks, 19 of breeds of ducks, 14 of breeds of geese, 150 of duck eggs, 16 of duck farms, 42, 44, 46 of flocks of breeding ducks, 46 of flocks of ducks on general farms, 121 of flocks of fattening geese, 195, 196, 199, 202 of goose eggs, 151 of male and female muscovy, 30 of mating in ducks, 20, 123 of mating in geese, 152 of sitting of duck eggs, 7, 129 of sitting of goose eggs, 163, 174 slate on backs of young embden geese, 156 of young white chinese geese, 159 smooth head in muscovy duck, 29 sore eyes in ducklings, 100 sorting growing ducklings, 87 market ducklings, 104 split crest in crested white ducks, 34 steaming ducks for picking, 107 geese for picking, 210 sticking or braining geese, 206, 209 stippling, gray, on penciled runner ducks, 38 stunning geese, 206, 209 summer geese, fattening, 202 summer plumage of rouen drakes, 25 swimming, preventing goslings from, 181 temperatures, incubation, for duck eggs, 74 for goose eggs, 175 temperatures, brooder, for ducklings, 81 for goslings, 180 testing duck eggs, 74, 130 table for candling duck eggs, 75 time of feeding breeding ducks, 63, 126 geese on fattening farms, 203 noodled geese, 196 pen fattened geese, 195 time of first feed for ducklings, 92 for goslings, 183 time of laying with ducks, 67 with geese, 167 time of marketing breeding ducks, 68 of plucking live geese for feathers, 212 to purchase breeding ducks, 121 breeding geese, 166 toulouse goose, defects in, 155 tray, feed, for ducks, 66 triple crest in crested white ducks, 34 trough, feed, for ducks, 66 turning duck eggs during incubation, 75 goose eggs during incubation, 174, 175 twisted wings in ducks, 19 u uses for duck feathers, 118 for goose feathers, 212 v value of duck feathers, 117 of ducks in the u. s., 8 of goose feathers, 207 vegetables, feeding, to ducks, 63 ventilation for goslings, 179 of brooder houses, 88 of incubator cellars, 71 of incubators when hatching, 77 vigor, selection of breeding ducks for, 19 w washing duck eggs for hatching, 130 goose eggs for hatching, 172 show ducks, 39 show geese, 162 water for breeding ducks, 61, 127 for breeding geese, 165 for ducklings, 96, 135 for fattening geese, 195, 198, 204 for geese during shipment, 202 for goslings, 183 water site for duck plants, 42 water supply for duck plants, 52 water yards for breeding ducks, 61 for growing and fattening ducklings, 96, 135 weed destruction by geese, 96, 103 weight of ducklings when ready for market, 96, 103 of geese from fattening farms, 208 of goslings when ready for market, 185 of green geese, 184, 187 of noodled geese, 198 weights of black east india ducks, 14 of call ducks, 14 of duck eggs, 14 of goose eggs, 151 of mallard ducks, 10 of standard breeds of ducks, 14 of standard breeds of geese, 150 white around eyes of blue swedish, 34 of cayuga, 26 white bib in blue swedish, 33 in buff ducks, 36 white call duck, description of, 28 white chinese goose, 159 white in breast of black east india, 29 of cayuga, 26 white in fluff of rouen drake, 24 white in wings of african geese, 157 of blue swedish ducks, 33 of brown chinese geese, 159 of buff ducks, 35 of gray call ducks, 28 of rouen ducks, 24 of toulouse geese, 156 white muscovy duck, description of, 32 black on head of young, 32 white on head of colored muscovy, 32 white on neck of cayuga, 26 white runner duck, 37 wild or canadian goose, 159 windpipe as indication of age in ducks, 56 wing bar, absence of, in gray call females, 28 wood duck, 10 y yards for breeding ducks, 58, 128 for breeding geese, 168 for fattening ducklings, 91 for fattening geese, 203 for goslings, 181 yellow bills in blue swedish, 34 in rouen females, 25 yellow, loss of, legs and bills of pekin with laying, 56 yellow on knob of african geese, 157 of brown chinese geese, 158 of white chinese geese, 159 yield of feathers from live geese, 213 * * * * * transcriber's notes apart from minor changes to formatting, table alignment and punctuation, the only changes made to the text from the original are as follows: preface (2nd page): "minumum" changed to "minimum" (... with the minimum of initial investment and of labor.) "sebastapool" changed to "sebastapol" in list of illustrations (egyptian gander and sebastapol goose) figure 50 caption, and twice in the index. this is consistent with the use of "sebastapol" in the text. page 20: "neccessary" changed to "necessary" (... it becomes neccessary to mate a smaller number of females ...). page 30: missing page reference added (see page 14). page 72: comma deleted after "of" (of course, eggs sufficient to fill the entire incubator capacity ...). fig 28 caption: "yords" changed to "yards" (long brooder house and yards with feeding track.) page 107: duplicate word "the" deleted (... hung in a steam box with the heads outside ...) page 131: "chickens" changed to "chicken" (ducklings can be brooded if desired by means of chicken hens.) page 136: missing page reference added (... in accordance with the directions given on page 106). page 137: missing page reference added (see page 119). page 141: "1920" changed to "1910" (the census figures of 1920 compared with those for 1910 ...) page 145: "in" changed to "is" (an objection to geese often expressed but without good foundation is that they will spoil the pasture for other stock.) page 154: "ameriacn" changed to "american" (... the american standard of perfection.) page 155 footnote: "standard" changed to initial upper case "standard" (american standard of perfection). page 163: missing page reference added (the same method of packing the eggs should be employed as with duck eggs described on page 137.) page 165: "thoughout" changed to "throughout" (... green feed available throughout the summer and fall ...) page 166: "penus" changed to "penis" (... the penis will protrude.) page 182: "close" changed to "closed" (it should have a board floor and be capable of being closed ...) page 194: "pleasanty" changed to "pleasantly" ( ...one will be pleasantly surprised at the rich taste which the roast goose possesses.) page 211: missing page reference added ( ... in the same way as when packing ducks as described on page 109.) page 222 (index): "stipling" changed to "stippling" (gray stippling on penciled runner drakes). [transcriber's note: the inconsistent orthography of the original is retained in this etext.] the wonderful adventures of nils by selma lagerlöf translated from the swedish by velma swanston howard contents the boy akka from kebnekaise the wonderful journey of nils glimminge castle the great crane dance on kullaberg in rainy weather the stairway with the three steps by ronneby river karlskrona the trip to öland öland's southern point the big butterfly little karl's island two cities the legend of småland the crows the old peasant woman from taberg to huskvarna the big bird lake ulvåsa-lady the homespun cloth the story of karr and grayskin the wind witch the breaking up of the ice thumbietot and the bears the flood dunfin stockholm gorgo the eagle on over gästrikland a day in hälsingland in medelpad a morning in ångermanland westbottom and lapland osa, the goose girl, and little mats with the laplanders homeward bound legends from härjedalen vermland and dalsland the treasure on the island the journey to vemminghög home at last the parting with the wild geese _some of the purely geographical matter in the swedish original of the "further adventures of nils" has been eliminated from the english version. the author has rendered valuable assistance in cutting certain chapters and abridging others. also, with the author's approval, cuts have been made where the descriptive matter was merely of local interest. but the story itself is intact. v.s.h_. the boy the elf _sunday, march twentieth_. once there was a boy. he was--let us say--something like fourteen years old; long and loose-jointed and towheaded. he wasn't good for much, that boy. his chief delight was to eat and sleep; and after that--he liked best to make mischief. it was a sunday morning and the boy's parents were getting ready to go to church. the boy sat on the edge of the table, in his shirt sleeves, and thought how lucky it was that both father and mother were going away, and the coast would be clear for a couple of hours. "good! now i can take down pop's gun and fire off a shot, without anybody's meddling interference," he said to himself. but it was almost as if father should have guessed the boy's thoughts, for just as he was on the threshold--ready to start--he stopped short, and turned toward the boy. "since you won't come to church with mother and me," he said, "the least you can do, is to read the service at home. will you promise to do so?" "yes," said the boy, "that i can do easy enough." and he thought, of course, that he wouldn't read any more than he felt like reading. the boy thought that never had he seen his mother so persistent. in a second she was over by the shelf near the fireplace, and took down luther's commentary and laid it on the table, in front of the window--opened at the service for the day. she also opened the new testament, and placed it beside the commentary. finally, she drew up the big arm-chair, which was bought at the parish auction the year before, and which, as a rule, no one but father was permitted to occupy. the boy sat thinking that his mother was giving herself altogether too much trouble with this spread; for he had no intention of reading more than a page or so. but now, for the second time, it was almost as if his father were able to see right through him. he walked up to the boy, and said in a severe tone: "now, remember, that you are to read carefully! for when we come back, i shall question you thoroughly; and if you have skipped a single page, it will not go well with you." "the service is fourteen and a half pages long," said his mother, just as if she wanted to heap up the measure of his misfortune. "you'll have to sit down and begin the reading at once, if you expect to get through with it." with that they departed. and as the boy stood in the doorway watching them, he thought that he had been caught in a trap. "there they go congratulating themselves, i suppose, in the belief that they've hit upon something so good that i'll be forced to sit and hang over the sermon the whole time that they are away," thought he. but his father and mother were certainly not congratulating themselves upon anything of the sort; but, on the contrary, they were very much distressed. they were poor farmers, and their place was not much bigger than a garden-plot. when they first moved there, the place couldn't feed more than one pig and a pair of chickens; but they were uncommonly industrious and capable folk--and now they had both cows and geese. things had turned out very well for them; and they would have gone to church that beautiful morning--satisfied and happy--if they hadn't had their son to think of. father complained that he was dull and lazy; he had not cared to learn anything at school, and he was such an all-round good-for-nothing, that he could barely be made to tend geese. mother did not deny that this was true; but she was most distressed because he was wild and bad; cruel to animals, and ill-willed toward human beings. "may god soften his hard heart, and give him a better disposition!" said the mother, "or else he will be a misfortune, both to himself and to us." the boy stood for a long time and pondered whether he should read the service or not. finally, he came to the conclusion that, this time, it was best to be obedient. he seated himself in the easy chair, and began to read. but when he had been rattling away in an undertone for a little while, this mumbling seemed to have a soothing effect upon him--and he began to nod. it was the most beautiful weather outside! it was only the twentieth of march; but the boy lived in west vemminghög township, down in southern skane, where the spring was already in full swing. it was not as yet green, but it was fresh and budding. there was water in all the trenches, and the colt's-foot on the edge of the ditch was in bloom. all the weeds that grew in among the stones were brown and shiny. the beech-woods in the distance seemed to swell and grow thicker with every second. the skies were high--and a clear blue. the cottage door stood ajar, and the lark's trill could be heard in the room. the hens and geese pattered about in the yard, and the cows, who felt the spring air away in their stalls, lowed their approval every now and then. the boy read and nodded and fought against drowsiness. "no! i don't want to fall asleep," thought he, "for then i'll not get through with this thing the whole forenoon." but--somehow--he fell asleep. he did not know whether he had slept a short while, or a long while; but he was awakened by hearing a slight noise back of him. on the window-sill, facing the boy, stood a small looking-glass; and almost the entire cottage could be seen in this. as the boy raised his head, he happened to look in the glass; and then he saw that the cover to his mother's chest had been opened. his mother owned a great, heavy, iron-bound oak chest, which she permitted no one but herself to open. here she treasured all the things she had inherited from her mother, and of these she was especially careful. here lay a couple of old-time peasant dresses, of red homespun cloth, with short bodice and plaited shirt, and a pearl-bedecked breast pin. there were starched white-linen head-dresses, and heavy silver ornaments and chains. folks don't care to go about dressed like that in these days, and several times his mother had thought of getting rid of the old things; but somehow, she hadn't had the heart to do it. now the boy saw distinctly--in the glass--that the chest-lid was open. he could not understand how this had happened, for his mother had closed the chest before she went away. she never would have left that precious chest open when he was at home, alone. he became low-spirited and apprehensive. he was afraid that a thief had sneaked his way into the cottage. he didn't dare to move; but sat still and stared into the looking-glass. while he sat there and waited for the thief to make his appearance, he began to wonder what that dark shadow was which fell across the edge of the chest. he looked and looked--and did not want to believe his eyes. but the thing, which at first seemed shadowy, became more and more clear to him; and soon he saw that it was something real. it was no less a thing than an elf who sat there--astride the edge of the chest! to be sure, the boy had heard stories about elves, but he had never dreamed that they were such tiny creatures. he was no taller than a hand's breadth--this one, who sat on the edge of the chest. he had an old, wrinkled and beardless face, and was dressed in a black frock coat, knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed black hat. he was very trim and smart, with his white laces about the throat and wrist-bands, his buckled shoes, and the bows on his garters. he had taken from the chest an embroidered piece, and sat and looked at the old-fashioned handiwork with such an air of veneration, that he did not observe the boy had awakened. the boy was somewhat surprised to see the elf, but, on the other hand, he was not particularly frightened. it was impossible to be afraid of one who was so little. and since the elf was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he neither saw nor heard, the boy thought that it would be great fun to play a trick on him; to push him over into the chest and shut the lid on him, or something of that kind. but the boy was not so courageous that he dared to touch the elf with his hands, instead he looked around the room for something to poke him with. he let his gaze wander from the sofa to the leaf-table; from the leaf-table to the fireplace. he looked at the kettles, then at the coffee-urn, which stood on a shelf, near the fireplace; on the water bucket near the door; and on the spoons and knives and forks and saucers and plates, which could be seen through the half-open cupboard door. he looked at his father's gun, which hung on the wall, beside the portrait of the danish royal family, and on the geraniums and fuchsias, which blossomed in the window. and last, he caught sight of an old butterfly-snare that hung on the window frame. he had hardly set eyes on that butterfly-snare, before he reached over and snatched it and jumped up and swung it alongside the edge of the chest. he was himself astonished at the luck he had. he hardly knew how he had managed it--but he had actually snared the elf. the poor little chap lay, head downward, in the bottom of the long snare, and could not free himself. the first moment the boy hadn't the least idea what he should do with his prize. he was only particular to swing the snare backward and forward; to prevent the elf from getting a foothold and clambering up. the elf began to speak, and begged, oh! so pitifully, for his freedom. he had brought them good luck--these many years--he said, and deserved better treatment. now, if the boy would set him free, he would give him an old coin, a silver spoon, and a gold penny, as big as the case on his father's silver watch. the boy didn't think that this was much of an offer; but it so happened--that after he had gotten the elf in his power, he was afraid of him. he felt that he had entered into an agreement with something weird and uncanny; something which did not belong to his world, and he was only too glad to get rid of the horrid thing. for this reason he agreed at once to the bargain, and held the snare still, so the elf could crawl out of it. but when the elf was almost out of the snare, the boy happened to think that he ought to have bargained for large estates, and all sorts of good things. he should at least have made this stipulation: that the elf must conjure the sermon into his head. "what a fool i was to let him go!" thought he, and began to shake the snare violently, so the elf would tumble down again. but the instant the boy did this, he received such a stinging box on the ear, that he thought his head would fly in pieces. he was dashed--first against one wall, then against the other; he sank to the floor, and lay there--senseless. when he awoke, he was alone in the cottage. the chest-lid was down, and the butterfly-snare hung in its usual place by the window. if he had not felt how the right cheek burned, from that box on the ear, he would have been tempted to believe the whole thing had been a dream. "at any rate, father and mother will be sure to insist that it was nothing else," thought he. "they are not likely to make any allowances for that old sermon, on account of the elf. it's best for me to get at that reading again," thought he. but as he walked toward the table, he noticed something remarkable. it couldn't be possible that the cottage had grown. but why was he obliged to take so many more steps than usual to get to the table? and what was the matter with the chair? it looked no bigger than it did a while ago; but now he had to step on the rung first, and then clamber up in order to reach the seat. it was the same thing with the table. he could not look over the top without climbing to the arm of the chair. "what in all the world is this?" said the boy. "i believe the elf has bewitched both the armchair and the table--and the whole cottage." the commentary lay on the table and, to all appearances, it was not changed; but there must have been something queer about that too, for he could not manage to read a single word of it, without actually standing right in the book itself. he read a couple of lines, and then he chanced to look up. with that, his glance fell on the looking-glass; and then he cried aloud: "look! there's another one!" for in the glass he saw plainly a little, little creature who was dressed in a hood and leather breeches. "why, that one is dressed exactly like me!" said the boy, and clasped his hands in astonishment. but then he saw that the thing in the mirror did the same thing. then he began to pull his hair and pinch his arms and swing round; and instantly he did the same thing after him; he, who was seen in the mirror. the boy ran around the glass several times, to see if there wasn't a little man hidden behind it, but he found no one there; and then he began to shake with terror. for now he understood that the elf had bewitched him, and that the creature whose image he saw in the glass--was he, himself. the wild geese the boy simply could not make himself believe that he had been transformed into an elf. "it can't be anything but a dream--a queer fancy," thought he. "if i wait a few moments, i'll surely be turned back into a human being again." he placed himself before the glass and closed his eyes. he opened them again after a couple of minutes, and then expected to find that it had all passed over--but it hadn't. he was--and remained--just as little. in other respects, he was the same as before. the thin, straw-coloured hair; the freckles across his nose; the patches on his leather breeches and the darns on his stockings, were all like themselves, with this exception--that they had become diminished. no, it would do no good for him to stand still and wait, of this he was certain. he must try something else. and he thought the wisest thing that he could do was to try and find the elf, and make his peace with him. and while he sought, he cried and prayed and promised everything he could think of. nevermore would he break his word to anyone; never again would he be naughty; and never, never would he fall asleep again over the sermon. if he might only be a human being once more, he would be such a good and helpful and obedient boy. but no matter how much he promised--it did not help him the least little bit. suddenly he remembered that he had heard his mother say, all the tiny folk made their home in the cowsheds; and, at once, he concluded to go there, and see if he couldn't find the elf. it was a lucky thing that the cottage-door stood partly open, for he never could have reached the bolt and opened it; but now he slipped through without any difficulty. when he came out in the hallway, he looked around for his wooden shoes; for in the house, to be sure, he had gone about in his stocking-feet. he wondered how he should manage with these big, clumsy wooden shoes; but just then, he saw a pair of tiny shoes on the doorstep. when he observed that the elf had been so thoughtful that he had also bewitched the wooden shoes, he was even more troubled. it was evidently his intention that this affliction should last a long time. on the wooden board-walk in front of the cottage, hopped a gray sparrow. he had hardly set eyes on the boy before he called out: "teetee! teetee! look at nils goosey-boy! look at thumbietot! look at nils holgersson thumbietot!" instantly, both the geese and the chickens turned and stared at the boy; and then they set up a fearful cackling. "cock-el-i-coo," crowed the rooster, "good enough for him! cock-el-i-coo, he has pulled my comb." "ka, ka, kada, serves him right!" cried the hens; and with that they kept up a continuous cackle. the geese got together in a tight group, stuck their heads together and asked: "who can have done this? who can have done this?" but the strangest thing of all was, that the boy understood what they said. he was so astonished, that he stood there as if rooted to the doorstep, and listened. "it must be because i am changed into an elf," said he. "this is probably why i understand bird-talk." he thought it was unbearable that the hens would not stop saying that it served him right. he threw a stone at them and shouted: "shut up, you pack!" but it hadn't occurred to him before, that he was no longer the sort of boy the hens need fear. the whole henyard made a rush for him, and formed a ring around him; then they all cried at once: "ka, ka, kada, served you right! ka, ka, kada, served you right!" the boy tried to get away, but the chickens ran after him and screamed, until he thought he'd lose his hearing. it is more than likely that he never could have gotten away from them, if the house cat hadn't come along just then. as soon as the chickens saw the cat, they quieted down and pretended to be thinking of nothing else than just to scratch in the earth for worms. immediately the boy ran up to the cat. "you dear pussy!" said he, "you must know all the corners and hiding places about here? you'll be a good little kitty and tell me where i can find the elf." the cat did not reply at once. he seated himself, curled his tail into a graceful ring around his paws--and stared at the boy. it was a large black cat with one white spot on his chest. his fur lay sleek and soft, and shone in the sunlight. the claws were drawn in, and the eyes were a dull gray, with just a little narrow dark streak down the centre. the cat looked thoroughly good-natured and inoffensive. "i know well enough where the elf lives," he said in a soft voice, "but that doesn't say that i'm going to tell _you_ about it." "dear pussy, you must tell me where the elf lives!" said the boy. "can't you see how he has bewitched me?" the cat opened his eyes a little, so that the green wickedness began to shine forth. he spun round and purred with satisfaction before he replied. "shall i perhaps help you because you have so often grabbed me by the tail?" he said at last. then the boy was furious and forgot entirely how little and helpless he was now. "oh! i can pull your tail again, i can," said he, and ran toward the cat. the next instant the cat was so changed that the boy could scarcely believe it was the same animal. every separate hair on his body stood on end. the back was bent; the legs had become elongated; the claws scraped the ground; the tail had grown thick and short; the ears were laid back; the mouth was frothy; and the eyes were wide open and glistened like sparks of red fire. the boy didn't want to let himself be scared by a cat, and he took a step forward. then the cat made one spring and landed right on the boy; knocked him down and stood over him--his forepaws on his chest, and his jaws wide apart--over his throat. the boy felt how the sharp claws sank through his vest and shirt and into his skin; and how the sharp eye-teeth tickled his throat. he shrieked for help, as loudly as he could, but no one came. he thought surely that his last hour had come. then he felt that the cat drew in his claws and let go the hold on his throat. "there!" he said, "that will do now. i'll let you go this time, for my mistress's sake. i only wanted you to know which one of us two has the power now." with that the cat walked away--looking as smooth and pious as he did when he first appeared on the scene. the boy was so crestfallen that he didn't say a word, but only hurried to the cowhouse to look for the elf. there were not more than three cows, all told. but when the boy came in, there was such a bellowing and such a kick-up, that one might easily have believed that there were at least thirty. "moo, moo, moo," bellowed mayrose. "it is well there is such a thing as justice in this world." "moo, moo, moo," sang the three of them in unison. he couldn't hear what they said, for each one tried to out-bellow the others. the boy wanted to ask after the elf, but he couldn't make himself heard because the cows were in full uproar. they carried on as they used to do when he let a strange dog in on them. they kicked with their hind legs, shook their necks, stretched their heads, and measured the distance with their horns. "come here, you!" said mayrose, "and you'll get a kick that you won't forget in a hurry!" "come here," said gold lily, "and you shall dance on my horns!" "come here, and you shall taste how it felt when you threw your wooden shoes at me, as you did last summer!" bawled star. "come here, and you shall be repaid for that wasp you let loose in my ear!" growled gold lily. mayrose was the oldest and the wisest of them, and she was the very maddest. "come here!" said she, "that i may pay you back for the many times that you have jerked the milk pail away from your mother; and for all the snares you laid for her, when she came carrying the milk pails; and for all the tears when she has stood here and wept over you!" the boy wanted to tell them how he regretted that he had been unkind to them; and that never, never--from now on--should he be anything but good, if they would only tell him where the elf was. but the cows didn't listen to him. they made such a racket that he began to fear one of them would succeed in breaking loose; and he thought that the best thing for him to do was to go quietly away from the cowhouse. when he came out, he was thoroughly disheartened. he could understand that no one on the place wanted to help him find the elf. and little good would it do him, probably, if the elf were found. he crawled up on the broad hedge which fenced in the farm, and which was overgrown with briers and lichen. there he sat down to think about how it would go with him, if he never became a human being again. when father and mother came home from church, there would be a surprise for them. yes, a surprise--it would be all over the land; and people would come flocking from east vemminghög, and from torp, and from skerup. the whole vemminghög township would come to stare at him. perhaps father and mother would take him with them, and show him at the market place in kivik. no, that was too horrible to think about. he would rather that no human being should ever see him again. his unhappiness was simply frightful! no one in all the world was so unhappy as he. he was no longer a human being--but a freak. little by little he began to comprehend what it meant--to be no longer human. he was separated from everything now; he could no longer play with other boys, he could not take charge of the farm after his parents were gone; and certainly no girl would think of marrying _him_. he sat and looked at his home. it was a little log house, which lay as if it had been crushed down to earth, under the high, sloping roof. the outhouses were also small; and the patches of ground were so narrow that a horse could barely turn around on them. but little and poor though the place was, it was much too good for him _now_. he couldn't ask for any better place than a hole under the stable floor. it was wondrously beautiful weather! it budded, and it rippled, and it murmured, and it twittered--all around him. but he sat there with such a heavy sorrow. he should never be happy any more about anything. never had he seen the skies as blue as they were to-day. birds of passage came on their travels. they came from foreign lands, and had travelled over the east sea, by way of smygahuk, and were now on their way north. they were of many different kinds; but he was only familiar with the wild geese, who came flying in two long rows, which met at an angle. several flocks of wild geese had already flown by. they flew very high, still he could hear how they shrieked: "to the hills! now we're off to the hills!" when the wild geese saw the tame geese, who walked about the farm, they sank nearer the earth, and called: "come along! come along! we're off to the hills!" the tame geese could not resist the temptation to raise their heads and listen, but they answered very sensibly: "we're pretty well off where we are. we're pretty well off where we are." it was, as we have said, an uncommonly fine day, with an atmosphere that it must have been a real delight to fly in, so light and bracing. and with each new wild geese-flock that flew by, the tame geese became more and more unruly. a couple of times they flapped their wings, as if they had half a mind to fly along. but then an old mother-goose would always say to them: "now don't be silly. those creatures will have to suffer both hunger and cold." there was a young gander whom the wild geese had fired with a passion for adventure. "if another flock comes this way, i'll follow them," said he. then there came a new flock, who shrieked like the others, and the young gander answered: "wait a minute! wait a minute! i'm coming." he spread his wings and raised himself into the air; but he was so unaccustomed to flying, that he fell to the ground again. at any rate, the wild geese must have heard his call, for they turned and flew back slowly to see if he was coming. "wait, wait!" he cried, and made another attempt to fly. all this the boy heard, where he lay on the hedge. "it would be a great pity," thought he, "if the big goosey-gander should go away. it would be a big loss to father and mother if he was gone when they came home from church." when he thought of this, once again he entirely forgot that he was little and helpless. he took one leap right down into the goose-flock, and threw his arms around the neck of the goosey-gander. "oh, no! you don't fly away this time, sir!" cried he. but just about then, the gander was considering how he should go to work to raise himself from the ground. he couldn't stop to shake the boy off, hence he had to go along with him--up in the air. they bore on toward the heights so rapidly, that the boy fairly gasped. before he had time to think that he ought to let go his hold around the gander's neck, he was so high up that he would have been killed instantly, if he had fallen to the ground. the only thing that he could do to make himself a little more comfortable, was to try and get upon the gander's back. and there he wriggled himself forthwith; but not without considerable trouble. and it was not an easy matter, either, to hold himself secure on the slippery back, between two swaying wings. he had to dig deep into feathers and down with both hands, to keep from tumbling to the ground. the big checked cloth the boy had grown so giddy that it was a long while before he came to himself. the winds howled and beat against him, and the rustle of feathers and swaying of wings sounded like a whole storm. thirteen geese flew around him, flapping their wings and honking. they danced before his eyes and they buzzed in his ears. he didn't know whether they flew high or low, or in what direction they were travelling. after a bit, he regained just enough sense to understand that he ought to find out where the geese were taking him. but this was not so easy, for he didn't know how he should ever muster up courage enough to look down. he was sure he'd faint if he attempted it. the wild geese were not flying very high because the new travelling companion could not breathe in the very thinnest air. for his sake they also flew a little slower than usual. at last the boy just made himself cast one glance down to earth. then he thought that a great big rug lay spread beneath him, which was made up of an incredible number of large and small checks. "where in all the world am i now?" he wondered. he saw nothing but check upon check. some were broad and ran crosswise, and some were long and narrow--all over, there were angles and corners. nothing was round, and nothing was crooked. "what kind of a big, checked cloth is this that i'm looking down on?" said the boy to himself without expecting anyone to answer him. but instantly the wild geese who flew about him called out: "fields and meadows. fields and meadows." then he understood that the big, checked cloth he was travelling over was the flat land of southern sweden; and he began to comprehend why it looked so checked and multi-coloured. the bright green checks he recognised first; they were rye fields that had been sown in the fall, and had kept themselves green under the winter snows. the yellowish-gray checks were stubble-fields--the remains of the oat-crop which had grown there the summer before. the brownish ones were old clover meadows: and the black ones, deserted grazing lands or ploughed-up fallow pastures. the brown checks with the yellow edges were, undoubtedly, beech-tree forests; for in these you'll find the big trees which grow in the heart of the forest--naked in winter; while the little beech-trees, which grow along the borders, keep their dry, yellowed leaves way into the spring. there were also dark checks with gray centres: these were the large, built-up estates encircled by the small cottages with their blackening straw roofs, and their stone-divided land-plots. and then there were checks green in the middle with brown borders: these were the orchards, where the grass-carpets were already turning green, although the trees and bushes around them were still in their nude, brown bark. the boy could not keep from laughing when he saw how checked everything looked. but when the wild geese heard him laugh, they called out--kind o' reprovingly: "fertile and good land. fertile and good land." the boy had already become serious. "to think that you can laugh; you, who have met with the most terrible misfortune that can possibly happen to a human being!" thought he. and for a moment he was pretty serious; but it wasn't long before he was laughing again. now that he had grown somewhat accustomed to the ride and the speed, so that he could think of something besides holding himself on the gander's back, he began to notice how full the air was of birds flying northward. and there was a shouting and a calling from flock to flock. "so you came over to-day?" shrieked some. "yes," answered the geese. "how do you think the spring's getting on?" "not a leaf on the trees and ice-cold water in the lakes," came back the answer. when the geese flew over a place where they saw any tame, half-naked fowl, they shouted: "what's the name of this place? what's the name of this place?" then the roosters cocked their heads and answered: "its name's lillgarde this year--the same as last year." most of the cottages were probably named after their owners--which is the custom in skåne. but instead of saying this is "per matssons," or "ola bossons," the roosters hit upon the kind of names which, to their way of thinking, were more appropriate. those who lived on small farms, and belonged to poor cottagers, cried: "this place is called grainscarce." and those who belonged to the poorest hut-dwellers screamed: "the name of this place is little-to-eat, little-to-eat, little-to-eat." the big, well-cared-for farms got high-sounding names from the roosters--such as luckymeadows, eggberga and moneyville. but the roosters on the great landed estates were too high and mighty to condescend to anything like jesting. one of them crowed and called out with such gusto that it sounded as if he wanted to be heard clear up to the sun: "this is herr dybeck's estate; the same this year as last year; this year as last year." a little further on strutted one rooster who crowed: "this is swanholm, surely all the world knows that!" the boy observed that the geese did not fly straight forward; but zigzagged hither and thither over the whole south country, just as though they were glad to be in skåne again and wanted to pay their respects to every separate place. they came to one place where there were a number of big, clumsy-looking buildings with great, tall chimneys, and all around these were a lot of smaller houses. "this is jordberga sugar refinery," cried the roosters. the boy shuddered as he sat there on the goose's back. he ought to have recognised this place, for it was not very far from his home. here he had worked the year before as a watch boy; but, to be sure, nothing was exactly like itself when one saw it like that--from up above. and think! just think! osa the goose girl and little mats, who were his comrades last year! indeed the boy would have been glad to know if they still were anywhere about here. fancy what they would have said, had they suspected that he was flying over their heads! soon jordberga was lost to sight, and they travelled towards svedala and skaber lake and back again over görringe cloister and häckeberga. the boy saw more of skåne in this one day than he had ever seen before--in all the years that he had lived. whenever the wild geese happened across any tame geese, they had the best fun! they flew forward very slowly and called down: "we're off to the hills. are you coming along? are you coming along?" but the tame geese answered: "it's still winter in this country. you're out too soon. fly back! fly back!" the wild geese lowered themselves that they might be heard a little better, and called: "come along! we'll teach you how to fly and swim." then the tame geese got mad and wouldn't answer them with a single honk. the wild geese sank themselves still lower--until they almost touched the ground--then, quick as lightning, they raised themselves, just as if they'd been terribly frightened. "oh, oh, oh!" they exclaimed. "those things were not geese. they were only sheep, they were only sheep." the ones on the ground were beside themselves with rage and shrieked: "may you be shot, the whole lot o' you! the whole lot o' you!" when the boy heard all this teasing he laughed. then he remembered how badly things had gone with him, and he cried. but the next second, he was laughing again. never before had he ridden so fast; and to ride fast and recklessly--that he had always liked. and, of course, he had never dreamed that it could be as fresh and bracing as it was, up in the air; or that there rose from the earth such a fine scent of resin and soil. nor had he ever dreamed what it could be like--to ride so high above the earth. it was just like flying away from sorrow and trouble and annoyances of every kind that could be thought of. akka from kebnekaise evening the big tame goosey-gander that had followed them up in the air, felt very proud of being permitted to travel back and forth over the south country with the wild geese, and crack jokes with the tame birds. but in spite of his keen delight, he began to tire as the afternoon wore on. he tried to take deeper breaths and quicker wing-strokes, but even so he remained several goose-lengths behind the others. when the wild geese who flew last, noticed that the tame one couldn't keep up with them, they began to call to the goose who rode in the centre of the angle and led the procession: "akka from kebnekaise! akka from kebnekaise!" "what do you want of me?" asked the leader. "the white one will be left behind; the white one will be left behind." "tell him it's easier to fly fast than slow!" called the leader, and raced on as before. the goosey-gander certainly tried to follow the advice, and increase his speed; but then he became so exhausted that he sank away down to the drooping willows that bordered the fields and meadows. "akka, akka, akka from kebnekaise!" cried those who flew last and saw what a hard time he was having. "what do you want now?" asked the leader--and she sounded awfully angry. "the white one sinks to the earth; the white one sinks to the earth." "tell him it's easier to fly high than low!" shouted the leader, and she didn't slow up the least little bit, but raced on as before. the goosey-gander tried also to follow this advice; but when he wanted to raise himself, he became so winded that he almost burst his breast. "akka, akka!" again cried those who flew last. "can't you let me fly in peace?" asked the leader, and she sounded even madder than before. "the white one is ready to collapse." "tell him that he who has not the strength to fly with the flock, can go back home!" cried the leader. she certainly had no idea of decreasing her speed--but raced on as before. "oh! is that the way the wind blows," thought the goosey-gander. he understood at once that the wild geese had never intended to take him along up to lapland. they had only lured him away from home in sport. he felt thoroughly exasperated. to think that his strength should fail him now, so he wouldn't be able to show these tramps that even a tame goose was good for something! but the most provoking thing of all was that he had fallen in with akka from kebnekaise. tame goose that he was, he had heard about a leader goose, named akka, who was more than a hundred years old. she had such a big name that the best wild geese in the world followed her. but no one had such a contempt for tame geese as akka and her flock, and gladly would he have shown them that he was their equal. he flew slowly behind the rest, while he deliberated whether he should turn back or continue. finally, the little creature that he carried on his back said: "dear morten goosey-gander, you know well enough that it is simply impossible for you, who have never flown, to go with the wild geese all the way up to lapland. won't you turn back before you kill yourself?" but the farmer's lad was about the worst thing the goosey-gander knew anything about, and as soon as it dawned on him that this puny creature actually believed that he couldn't make the trip, he decided to stick it out. "if you say another word about this, i'll drop you into the first ditch we ride over!" said he, and at the same time his fury gave him so much strength that he began to fly almost as well as any of the others. it isn't likely that he could have kept this pace up very long, neither was it necessary; for, just then, the sun sank quickly; and at sunset the geese flew down, and before the boy and the goosey-gander knew what had happened, they stood on the shores of vomb lake. "they probably intend that we shall spend the night here," thought the boy, and jumped down from the goose's back. he stood on a narrow beach by a fair-sized lake. it was ugly to look upon, because it was almost entirely covered with an ice-crust that was blackened and uneven and full of cracks and holes--as spring ice generally is. the ice was already breaking up. it was loose and floating and had a broad belt of dark, shiny water all around it; but there was still enough of it left to spread chill and winter terror over the place. on the other side of the lake there appeared to be an open and light country, but where the geese had lighted there was a thick pine-growth. it looked as if the forest of firs and pines had the power to bind the winter to itself. everywhere else the ground was bare; but beneath the sharp pine-branches lay snow that had been melting and freezing, melting and freezing, until it was hard as ice. the boy thought he had struck an arctic wilderness, and he was so miserable that he wanted to scream. he was hungry too. he hadn't eaten a bite the whole day. but where should he find any food? nothing eatable grew on either ground or tree in the month of march. yes, where was he to find food, and who would give him shelter, and who would fix his bed, and who would protect him from the wild beasts? for now the sun was away and frost came from the lake, and darkness sank down from heaven, and terror stole forward on the twilight's trail, and in the forest it began to patter and rustle. now the good humour which the boy had felt when he was up in the air, was gone, and in his misery he looked around for his travelling companions. he had no one but them to cling to now. then he saw that the goosey-gander was having even a worse time of it than he. he was lying prostrate on the spot where he had alighted; and it looked as if he were ready to die. his neck lay flat against the ground, his eyes were closed, and his breathing sounded like a feeble hissing. "dear morten goosey-gander," said the boy, "try to get a swallow of water! it isn't two steps to the lake." but the goosey-gander didn't stir. the boy had certainly been cruel to all animals, and to the goosey-gander in times gone by; but now he felt that the goosey-gander was the only comfort he had left, and he was dreadfully afraid of losing him. at once the boy began to push and drag him, to get him into the water, but the goosey-gander was big and heavy, and it was mighty hard work for the boy; but at last he succeeded. the goosey-gander got in head first. for an instant he lay motionless in the slime, but soon he poked up his head, shook the water from his eyes and sniffed. then he swam, proudly, between reeds and seaweed. the wild geese were in the lake before him. they had not looked around for either the goosey-gander or for his rider, but had made straight for the water. they had bathed and primped, and now they lay and gulped half-rotten pond-weed and water-clover. the white goosey-gander had the good fortune to spy a perch. he grabbed it quickly, swam ashore with it, and laid it down in front of the boy. "here's a thank you for helping me into the water," said he. it was the first time the boy had heard a friendly word that day. he was so happy that he wanted to throw his arms around the goosey-gander's neck, but he refrained; and he was also thankful for the gift. at first he must have thought that it would be impossible to eat raw fish, and then he had a notion to try it. he felt to see if he still had his sheath-knife with him; and, sure enough, there it hung--on the back button of his trousers, although it was so diminished that it was hardly as long as a match. well, at any rate, it served to scale and cleanse fish with; and it wasn't long before the perch was eaten. when the boy had satisfied his hunger, he felt a little ashamed because he had been able to eat a raw thing. "it's evident that i'm not a human being any longer, but a real elf," thought he. while the boy ate, the goosey-gander stood silently beside him. but when he had swallowed the last bite, he said in a low voice: "it's a fact that we have run across a stuck-up goose folk who despise all tame birds." "yes, i've observed that," said the boy. "what a triumph it would be for me if i could follow them clear up to lapland, and show them that even a tame goose can do things!" "y-e-e-s," said the boy, and drawled it out because he didn't believe the goosey-gander could ever do it; yet he didn't wish to contradict him. "but i don't think i can get along all alone on such a journey," said the goosey-gander. "i'd like to ask if you couldn't come along and help me?" the boy, of course, hadn't expected anything but to return to his home as soon as possible, and he was so surprised that he hardly knew what he should reply. "i thought that we were enemies, you and i," said he. but this the goosey-gander seemed to have forgotten entirely. he only remembered that the boy had but just saved his life. "i suppose i really ought to go home to father and mother," said the boy. "oh! i'll get you back to them some time in the fall," said the goosey-gander. "i shall not leave you until i put you down on your own doorstep." the boy thought it might be just as well for him if he escaped showing himself before his parents for a while. he was not disinclined to favour the scheme, and was just on the point of saying that he agreed to it--when they heard a loud rumbling behind them. it was the wild geese who had come up from the lake--all at one time--and stood shaking the water from their backs. after that they arranged themselves in a long row--with the leader-goose in the centre--and came toward them. as the white goosey-gander sized up the wild geese, he felt ill at ease. he had expected that they should be more like tame geese, and that he should feel a closer kinship with them. they were much smaller than he, and none of them were white. they were all gray with a sprinkling of brown. he was almost afraid of their eyes. they were yellow, and shone as if a fire had been kindled back of them. the goosey-gander had always been taught that it was most fitting to move slowly and with a rolling motion, but these creatures did not walk--they half ran. he grew most alarmed, however, when he looked at their feet. these were large, and the soles were torn and ragged-looking. it was evident that the wild geese never questioned what they tramped upon. they took no by-paths. they were very neat and well cared for in other respects, but one could see by their feet that they were poor wilderness-folk. the goosey-gander only had time to whisper to the boy: "speak up quickly for yourself, but don't tell them who you are!"--before the geese were upon them. when the wild geese had stopped in front of them, they curtsied with their necks many times, and the goosey-gander did likewise many more times. as soon as the ceremonies were over, the leader-goose said: "now i presume we shall hear what kind of creatures you are." "there isn't much to tell about me," said the goosey-gander. "i was born in skanor last spring. in the fall i was sold to holger nilsson of west vemminghög, and there i have lived ever since." "you don't seem to have any pedigree to boast of," said the leader-goose. "what is it, then, that makes you so high-minded that you wish to associate with wild geese?" "it may be because i want to show you wild geese that we tame ones may also be good for something," said the goosey-gander. "yes, it would be well if you could show us that," said the leader-goose. "we have already observed how much you know about flying; but you are more skilled, perhaps, in other sports. possibly you are strong in a swimming match?" "no, i can't boast that i am," said the goosey-gander. it seemed to him that the leader-goose had already made up her mind to send him home, so he didn't much care how he answered. "i never swam any farther than across a marl-ditch," he continued. "then i presume you're a crack sprinter," said the goose. "i have never seen a tame goose run, nor have i ever done it myself," said the goosey-gander; and he made things appear much worse than they really were. the big white one was sure now that the leader-goose would say that under no circumstances could they take him along. he was very much astonished when she said: "you answer questions courageously; and he who has courage can become a good travelling companion, even if he is ignorant in the beginning. what do you say to stopping with us for a couple of days, until we can see what you are good for?" "that suits me!" said the goosey-gander--and he was thoroughly happy. thereupon the leader-goose pointed with her bill and said: "but who is that you have with you? i've never seen anything like him before." "that's my comrade," said the goosey-gander. "he's been a goose-tender all his life. he'll be useful all right to take with us on the trip." "yes, he may be all right for a tame goose," answered the wild one. "what do you call him?" "he has several names," said the goosey-gander--hesitantly, not knowing what he should hit upon in a hurry, for he didn't want to reveal the fact that the boy had a human name. "oh! his name is thumbietot," he said at last. "does he belong to the elf family?" asked the leader-goose. "at what time do you wild geese usually retire?" said the goosey-gander quickly--trying to evade that last question. "my eyes close of their own accord about this time." one could easily see that the goose who talked with the gander was very old. her entire feather outfit was ice-gray, without any dark streaks. the head was larger, the legs coarser, and the feet were more worn than any of the others. the feathers were stiff; the shoulders knotty; the neck thin. all this was due to age. it was only upon the eyes that time had had no effect. they shone brighter--as if they were younger--than any of the others! she turned, very haughtily, toward the goosey-gander. "understand, mr. tame-goose, that i am akka from kebnekaise! and that the goose who flies nearest me--to the right--is iksi from vassijaure, and the one to the left, is kaksi from nuolja! understand, also, that the second right-hand goose is kolmi from sarjektjakko, and the second, left, is neljä from svappavaara; and behind them fly viisi from oviksfjällen and kuusi from sjangeli! and know that these, as well as the six goslings who fly last--three to the right, and three to the left--are all high mountain geese of the finest breed! you must not take us for land-lubbers who strike up a chance acquaintance with any and everyone! and you must not think that we permit anyone to share our quarters, that will not tell us who his ancestors were." when akka, the leader-goose, talked in this way, the boy stepped briskly forward. it had distressed him that the goosey-gander, who had spoken up so glibly for himself, should give such evasive answers when it concerned him. "i don't care to make a secret of who i am," said he. "my name is nils holgersson. i'm a farmer's son, and, until to-day, i have been a human being; but this morning--" he got no further. as soon as he had said that he was human the leader-goose staggered three steps backward, and the rest of them even farther back. they all extended their necks and hissed angrily at him. "i have suspected this ever since i first saw you here on these shores," said akka; "and now you can clear out of here at once. we tolerate no human beings among us." "it isn't possible," said the goosey-gander, meditatively, "that you wild geese can be afraid of anyone who is so tiny! by to-morrow, of course, he'll turn back home. you can surely let him stay with us overnight. none of us can afford to let such a poor little creature wander off by himself in the night--among weasels and foxes!" the wild goose came nearer. but it was evident that it was hard for her to master her fear. "i have been taught to fear everything in human shape--be it big or little," said she. "but if you will answer for this one, and swear that he will not harm us, he can stay with us to-night. but i don't believe our night quarters are suitable either for him or you, for we intend to roost on the broken ice out here." she thought, of course, that the goosey-gander would be doubtful when he heard this, but he never let on. "she is pretty wise who knows how to choose such a safe bed," said he. "you will be answerable for his return to his own to-morrow." "then i, too, will have to leave you," said the goosey-gander. "i have sworn that i would not forsake him." "you are free to fly whither you will," said the leader-goose. with this, she raised her wings and flew out over the ice and one after another the wild geese followed her. the boy was very sad to think that his trip to lapland would not come off, and, in the bargain, he was afraid of the chilly night quarters. "it will be worse and worse," said he. "in the first place, we'll freeze to death on the ice." but the gander was in a good humour. "there's no danger," said he. "only make haste, i beg of you, and gather together as much grass and litter as you can well carry." when the boy had his arms full of dried grass, the goosey-gander grabbed him by the shirt-band, lifted him, and flew out on the ice, where the wild geese were already fast asleep, with their bills tucked under their wings. "now spread out the grass on the ice, so there'll be something to stand on, to keep me from freezing fast. you help me and i'll help you," said the goosey-gander. this the boy did. and when he had finished, the goosey-gander picked him up, once again, by the shirt-band, and tucked him under his wing. "i think you'll lie snug and warm there," said the goosey-gander as he covered him with his wing. the boy was so imbedded in down that he couldn't answer, and he was nice and comfy. oh, but he was tired!--and in less than two winks he was fast asleep. night it is a fact that ice is always treacherous and not to be trusted. in the middle of the night the loosened ice-cake on vomb lake moved about, until one corner of it touched the shore. now it happened that mr. smirre fox, who lived at this time in övid cloister park--on the east side of the lake--caught a glimpse of that one corner, while he was out on his night chase. smirre had seen the wild geese early in the evening, and hadn't dared to hope that he might get at one of them, but now he walked right out on the ice. when smirre was very near to the geese, his claws scraped the ice, and the geese 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 try and 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 and he rushed ahead. the wild goose that smirre fox tugged after him, 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: "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 danger he was running. all he thought about was the contemptuous way in which he had been received by the wild geese; 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 only hunting 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 as 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, but he caught up with 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, and held on as hard 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 the thing was that pursued him. he stopped short, put the goose on the ground, and stood on her with his forepaws, so she couldn't fly away. he was just about to bite off her neck--but then 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 enraged 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. in addition to this, 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; so 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 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 could not grab him. the boy was so gay after his success that in the beginning, he laughed and made fun of the fox. but smirre was persevering--as old hunters generally are--and the boy began to fear that he should 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 above 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. "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 lay 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 again. 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 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. finally, when the sun got up, it wasn't yellow but red. the boy thought it looked as though it were 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 everything 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 foliage on the ground--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, and 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 need be afraid of nothing." the wild-goose call was heard from the lake, as they were preparing for flight; and soon all 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 regret; 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. goose-play _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 the 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 very close to him. smirre made a high jump for her but he 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 he was afraid of failure now, and concluded to let her fly past--unmolested. she took the same direction the others had taken; and just as she was come 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 got through panting, three more geese came flying in a row. they flew just like the rest, and smirre made high springs for them all, but he did not succeed in catching any one of them. after that came five geese; but these flew better than the others. and although it seemed as if they wanted to lure smirre to jump, he withstood the temptation. after quite a long time came one single goose. it was the thirteenth. this one was so old that she was gray all over, without a dark speck anywhere on her body. she didn't appear to use one wing very well, but flew so wretchedly and crookedly, that she almost touched the ground. smirre not only made a high leap for her, but he 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 its great wings swayed, it glistened like a light, in the dark forest. when smirre fox saw this one, he mustered all his resources and jumped half-way 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 travelled 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 ill luck, smirre was glad that she came back, and darted after her with a high leap. but he had been in too much of a hurry, and hadn't taken the time to calculate the distance, and he landed at one side of the goose. then there came still another goose; then a third; a fourth; a fifth; and so on, until the angle closed in with the old ice-gray one, and the big white one. they all flew low and slow. just as they swayed 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 fathoms 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, swayed all day through the woods, and so close to him that he touched them many times; yet he was not permitted to appease his hunger with a single one of them. the winter was hardly gone yet, 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 the chickens were all 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 whizz 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 this hot chase, was not to be compared with what he suffered every time that he missed one of the wild geese. in the morning, when the play began, smirre fox had looked so stunning that the geese were amazed when they saw him. smirre loved display. his coat was a brilliant red; his breast white; his nose black; and his tail was as bushy as a plume. but when the evening 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. in the afternoon smirre was 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 his 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 done up, 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 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. 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 even got into the newspapers but which many believed to be a fable, because they had not been able to explain it. it was about like this: a lady squirrel had been captured in the hazelbrush that grew on the shores of vomb lake, and was 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 intended to amuse themselves all summer by watching its nimble movements; its ingenious way of shelling nuts; and its droll play. they immediately put in order 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. for this reason they placed therein a bed of leaves, a bowl of milk and some nuts. the cylinder wheel, on the other hand, she was to use as a play-house, where she could run and climb and swing round. the people believed that they had arranged things very comfortably for the lady squirrel, and they were astonished because she didn't seem to be contented; but, instead, she sat there, downcast and moody, in a corner of her room. every now and again, she would let out a shrill, agonised 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 preparations for a feast; and just on that day when the lady squirrel had been captured, they were busy with an elaborate bake. they had had bad luck with something: either the dough wouldn't rise, or else they had been dilatory, for they were obliged to work 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 getting on. 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 just the same she did not relish the idea of being left out of the game. she felt rather downhearted; and for this reason she did not go to bed but seated herself by the sitting-room window and looked out. they had opened the kitchen door on account of the heat; and through it a clear ray of light streamed out on the yard; and it became so well lighted 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 was a strange sort of unrest that had come over the animal; but she believed, of course, that the strong light kept her awake. between the cow-house and the stable there was a broad, handsome 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 steal his way through the gate. he was dressed in leather breeches and wooden shoes like any other working man. 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 right up to the squirrel cage. and since it hung so high that he could not reach it, he went over to the store-house 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 he wanted 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 on 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. there they held a long conference together. 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. after a few moments had gone by, he returned. he was in such a hurry that it seemed to her as though his feet hardly touched the ground; and he rushed right up 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. the thing 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 was broken. he poked in the thing which he held in his hand to the lady squirrel. then he slid down again, and took up that which he had laid upon the ground, and climbed up 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 it was the old grandma who could no longer sit still in the cottage; but who, very slowly, went out to the back yard and stationed herself in the shadow of the pump to await the elf's return. and there was one other 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. they both stood and waited, 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 that 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 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 did not look as if the elf had noticed her. he was just going 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. he turned around and looked in all directions; then he became aware of the old grandma's presence. then 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 had gathered 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 and this they did. and there lay on the bed of leaves, four tiny half-naked, half blind baby squirrels, who were at least a couple of 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 eastern sea; and on the meadow where the geese had alighted the soil was sandy, as it usually is on the sea-coast. 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, several children came along, and walked on the edge of the meadow. the goose who was on guard at once raised herself into the air with noisy wing-strokes, so the whole flock should hear that there was danger on foot. all the wild geese flew upward; but the white one trotted along on the ground unconcerned. when he saw the others fly 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 in pieces, that he might get at the seeds. the children were so close to him that he did not dare to run across the meadow to the white one. he concealed himself under a big, dry thistle-leaf, and at the same time gave a warning-cry. but the white one had evidently made up his mind not to let himself be scared. he walked 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, walked across the field, getting nearer and nearer to the goosey-gander. when he finally did look up, they were right upon him. he was so dumfounded, and became so confused, 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, and there 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 he wanted 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 upon 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. anyway he got up and followed the goosey-gander. "i can't help him," said he, "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 of 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 he 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 he was likely to miss his way, lay a little white down to put him right. the boy continued faithfully to follow the bits of down. they led him out of the wood, across a couple of meadows, up on a road, and finally through the entrance of a broad _allée_. at the end of the _allée_ there were gables and towers of red tiling, decorated with bright borders and other ornamentations that glittered and shone. when the boy saw that this was some great manor, he thought he knew what had become of the goosey-gander. "no doubt the children have carried the goosey-gander to the manor and sold him there. by this time he's probably butchered," he said to himself. but he did not seem to be satisfied with anything less than proof positive, and with renewed courage he ran forward. he met no one in the _allée_--and that was well, for such as he are generally afraid of being seen by human beings. the mansion which he came to was a splendid, old-time structure with four great wings which inclosed a courtyard. on the east wing, there was a high arch leading into the courtyard. this far the boy ran without hesitation, but when he got there he stopped. he dared not venture farther, but stood still and pondered what he should do now. there he stood, with his finger on his nose, thinking, when he heard footsteps behind him; and as he turned around he saw a whole company march up the _allée_. in haste he stole behind a water-barrel which stood near the arch, and hid himself. those who came up were some twenty young men from a folk-high-school, out on a walking tour. they were accompanied by one of the instructors. when they were come as far as the arch, the teacher requested them to wait there a moment, while he went in and asked if they might see the old castle of vittskövle. the newcomers were warm and tired; as if they had been on a long tramp. one of them was so thirsty that he went over to the water-barrel and stooped down to drink. he had a tin box such as botanists use hanging about his neck. he evidently thought that this was in his way, for he threw it down on the ground. with this, the lid flew open, and one could see that there were a few spring flowers in it. the botanist's box dropped just in front of the boy; and he must have thought that here was his opportunity to get into the castle and find out what had become of the goosey-gander. he smuggled himself quickly into the box and concealed himself as well as he could under the anemones and colt's-foot. he was hardly hidden before the young man picked the box up, hung it around his neck, and slammed down the cover. then the teacher came back, and said that they had been given permission to enter the castle. at first he conducted them no farther than the courtyard. there he stopped and began to talk to them about this ancient structure. he called their attention to the first human beings who had inhabited this country, and who had been obliged to live in mountain-grottoes and earth-caves; in the dens of wild beasts, and in the brushwood; and that a very long period had elapsed before they learned to build themselves huts from the trunks of trees. and afterward how long had they not been forced to labour and struggle, before they had advanced from the log cabin, with its single room, to the building of a castle with a hundred rooms--like vittskövle! it was about three hundred and fifty years ago that the rich and powerful built such castles for themselves, he said. it was very evident that vittskövle had been erected at a time when wars and robbers made it unsafe in skåne. all around the castle was a deep trench filled with water; and across this there had been a bridge in bygone days that could be hoisted up. over the gate-arch there is, even to this day, a watch-tower; and all along the sides of the castle ran sentry-galleries, and in the corners stood towers with walls a metre thick. yet the castle had not been erected in the most savage war time; for jens brahe, who built it, had also studied to make of it a beautiful and decorative ornament. if they could see the big, solid stone structure at glimminge, which had been built only a generation earlier, they would readily see that jans holgersen ulfstand, the builder, hadn't figured upon anything else--only to build big and strong and secure, without bestowing a thought upon making it beautiful and comfortable. if they visited such castles as marsvinsholm, snogeholm and övid's cloister--which were erected a hundred years or so later--they would find that the times had become less warlike. the gentlemen who built these places, had not furnished them with fortifications; but had only taken pains to provide themselves with great, splendid dwelling houses. the teacher talked at length--and in detail; and the boy who lay shut up in the box was pretty impatient; but he must have lain very still, for the owner of the box hadn't the least suspicion that he was carrying him along. finally the company went into the castle. but if the boy had hoped for a chance to crawl out of that box, he was deceived; for the student carried it upon him all the while, and the boy was obliged to accompany him through all the rooms. it was a tedious tramp. the teacher stopped every other minute to explain and instruct. in one room he found an old fireplace, and before this he stopped to talk about the different kinds of fireplaces that had been used in the course of time. the first indoors fireplace had been a big, flat stone on the floor of the hut, with an opening in the roof which let in both wind and rain. the next had been a big stone hearth with no opening in the roof. this must have made the hut very warm, but it also filled it with soot and smoke. when vittskövle was built, the people had advanced far enough to open the fireplace, which, at that time, had a wide chimney for the smoke; but it also took most of the warmth up in the air with it. if that boy had ever in his life been cross and impatient, he was given a good lesson in patience that day. it must have been a whole hour now that he had lain perfectly still. in the next room they came to, the teacher stopped before an old-time bed with its high canopy and rich curtains. immediately he began to talk about the beds and bed places of olden days. the teacher didn't hurry himself; but then he did not know, of course, that a poor little creature lay shut up in a botanist's box, and only waited for him to get through. when they came to a room with gilded leather hangings, he talked to them about how the people had dressed their walls and ceilings ever since the beginning of time. and when he came to an old family portrait, he told them all about the different changes in dress. and in the banquet halls he described ancient customs of celebrating weddings and funerals. thereupon, the teacher talked a little about the excellent men and women who had lived in the castle; about the old brahes, and the old barnekows; of christian barnekow, who had given his horse to the king to help him escape; of margareta ascheberg who had been married to kjell barnekow and who, when a widow, had managed the estates and the whole district for fifty-three years; of banker hageman, a farmer's son from vittskövle, who had grown so rich that he had bought the entire estate; about the stjernsvärds, who had given the people of skåne better ploughs, which enabled them to discard the ridiculous old wooden ploughs that three oxen were hardly able to drag. during all this, the boy lay still. if he had ever been mischievous and shut the cellar door on his father or mother, he understood now how they had felt; for it was hours and hours before that teacher got through. at last the teacher went out into the courtyard again. and there he discoursed upon the tireless labour of mankind to procure for themselves tools and weapons, clothes and houses and ornaments. he said that such an old castle as vittskövle was a mile-post on time's highway. here one could see how far the people had advanced three hundred and fifty years ago; and one could judge for oneself whether things had gone forward or backward since their time. but this dissertation the boy escaped hearing; for the student who carried him was thirsty again, and stole into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. when the boy was carried into the kitchen, he should have tried to look around for the goosey-gander. he had begun to move; and as he did this, he happened to press too hard against the lid--and it flew open. as botanists' box-lids are always flying open, the student thought no more about the matter but pressed it down again. then the cook asked him if he had a snake in the box. "no, i have only a few plants," the student replied. "it was certainly something that moved there," insisted the cook. the student threw back the lid to show her that she was mistaken. "see for yourself--if--" but he got no further, for now the boy dared not stay in the box any longer, but with one bound he stood on the floor, and out he rushed. the maids hardly had time to see what it was that ran, but they hurried after it, nevertheless. the teacher still stood and talked when he was interrupted by shrill cries. "catch him, catch him!" shrieked those who had come from the kitchen; and all the young men raced after the boy, who glided away faster than a rat. they tried to intercept him at the gate, but it was not so easy to get a hold on such a little creature, so, luckily, he got out in the open. the boy did not dare to run down toward the open _allée,_ but turned in another direction. he rushed through the garden into the back yard. all the while the people raced after him, shrieking and laughing. the poor little thing ran as hard as ever he could to get out of their way; but still it looked as though the people would catch up with him. as he rushed past a labourer's cottage, he heard a goose cackle, and saw a white down lying on the doorstep. there, at last, was the goosey-gander! he had been on the wrong track before. he thought no more of housemaids and men, who were hounding him, but climbed up the steps--and into the hallway. farther he couldn't come, for the door was locked. he heard how the goosey-gander cried and moaned inside, but he couldn't get the door open. the hunters that were pursuing him came nearer and nearer, and, in the room, the goosey-gander cried more and more pitifully. in this direst of needs the boy finally plucked up courage and pounded on the door with all his might. a child opened it, and the boy looked into the room. in the middle of the floor sat a woman who held the goosey-gander tight to clip his quill-feathers. it was her children who had found him, and she didn't want to do him any harm. it was her intention to let him in among her own geese, had she only succeeded in clipping his wings so he couldn't fly away. but a worse fate could hardly have happened to the goosey-gander, and he shrieked and moaned with all his might. and a lucky thing it was that the woman hadn't started the clipping sooner. now only two quills had fallen under the shears' when the door was opened--and the boy stood on the door-sill. but a creature like that the woman had never seen before. she couldn't believe anything else but that it was goa-nisse himself; and in her terror she dropped the shears, clasped her hands--and forgot to hold on to the goosey-gander. as soon as he felt himself freed, he ran toward the door. he didn't give himself time to stop; but, as he ran past him, he grabbed the boy by the neck-band and carried him along with him. on the stoop he spread his wings and flew up in the air; at the same time he made a graceful sweep with his neck and seated the boy on his smooth, downy back. and off they flew--while all vittskövle stood and stared after them. in övid cloister park all that day, when the wild geese played with the fox, the boy lay and slept in a deserted squirrel nest. when he awoke, along toward evening, he felt very uneasy. "well, now i shall soon be sent home again! then i'll have to exhibit myself before father and mother," thought he. but when he looked up and saw the wild geese, who lay and bathed in vomb lake--not one of them said a word about his going. "they probably think the white one is too tired to travel home with me to-night," thought the boy. the next morning the geese were awake at daybreak, long before sunrise. now the boy felt sure that he'd have to go home; but, curiously enough, both he and the white goosey-gander were permitted to follow the wild ones on their morning tour. the boy couldn't comprehend the reason for the delay, but he figured it out in this way, that the wild geese did not care to send the goosey-gander on such a long journey until they had both eaten their fill. come what might, he was only glad for every moment that should pass before he must face his parents. the wild geese travelled over övid's cloister estate which was situated in a beautiful park east of the lake, and looked very imposing with its great castle; its well planned court surrounded by low walls and pavilions; its fine old-time garden with covered arbours, streams and fountains; its wonderful trees, trimmed bushes, and its evenly mown lawns with their beds of beautiful spring flowers. when the wild geese rode over the estate in the early morning hour there was no human being about. when they had carefully assured themselves of this, they lowered themselves toward the dog kennel, and shouted: "what kind of a little hut is this? what kind of a little hut is this?" instantly the dog came out of his kennel--furiously angry--and barked at the air. "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 of a lot of huts that have their own church and their own parsonage; 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; and 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 you could go with the wild geese through the whole country, all the way up to lapland!" said he 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 travelled to one of the wide fields, east of the estate, to eat grass-roots, and they kept this up for hours. in the meantime, the boy wandered in the great park which bordered the field. 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 recompense, 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 on raw fish and old winter-dried blossoms. when the wild geese had finally eaten themselves full, 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 had as much fun as the rest. they laughed and screamed and cackled, and it was remarkable that the people on the estate didn't hear them. when the wild geese were tired of play, they flew out on the ice and rested for a couple of hours. the afternoon they spent in pretty 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 that suits me," thought the boy when he crept in under the gander's wing. "but 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 should 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 thought that 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 believed that the wild geese thought of keeping him with them; 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, that had kept all its tiny seeds intact. when the boy had eaten, akka said that she thought he ran around in the park altogether too recklessly. she wondered if he knew 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 for him. 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; as he sat on the stone wall, he must not forget the weasels, who could 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 in the open fields, he should keep an eye out for hawks and buzzards; for eagles and falcons that soared in the air. in the bramble-bush he could be captured by the sparrow-hawks; magpies and crows were found everywhere and in these he mustn't place any 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 up to him before he was aware of their presence. when the boy heard that there were so many who were after his life, he thought that it would be simply impossible for him to escape. he was not particularly 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 the carnivorous animals. akka answered at once that the boy should try to get on good terms with all the small animals in the woods and fields: with the squirrel-folk, and the hare-family; with bullfinches and the 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 evident 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 well as 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 for fear he wouldn't be permitted to stay with the wild geese, that he hadn't dared to get into the least little mischief since he joined 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 in a mind to. now he had been good. he hadn't pulled a feather from a goose-wing, or given anyone a rude answer; and every morning when he called upon akka he had always removed his cap and bowed. all day thursday he thought 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. and 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, and how nils, the goose boy, had risked his life among human beings, and taken the little squirrel children to her. "and who is so honoured in övid cloister park now, as thumbietot!" sang the bullfinch; "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. but still friday passed and not one word did they say about his remaining with them. until saturday the wild geese fed in the fields around övid, undisturbed by smirre fox. but on saturday morning, when they came out in the meadows, he lay in wait for them, and chased them from one field to another, and they were not allowed to eat in peace. when akka understood that he didn't intend to leave them in peace, she came to a decision quickly, raised herself into the air and flew with her flock several miles away, over färs' plains and linderödsosen's hills. they did not stop before 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 had not used all his powers to help him he would never again have been found. on saturday evening, as the boy came back to vomb lake with the goosey-gander, he thought that he had done a good day's work; and he speculated a good deal on 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 say the word he was longing to hear. then sunday came again. a whole week had gone by since the boy had been bewitched, and he was still just as little. but he didn't appear to be giving himself any extra worry on account of this thing. on sunday afternoon he sat huddled together 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 the little music-masters and they shrieked and fluttered in their despair. the boy laughed so heartily at their excitement, that he dropped his pipe. he began once again, and that 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 this was true. he sat there and pondered how long he would 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 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 stopped at last, 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 by deeds than 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, and told 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 geese began to speak, just that miserable was he when they had finished. he didn't say a word, but turned away and wept. "what in all the world is this?" said akka. "it looks as though you had expected more of me than i have offered you." but the boy was thinking of the care-free days and the banter; and 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 anyone. he had not cared for his father or mother; not for the school teacher; not for his school-mates; nor for the boys in the neighbourhood. all that they had wished to have him do--whether it had been work or play--he had only thought tiresome. therefore there was no one whom he missed or longed for. the only ones that he had come anywhere near agreeing with, were osa, the goose girl, and little mats--a couple of children who had tended geese in the fields, like himself. but he didn't care particularly for them either. no, far from it! "i don't want to be human," bawled the boy. "i want to go with you to lapland. that's why i've been good for a whole week!" "i don't want to forbid you to come along with us as far as you like," said akka, "but think first if you wouldn't rather go home again. a day may come when you will regret this." "no," said the boy, "that's nothing to regret. i have never been as well off as here with you." "well then, let it be as you wish," said akka. "thanks!" said the boy, and he felt so happy that he had to cry for very joy--just as he had cried before from sorrow. glimminge castle black rats and gray rats in south-eastern skåne--not far from the sea there is an old castle called glimminge. it is a big and substantial stone house; and can be seen over the plain for miles around. it is not more than four stories high; but it is so ponderous that an ordinary farmhouse, which stands on the same estate, looks like a little children's playhouse in comparison. the big stone house has such thick ceilings and partitions that there is scarcely room in its interior for anything but the thick walls. the stairs are narrow, the entrances small; and the rooms few. that the walls might retain their strength, there are only the fewest number of windows in the upper stories, and none at all are found in the lower ones. in the old war times, the people were just as glad that they could shut themselves up in a strong and massive house like this, as one is nowadays to be able to creep into furs in a snapping cold winter. but when the time of peace came, they did not care to live in the dark and cold stone halls of the old castle any longer. they have long since deserted the big glimminge castle, and moved into dwelling places where the light and air can penetrate. at the time when nils holgersson wandered around with the wild geese, there were no human beings in glimminge castle; but for all that, it was not without inhabitants. every summer there lived a stork couple in a large nest on the roof. in a nest in the attic lived a pair of gray owls; in the secret passages hung bats; in the kitchen oven lived an old cat; and down in the cellar there were hundreds of old black rats. rats are not held in very high esteem by other animals; but the black rats at glimminge castle were an exception. they were always mentioned with respect, because they had shown great valour in battle with their enemies; and much endurance under the great misfortunes which had befallen their kind. they nominally belong to a rat-folk who, at one time, had been very numerous and powerful, but who were now dying out. during a long period of time, the black rats owned skåne and the whole country. they were found in every cellar; in every attic; in larders and cowhouses and barns; in breweries and flour-mills; in churches and castles; in every man-constructed building. but now they were banished from all this--and were almost exterminated. only in one and another old and secluded place could one run across a few of them; and nowhere were they to be found in such large numbers as in glimminge castle. when an animal folk die out, it is generally the human kind who are the cause of it; but that was not the case in this instance. the people had certainly struggled with the black rats, but they had not been able to do them any harm worth mentioning. those who had conquered them were an animal folk of their own kind, who were called gray rats. these gray rats had not lived in the land since time immemorial, like the black rats, but descended from a couple of poor immigrants who landed in malmö from a libyan sloop about a hundred years ago. they were homeless, starved-out wretches who stuck close to the harbour, swam among the piles under the bridges, and ate refuse that was thrown in the water. they never ventured into the city, which was owned by the black rats. but gradually, as the gray rats increased in number they grew bolder. at first they moved over to some waste places and condemned old houses which the black rats had abandoned. they hunted their food in gutters and dirt heaps, and made the most of all the rubbish that the black rats did not deign to take care of. they were hardy, contented and fearless; and within a few years they had become so powerful that they undertook to drive the black rats out of malmö. they took from them attics, cellars and storerooms, starved them out or bit them to death for they were not at all afraid of fighting. when malmö was captured, they marched forward in small and large companies to conquer the whole country. it is almost impossible to comprehend why the black rats did not muster themselves into a great, united war-expedition to exterminate the gray rats, while these were still few in numbers. but the black rats were so certain of their power that they could not believe it possible for them to lose it. they sat still on their estates, and in the meantime the gray rats took from them farm after farm, city after city. they were starved out, forced out, rooted out. in skåne they had not been able to maintain themselves in a single place except glimminge castle. the old castle had such secure walls and such few rat passages led through these, that the black rats had managed to protect themselves, and to prevent the gray rats from crowding in. night after night, year after year, the struggle had continued between the aggressors and the defenders; but the black rats had kept faithful watch, and had fought with the utmost contempt for death, and, thanks to the fine old house, they had always conquered. it will have to be acknowledged that as long as the black rats were in power they were as much shunned by all other living creatures as the gray rats are in our day--and for just cause; they had thrown themselves upon poor, fettered prisoners, and tortured them; they had ravished the dead; they had stolen the last turnip from the cellars of the poor; bitten off the feet of sleeping geese; robbed eggs and chicks from the hens; and committed a thousand depredations. but since they had come to grief, all this seemed to have been forgotten; and no one could help but marvel at the last of a race that had held out so long against its enemies. the gray rats that lived in the courtyard at glimminge and in the vicinity, kept up a continuous warfare and tried to watch out for every possible chance to capture the castle. one would fancy that they should have allowed the little company of black rats to occupy glimminge castle in peace, since they themselves had acquired all the rest of the country; but you may be sure this thought never occurred to them. they were wont to say that it was a point of honour with them to conquer the black rats at some time or other. but those who were acquainted with the gray rats must have known that it was because the human kind used glimminge castle as a grain store-house that the gray ones could not rest before they had taken possession of the place. the stork _monday, march twenty-eighth_. early one morning the wild geese who stood and slept on the ice in vomb lake were awakened by long calls from the air. "trirop, trirop!" it sounded, "trianut, the crane, sends greetings to akka, the wild goose, and her flock. to-morrow will be the day of the great crane dance on kullaberg." akka raised her head and answered at once: "greetings and thanks! greetings and thanks!" with that, the cranes flew farther; and the wild geese heard them for a long while--where they travelled and called out over every field, and every wooded hill: "trianut sends greetings. to-morrow will be the day of the great crane dance on kullaberg." the wild geese were very happy over this invitation. "you're in luck," they said to the white goosey-gander, "to be permitted to attend the great crane dance on kullaberg!" "is it then so remarkable to see cranes dance?" asked the goosey-gander. "it is something that you have never even dreamed about!" replied the wild geese. "now we must think out what we shall do with thumbietot to-morrow--so that no harm can come to him, while we run over to kullaberg," said akka. "thumbietot shall not be left alone!" said the goosey-gander. "if the cranes won't let him see their dance, then i'll stay with him." "no human being has ever been permitted to attend the animal's congress, at kullaberg," said akka, "and i shouldn't dare to take thumbietot along. but we'll discuss this more at length later in the day. now we must first and foremost think about getting something to eat." with that akka gave the signal to adjourn. on this day she also sought her feeding-place a good distance away, on smirre fox's account, and she didn't alight until she came to the swampy meadows a little south of glimminge castle. all that day the boy sat on the shores of a little pond, and blew on reed-pipes. he was out of sorts because he shouldn't see the crane dance, and he just couldn't say a word, either to the goosey-gander, or to any of the others. it was pretty hard that akka should still doubt him. when a boy had given up being human, just to travel around with a few wild geese, they surely ought to understand that he had no desire to betray them. then, too, they ought to understand that when he had renounced so much to follow them, it was their duty to let him see all the wonders they could show him. "i'll have to speak my mind right out to them," thought he. but hour after hour passed, still he hadn't come round to it. it may sound remarkable--but the boy had actually acquired a kind of respect for the old leader-goose. he felt that it was not easy to pit his will against hers. on one side of the swampy meadow, where the wild geese fed, there was a broad stone hedge. toward evening when the boy finally raised his head, to speak to akka, his glance happened to rest on this hedge. he uttered a little cry of surprise, and all the wild geese instantly looked up, and stared in the same direction. at first, both the geese and the boy thought that all the round, gray stones in the hedge had acquired legs, and were starting on a run; but soon they saw that it was a company of rats who ran over it. they moved very rapidly, and ran forward, tightly packed, line upon line, and were so numerous that, for some time, they covered the entire stone hedge. the boy had been afraid of rats, even when he was a big, strong human being. then what must his feelings be now, when he was so tiny that two or three of them could overpower him? one shudder after another travelled down his spinal column as he stood and stared at them. but strangely enough, the wild geese seemed to feel the same aversion toward the rats that he did. they did not speak to them; and when they were gone, they shook themselves as if their feathers had been mud-spattered. "such a lot of gray rats abroad!" said iksi from vassipaure. "that's not a good omen." the boy intended to take advantage of this opportunity to say to akka that he thought she ought to let him go with them to kullaberg, but he was prevented anew, for all of a sudden a big bird came down in the midst of the geese. one could believe, when one looked at this bird, that he had borrowed body, neck and head from a little white goose. but in addition to this, he had procured for himself large black wings, long red legs, and a thick bill, which was too large for the little head, and weighed it down until it gave him a sad and worried look. akka at once straightened out the folds of her wings, and curtsied many times as she approached the stork. she wasn't specially surprised to see him in skåne so early in the spring, because she knew that the male storks are in the habit of coming in good season to take a look at the nest, and see that it hasn't been damaged during the winter, before the female storks go to the trouble of flying over the east sea. but she wondered very much what it might signify that he sought her out, since storks prefer to associate with members of their own family. "i can hardly believe that there is anything wrong with your house, herr ermenrich," said akka. it was apparent now that it is true what they say: a stork can seldom open his bill without complaining. but what made the thing he said sound even more doleful was that it was difficult for him to speak out. he stood for a long time and only clattered with his bill; afterward he spoke in a hoarse and feeble voice. he complained about everything: the nest--which was situated at the very top of the roof-tree at glimminge castle--had been totally destroyed by winter storms; and no food could he get any more in skåne. the people of skåne were appropriating all his possessions. they dug out his marshes and laid waste his swamps. he intended to move away from this country, and never return to it again. while the stork grumbled, akka, the wild goose who had neither home nor protection, could not help thinking to herself: "if i had things as comfortable as you have, herr ermenrich, i should be above complaining. you have remained a free and wild bird; and still you stand so well with human beings that no one will fire a shot at you, or steal an egg from your nest." but all this she kept to herself. to the stork she only remarked, that she couldn't believe he would be willing to move from a house where storks had resided ever since it was built. then the stork suddenly asked the geese if they had seen the gray rats who were marching toward glimminge castle. when akka replied that she had seen the horrid creatures, he began to tell her about the brave black rats who, for years, had defended the castle. "but this night glimminge castle will fall into the gray rats' power," sighed the stork. "and why just this night, herr ermenrich?" asked akka. "well, because nearly all the black rats went over to kullaberg last night," said the stork, "since they had counted on all the rest of the animals also hurrying there. but you see that the gray rats have stayed at home; and now they are mustering to storm the castle to-night, when it will be defended by only a few old creatures who are too feeble to go over to kullaberg. they'll probably accomplish their purpose. but i have lived here in harmony with the black rats for so many years, that it does not please me to live in a place inhabited by their enemies." akka understood now that the stork had become so enraged over the gray rats' mode of action, that he had sought her out as an excuse to complain about them. but after the manner of storks, he certainly had done nothing to avert the disaster. "have you sent word to the black rats, herr ermenrich?" she asked. "no," replied the stork, "that wouldn't be of any use. before they can get back, the castle will be taken." "you mustn't be so sure of that, herr ermenrich," said akka. "i know an old wild goose, i do, who will gladly prevent outrages of this kind." when akka said this, the stork raised his head and stared at her. and it was not surprising, for akka had neither claws nor bill that were fit for fighting; and, in the bargain, she was a day bird, and as soon as it grew dark she fell helplessly asleep, while the rats did their fighting at night. but akka had evidently made up her mind to help the black rats. she called iksi from vassijaure, and ordered him to take the wild geese over to vonib lake; and when the geese made excuses, she said authoritatively: "i believe it will be best for us all that you obey me. i must fly over to the big stone house, and if you follow me, the people on the place will be sure to see us, and shoot us down. the only one that i want to take with me on this trip is thumbietot. he can be of great service to me because he has good eyes, and can keep awake at night." the boy was in his most contrary mood that day. and when he heard what akka said, he raised himself to his full height and stepped forward, his hands behind him and his nose in the air, and he intended to say that he, most assuredly, did not wish to take a hand in the fight with gray rats. she might look around for assistance elsewhere. but the instant the boy was seen, the stork began to move. he had stood before, as storks generally stand, with head bent downward and the bill pressed against the neck. but now a gurgle was heard deep down in his windpipe; as though he would have laughed. quick as a flash, he lowered the bill, grabbed the boy, and tossed him a couple of metres in the air. this feat he performed seven times, while the boy shrieked and the geese shouted: "what are you trying to do, herr ermenrich? that's not a frog. that's a human being, herr ermenrich." finally the stork put the boy down entirely unhurt. thereupon he said to akka, "i'll fly back to glimminge castle now, mother akka. all who live there were very much worried when i left. you may be sure they'll be very glad when i tell them that akka, the wild goose, and thumbietot, the human elf, are on their way to rescue them." with that the stork craned his neck, raised his wings, and darted off like an arrow when it leaves a well-drawn bow. akka understood that he was making fun of her, but she didn't let it bother her. she waited until the boy had found his wooden shoes, which the stork had shaken off; then she put him on her back and followed the stork. on his own account, the boy made no objection, and said not a word about not wanting to go along. he had become so furious with the stork, that he actually sat and puffed. that long, red-legged thing believed he was of no account just because he was little; but he would show him what kind of a man nils holgersson from west vemminghög was. a couple of moments later akka stood in the storks' nest. it had a wheel for foundation, and over this lay several grass-mats, and some twigs. the nest was so old that many shrubs and plants had taken root up there; and when the mother stork sat on her eggs in the round hole in the middle of the nest, she not only had the beautiful outlook over a goodly portion of skåne to enjoy, but she had also the wild brier-blossoms and house-leeks to look upon. both akka and the boy saw immediately that something was going on here which turned upside down the most regular order. on the edge of the stork-nest sat two gray owls, an old, gray-streaked cat, and a dozen old, decrepit rats with protruding teeth and watery eyes. they were not exactly the sort of animals one usually finds living peaceably together. not one of them turned around to look at akka, or to bid her welcome. they thought of nothing except to sit and stare at some long, gray lines, which came into sight here and there--on the winter-naked meadows. all the black rats were silent. one could see that they were in deep despair, and probably knew that they could neither defend their own lives nor the castle. the two owls sat and rolled their big eyes, and twisted their great, encircling eyebrows, and talked in hollow, ghost-like voices, about the awful cruelty of the gray rats, and that they would have to move away from their nest, because they had heard it said of them that they spared neither eggs nor baby birds. the old gray-streaked cat was positive that the gray rats would bite him to death, since they were coming into the castle in such great numbers, and he scolded the black rats incessantly. "how could you be so idiotic as to let your best fighters go away?" said he. "how could you trust the gray rats? it is absolutely unpardonable!" the twelve black rats did not say a word. but the stork, despite his misery, could not refrain from teasing the cat. "don't worry so, monsie house-cat!" said he. "can't you see that mother akka and thumbietot have come to save the castle? you can be certain that they'll succeed. now i must stand up to sleep--and i do so with the utmost calm. to-morrow, when i awaken, there won't be a single gray rat in glimminge castle." the boy winked at akka, and made a sign--as the stork stood upon the very edge of the nest, with one leg drawn up, to sleep--that he wanted to push him down to the ground; but akka restrained him. she did not seem to be the least bit angry. instead, she said in a confident tone of voice: "it would be pretty poor business if one who is as old as i am could not manage to get out of worse difficulties than this. if only mr. and mrs. owl, who can stay awake all night, will fly off with a couple of messages for me, i think that all will go well." both owls were willing. then akka bade the gentleman owl that he should go and seek the black rats who had gone off, and counsel them to hurry home immediately. the lady owl she sent to flammea, the steeple-owl, who lived in lund cathedral, with a commission which was so secret that akka only dared to confide it to her in a whisper. the rat charmer it was getting on toward midnight when the gray rats after a diligent search succeeded in finding an open air-hole in the cellar. this was pretty high upon the wall; but the rats got up on one another's shoulders, and it wasn't long before the most daring among them sat in the air-hole, ready to force its way into glimminge castle, outside whose walls so many of its forebears had fallen. the gray rat sat still for a moment in the hole, and waited for an attack from within. the leader of the defenders was certainly away, but she assumed that the black rats who were still in the castle wouldn't surrender without a struggle. with thumping heart she listened for the slightest sound, but everything remained quiet. then the leader of the gray rats plucked up courage and jumped down in the coal-black cellar. one after another of the gray rats followed the leader. they all kept very quiet; and all expected to be ambushed by the black rats. not until so many of them had crowded into the cellar that the floor couldn't hold any more, did they venture farther. although they had never before been inside the building, they had no difficulty in finding their way. they soon found the passages in the walls which the black rats had used to get to the upper floors. before they began to clamber up these narrow and steep steps, they listened again with great attention. they felt more frightened because the black rats held themselves aloof in this way, than if they had met them in open battle. they could hardly believe their luck when they reached the first story without any mishaps. immediately upon their entrance the gray rats caught the scent of the grain, which was stored in great bins on the floor. but it was not as yet time for them to begin to enjoy their conquest. they searched first, with the utmost caution, through the sombre, empty rooms. they ran up in the fireplace, which stood on the floor in the old castle kitchen, and they almost tumbled into the well, in the inner room. not one of the narrow peep-holes did they leave uninspected, but they found no black rats. when this floor was wholly in their possession, they began, with the same caution, to acquire the next. then they had to venture on a bold and dangerous climb through the walls, while, with breathless anxiety, they awaited an assault from the enemy. and although they were tempted by the most delicious odour from the grain bins, they forced themselves most systematically to inspect the old-time warriors' pillar-propped kitchen; their stone table, and fireplace; the deep window-niches, and the hole in the floor--which in olden time had been opened to pour down boiling pitch on the intruding enemy. all this time the black rats were invisible. the gray ones groped their way to the third story, and into the lord of the castle's great banquet hall--which stood there cold and empty, like all the other rooms in the old house. they even groped their way to the upper story, which had but one big, barren room. the only place they did not think of exploring was the big stork-nest on the roof--where, just at this time, the lady owl awakened akka, and informed her that flammea, the steeple owl, had granted her request, and had sent her the thing she wished for. since the gray rats had so conscientiously inspected the entire castle, they felt at ease. they took it for granted that the black rats had flown, and didn't intend to offer any resistance; and, with light hearts, they ran up into the grain bins. but the gray rats had hardly swallowed the first wheat-grains, before the sound of a little shrill pipe was heard from the yard. the gray rats raised their heads, listened anxiously, ran a few steps as if they intended to leave the bin, then they turned back and began to eat once more. again the pipe sounded a sharp and piercing note--and now something wonderful happened. one rat, two rats--yes, a whole lot of rats left the grain, jumped from the bins and hurried down cellar by the shortest cut, to get out of the house. still there were many gray rats left. these thought of all the toil and trouble it had cost them to win glimminge castle, and they did not want to leave it. but again they caught the tones from the pipe, and had to follow them. with wild excitement they rushed up from the bins, slid down through the narrow holes in the walls, and tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get out. in the middle of the courtyard stood a tiny creature, who blew upon a pipe. all round him he had a whole circle of rats who listened to him, astonished and fascinated; and every moment brought more. once he took the pipe from his lips--only for a second--put his thumb to his nose and wiggled his fingers at the gray rats; and then it looked as if they wanted to throw themselves on him and bite him to death; but as soon as he blew on his pipe they were in his power. when the tiny creature had played all the gray rats out of glimminge castle, he began to wander slowly from the courtyard out on the highway; and all the gray rats followed him, because the tones from that pipe sounded so sweet to their ears that they could not resist them. the tiny creature walked before them and charmed them along with him, on the road to vallby. he led them into all sorts of crooks and turns and bends--on through hedges and down into ditches--and wherever he went they had to follow. he blew continuously on his pipe, which appeared to be made from an animal's horn, although the horn was so small that, in our days, there were no animals from whose foreheads it could have been broken. no one knew, either, who had made it. flammea, the steeple-owl, had found it in a niche, in lund cathedral. she had shown it to bataki, the raven; and they had both figured out that this was the kind of horn that was used in former times by those who wished to gain power over rats and mice. but the raven was akka's friend; and it was from him she had learned that flammea owned a treasure like this. and it was true that the rats could not resist the pipe. the boy walked before them and played as long as the starlight lasted--and all the while they followed him. he played at daybreak; he played at sunrise; and the whole time the entire procession of gray rats followed him, and were enticed farther and farther away from the big grain loft at glimminge castle. the great crane dance on kullaberg _tuesday, march twenty-ninth_. although there are many magnificent buildings in skåne, it must be acknowledged that there's not one among them that has such pretty walls as old kullaberg. kullaberg is low and rather long. it is not by any means a big or imposing mountain. on its broad summit you'll find woods and grain fields, and one and another heather-heath. here and there, round heather-knolls and barren cliffs rise up. it is not especially pretty up there. it looks a good deal like all the other upland places in skåne. he who walks along the path which runs across the middle of the mountain, can't help feeling a little disappointed. then he happens, perhaps, to turn away from the path, and wanders off toward the mountain's sides and looks down over the bluffs; and then, all at once, he will discover so much that is worth seeing, he hardly knows how he'll find time to take in the whole of it. for it happens that kullaberg does not stand on the land, with plains and valleys around it, like other mountains; but it has plunged into the sea, as far out as it could get. not even the tiniest strip of land lies below the mountain to protect it against the breakers; but these reach all the way up to the mountain walls, and can polish and mould them to suit themselves. this is why the walls stand there as richly ornamented as the sea and its helpmeet, the wind, have been able to effect. you'll find steep ravines that are deeply chiselled in the mountain's sides; and black crags that have become smooth and shiny under the constant lashing of the winds. there are solitary rock-columns that spring right up out of the water, and dark grottoes with narrow entrances. there are barren, perpendicular precipices, and soft, leaf-clad inclines. there are small points, and small inlets, and small rolling stones that are rattlingly washed up and down with every dashing breaker. there are majestic cliff-arches that project over the water. there are sharp stones that are constantly sprayed by a white foam; and others that mirror themselves in unchangeable dark-green still water. there are giant troll-caverns shaped in the rock, and great crevices that lure the wanderer to venture into the mountain's depths--all the way to kullman's hollow. and over and around all these cliffs and rocks crawl entangled tendrils and weeds. trees grow there also, but the wind's power is so great that trees have to transform themselves into clinging vines, that they may get a firm hold on the steep precipices. the oaks creep along on the ground, while their foliage hangs over them like a low ceiling; and long-limbed beeches stand in the ravines like great leaf-tents. these remarkable mountain walls, with the blue sea beneath them, and the clear penetrating air above them, is what makes kullaberg so dear to the people that great crowds of them haunt the place every day as long as the summer lasts. but it is more difficult to tell what it is that makes it so attractive to animals, that every year they gather there for a big play-meeting. this is a custom that has been observed since time immemorial; and one should have been there when the first sea-wave was dashed into foam against the shore, to be able to explain just why kullaberg was chosen as a rendezvous, in preference to all other places. when the meeting is to take place, the stags and roebucks and hares and foxes and all the other four-footers make the journey to kullaberg the night before, so as not to be observed by the human beings. just before sunrise they all march up to the playground, which is a heather-heath on the left side of the road, and not very far from the mountain's most extreme point. the playground is inclosed on all sides by round knolls, which conceal it from any and all who do not happen to come right upon it. and in the month of march it is not at all likely that any pedestrians will stray off up there. all the strangers who usually stroll around on the rocks, and clamber up the mountain's sides the fall storms have driven away these many months past. and the lighthouse keeper out there on the point; the old fru on the mountain farm, and the mountain peasant and his house-folk go their accustomed ways, and do not run about on the desolate heather-fields. when the four-footers have arrived on the playground, they take their places on the round knolls. each animal family keeps to itself, although it is understood that, on a day like this, universal peace reigns, and no one need fear attack. on this day a little hare might wander over to the foxes' hill, without losing as much as one of his long ears. but still the animals arrange themselves into separate groups. this is an old custom. after they have all taken their places, they begin to look around for the birds. it is always beautiful weather on this day. the cranes are good weather prophets, and would not call the animals together if they expected rain. although the air is clear, and nothing obstructs the vision, the four-footers see no birds. this is strange. the sun stands high in the heavens, and the birds should already be on their way. but what the animals, on the other hand, observe, is one and another little dark cloud that comes slowly forward over the plain. and look! one of these clouds comes gradually along the coast of öresund, and up toward kullaberg. when the cloud has come just over the playground it stops, and, simultaneously, the entire cloud begins to ring and chirp, as if it was made of nothing but tone. it rises and sinks, rises and sinks, but all the while it rings and chirps. at last the whole cloud falls down over a knoll--all at once--and the next instant the knoll is entirely covered with gray larks, pretty red-white-gray bulfinches, speckled starlings and greenish-yellow titmice. soon after that, another cloud comes over the plain. this stops over every bit of land; over peasant cottage and palace; over towns and cities; over farms and railway stations; over fishing hamlets and sugar refineries. every time it stops, it draws to itself a little whirling column of gray dust-grains from the ground. in this way it grows and grows. and at last, when it is all gathered up and heads for kullaberg, it is no longer a cloud but a whole mist, which is so big that it throws a shadow on the ground all the way from höganäs to mölle. when it stops over the playground it hides the sun; and for a long while it had to rain gray sparrows on one of the knolls, before those who had been flying in the innermost part of the mist could again catch a glimpse of the daylight. but still the biggest of these bird-clouds is the one which now appears. this has been formed of birds who have travelled from every direction to join it. it is dark bluish-gray, and no sun-ray can penetrate it. it is full of the ghastliest noises, the most frightful shrieks, the grimmest laughter, and most ill-luck-boding croaking! all on the playground are glad when it finally resolves itself into a storm of fluttering and croaking: of crows and jackdaws and rooks and ravens. thereupon not only clouds are seen in the heavens, but a variety of stripes and figures. then straight, dotted lines appear in the east and northeast. these are forest-birds from göinge districts: black grouse and wood grouse who come flying in long lines a couple of metres apart. swimming-birds that live around måkläppen, just out of falsterbo, now come floating over öresund in many extraordinary figures: in triangular and long curves; in sharp hooks and semicircles. to the great reunion held the year that nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, came akka and her flock--later than all the others. and that was not to be wondered at, for akka had to fly over the whole of skåne to get to kullaberg. beside, as soon as she awoke, she had been obliged to go out and hunt for thumbietot, who, for many hours, had gone and played to the gray rats, and lured them far away from glimminge castle. mr. owl had returned with the news that the black rats would be at home immediately after sunrise; and there was no longer any danger in letting the steeple-owl's pipe be hushed, and to give the gray rats the liberty to go where they pleased. but it was not akka who discovered the boy where he walked with his long following, and quickly sank down over him and caught him with the bill and swung into the air with him, but it was herr ermenrich, the stork! for herr ermenrich had also gone out to look for him; and after he had borne him up to the stork-nest, he begged his forgiveness for having treated him with disrespect the evening before. this pleased the boy immensely, and the stork and he became good friends. akka, too, showed him that she felt very kindly toward him; she stroked her old head several times against his arms, and commended him because he had helped those who were in trouble. but this one must say to the boy's credit: that he did not want to accept praise which he had not earned. "no, mother akka," he said, "you mustn't think that i lured the gray rats away to help the black ones. i only wanted to show herr ermenrich that i was of some consequence." he had hardly said this before akka turned to the stork and asked if he thought it was advisable to take thumbietot along to kullaberg. "i mean, that we can rely on him as upon ourselves," said she. the stork at once advised, most enthusiastically, that thumbietot be permitted to come along. "certainly you shall take thumbietot along to kullaberg, mother akka," said he. "it is fortunate for us that we can repay him for all that he has endured this night for our sakes. and since it still grieves me to think that i did not conduct myself in a becoming manner toward him the other evening, it is i who will carry him on my back--all the way to the meeting place." there isn't much that tastes better than to receive praise from those who are themselves wise and capable; and the boy had certainly never felt so happy as he did when the wild goose and the stork talked about him in this way. thus the boy made the trip to kullaberg, riding stork-back. although he knew that this was a great honour, it caused him much anxiety, for herr ermenrich was a master flyer, and started off at a very different pace from the wild geese. while akka flew her straight way with even wing-strokes, the stork amused himself by performing a lot of flying tricks. now he lay still in an immeasurable height, and floated in the air without moving his wings, now he flung himself downward with such sudden haste that it seemed as though he would fall to the ground, helpless as a stone; now he had lots of fun flying all around akka, in great and small circles, like a whirlwind. the boy had never been on a ride of this sort before; and although he sat there all the while in terror, he had to acknowledge to himself that he had never before known what a good flight meant. only a single pause was made during the journey, and that was at vomb lake when akka joined her travelling companions, and called to them that the gray rats had been vanquished. after that, the travellers flew straight to kullaberg. there they descended to the knoll reserved for the wild geese; and as the boy let his glance wander from knoll to knoll, he saw on one of them the many-pointed antlers of the stags; and on another, the gray herons' neck-crests. one knoll was red with foxes, one was gray with rats; one was covered with black ravens who shrieked continually, one with larks who simply couldn't keep still, but kept on throwing themselves in the air and singing for very joy. just as it has ever been the custom on kullaberg, it was the crows who began the day's games and frolics with their flying-dance. they divided themselves into two flocks, that flew toward each other, met, turned, and began all over again. this dance had many repetitions, and appeared to the spectators who were not familiar with the dance as altogether too monotonous. the crows were very proud of their dance, but all the others were glad when it was over. it appeared to the animals about as gloomy and meaningless as the winter-storms' play with the snow-flakes. it depressed them to watch it, and they waited eagerly for something that should give them a little pleasure. they did not have to wait in vain, either; for as soon as the crows had finished, the hares came running. they dashed forward in a long row, without any apparent order. in some of the figures, one single hare came; in others, they ran three and four abreast. they had all raised themselves on two legs, and they rushed forward with such rapidity that their long ears swayed in all directions. as they ran, they spun round, made high leaps and beat their forepaws against their hind-paws so that they rattled. some performed a long succession of somersaults, others doubled themselves up and rolled over like wheels; one stood on one leg and swung round; one walked upon his forepaws. there was no regulation whatever, but there was much that was droll in the hares' play; and the many animals who stood and watched them began to breathe faster. now it was spring; joy and rapture were advancing. winter was over; summer was coming. soon it was only play to live. when the hares had romped themselves out, it was the great forest birds' turn to perform. hundreds of wood-grouse in shining dark-brown array, and with bright red eyebrows, flung themselves up into a great oak that stood in the centre of the playground. the one who sat upon the topmost branch fluffed up his feathers, lowered his wings, and lifted his tail so that the white covert-feathers were seen. thereupon he stretched his neck and sent forth a couple of deep notes from his thick throat. "tjack, tjack, tjack," it sounded. more than this he could not utter. it only gurgled a few times way down in the throat. then he closed his eyes and whispered: "sis, sis, sis. hear how pretty! sis, sis, sis." at the same time he fell into such an ecstasy that he no longer knew what was going on around him. while the first wood grouse was sissing, the three nearest--under him--began to sing; and before they had finished their song, the ten who sat lower down joined in; and thus it continued from branch to branch, until the entire hundred grouse sang and gurgled and sissed. they all fell into the same ecstasy during their song, and this affected the other animals like a contagious transport. lately the blood had flowed lightly and agreeably; now it began to grow heavy and hot. "yes, this is surely spring," thought all the animal folk. "winter chill has vanished. the fires of spring burn over the earth." when the black grouse saw that the brown grouse were having such success, they could no longer keep quiet. as there was no tree for them to light on, they rushed down on the playground, where the heather stood so high that only their beautifully turned tail-feathers and their thick bills were visible--and they began to sing: "orr, orr, orr." just as the black grouse began to compete with the brown grouse, something unprecedented happened. while all the animals thought of nothing but the grouse-game, a fox stole slowly over to the wild geese's knoll. he glided very cautiously, and came way up on the knoll before anyone noticed him. suddenly a goose caught sight of him; and as she could not believe that a fox had sneaked in among the geese for any good purpose, she began to cry: "have a care, wild geese! have a care!" the fox struck her across the throat--mostly, perhaps, because he wanted to make her keep quiet--but the wild geese had already heard the cry and they all raised themselves in the air. and when they had flown up, the animals saw smirre fox standing on the wild geese's knoll, with a dead goose in his mouth. but because he had in this way broken the play-day's peace, such a punishment was meted out to smirre fox that, for the rest of his days, he must regret he had not been able to control his thirst for revenge, but had attempted to approach akka and her flock in this manner. he was immediately surrounded by a crowd of foxes, and doomed in accordance with an old custom, which demands that whosoever disturbs the peace on the great play-day, must go into exile. not a fox wished to lighten the sentence, since they all knew that the instant they attempted anything of the sort, they would be driven from the playground, and would nevermore be permitted to enter it. banishment was pronounced upon smirre without opposition. he was forbidden to remain in skåne. he was banished from wife and kindred; from hunting grounds, home, resting places and retreats, which he had hitherto owned; and he must tempt fortune in foreign lands. so that all foxes in skåne should know that smirre was outlawed in the district, the oldest of the foxes bit off his right earlap. as soon as this was done, all the young foxes began to yowl from blood-thirst, and threw themselves on smirre. for him there was no alternative except to take flight; and with all the young foxes in hot pursuit, he rushed away from kullaberg. all this happened while black grouse and brown grouse were going on with their games. but these birds lose themselves so completely in their song, that they neither hear nor see. nor had they permitted themselves to be disturbed. the forest birds' contest was barely over, before the stags from häckeberga came forward to show their wrestling game. there were several pairs of stags who fought at the same time. they rushed at each other with tremendous force, struck their antlers dashingly together, so that their points were entangled; and tried to force each other backward. the heather-heaths were torn up beneath their hoofs; the breath came like smoke from their nostrils; out of their throats strained hideous bellowings, and the froth oozed down on their shoulders. on the knolls round about there was breathless silence while the skilled stag-wrestlers clinched. in all the animals new emotions were awakened. each and all felt courageous and, strong; enlivened by returning powers; born again with the spring; sprightly, and ready for all kinds of adventures. they felt no enmity toward each other, although, everywhere, wings were lifted, neck-feathers raised and claws sharpened. if the stags from häckeberga had continued another instant, a wild struggle would have arisen on the knolls, for all had been gripped with a burning desire to show that they too were full of life because the winter's impotence was over and strength surged through their bodies. but the stags stopped wrestling just at the right moment, and instantly a whisper went from knoll to knoll: "the cranes are coming!" and then came the gray, dusk-clad birds with plumes in their wings, and red feather-ornaments on their necks. the big birds with their tall legs, their slender throats, their small heads, came gliding down the knoll with an abandon that was full of mystery. as they glided forward they swung round--half flying, half dancing. with wings gracefully lifted, they moved with an inconceivable rapidity. there was something marvellous and strange about their dance. it was as though gray shadows had played a game which the eye could scarcely follow. it was as if they had learned it from the mists that hover over desolate morasses. there was witchcraft in it. all those who had never before been on kullaberg understood why the whole meeting took its name from the crane's dance. there was wildness in it; but yet the feeling which it awakened was a delicious longing. no one thought any more about struggling. instead, both the winged and those who had no wings, all wanted to raise themselves eternally, lift themselves above the clouds, seek that which was hidden beyond them, leave the oppressive body that dragged them down to earth and soar away toward the infinite. such longing after the unattainable, after the hidden mysteries back of this life, the animals felt only once a year; and this was on the day when they beheld the great crane dance. in rainy weather _wednesday, march thirtieth_. it was the first rainy day of the trip. as long as the wild geese had remained in the vicinity of vomb lake, they had had beautiful weather; but on the day when they set out to travel farther north, it began to rain, and for several hours the boy had to sit on the goose-back, soaking wet, and shivering with the cold. in the morning when they started, it had been clear and mild. the wild geese had flown high up in the air--evenly, and without haste--with akka at the head maintaining strict discipline, and the rest in two oblique lines back of her. they had not taken the time to shout any witty sarcasms to the animals on the ground; but, as it was simply impossible for them to keep perfectly silent, they sang out continually--in rhythm with the wing-strokes--their usual coaxing call: "where are you? here am i. where are you? here am i." they all took part in this persistent calling, and only stopped, now and then, to show the goosey-gander the landmarks they were travelling over. the places on this route included linderödsosen's dry hills, ovesholm's manor, christianstad's church steeple, bäckaskog's royal castle on the narrow isthmus between oppmann's lake and ivö's lake, ryss mountain's steep precipice. it had been a monotonous trip, and when the rain-clouds made their appearance the boy thought it was a real diversion. in the old days, when he had only seen a rain-cloud from below, he had imagined that they were gray and disagreeable; but it was a very different thing to be up amongst them. now he saw distinctly that the clouds were enormous carts, which drove through the heavens with sky-high loads. some of them were piled up with huge, gray sacks, some with barrels; some were so large that they could hold a whole lake; and a few were filled with big utensils and bottles which were piled up to an immense height. and when so many of them had driven forward that they filled the whole sky, it appeared as though someone had given a signal, for all at once, water commenced to pour down over the earth, from utensils, barrels, bottles and sacks. just as the first spring-showers pattered against the ground, there arose such shouts of joy from all the small birds in groves and pastures, that the whole air rang with them and the boy leaped high where he sat. "now we'll have rain. rain gives us spring; spring gives us flowers and green leaves; green leaves and flowers give us worms and insects; worms and insects give us food; and plentiful and good food is the best thing there is," sang the birds. the wild geese, too, were glad of the rain which came to awaken the growing things from their long sleep, and to drive holes in the ice-roofs on the lakes. they were not able to keep up that seriousness any longer, but began to send merry calls over the neighbourhood. when they flew over the big potato patches, which are so plentiful in the country around christianstad--and which still lay bare and black--they screamed: "wake up and be useful! here comes something that will awaken you. you have idled long enough now." when they saw people who hurried to get out of the rain, they reproved them saying: "what are you in such a hurry about? can't you see that it's raining rye-loaves and cookies?" it was a big, thick mist that moved northward briskly, and followed close upon the geese. they seemed to think that they dragged the mist along with them; and, just now, when they saw great orchards beneath them, they called out proudly: "here we come with anemones; here we come with roses; here we come with apple blossoms and cherry buds; here we come with peas and beans and turnips and cabbages. he who wills can take them. he who wills can take them." thus it had sounded while the first showers fell, and when all were still glad of the rain. but when it continued to fall the whole afternoon, the wild geese grew impatient, and cried to the thirsty forests around ivös lake: "haven't you got enough yet? haven't you got enough yet?" the heavens were growing grayer and grayer and the sun hid itself so well that one couldn't imagine where it was. the rain fell faster and faster, and beat harder and harder against the wings, as it tried to find its way between the oily outside feathers, into their skins. the earth was hidden by fogs; lakes, mountains, and woods floated together in an indistinct maze, and the landmarks could not be distinguished. the flight became slower and slower; the joyful cries were hushed; and the boy felt the cold more and more keenly. but still he had kept up his courage as long as he had ridden through the air. and in the afternoon, when they had lighted under a little stunted pine, in the middle of a large morass, where all was wet, and all was cold; where some knolls were covered with snow, and others stood up naked in a puddle of half-melted ice-water, even then, he had not felt discouraged, but ran about in fine spirits, and hunted for cranberries and frozen whortleberries. but then came evening, and darkness sank down on them so close, that not even such eyes as the boy's could see through it; and all the wilderness became so strangely grim and awful. the boy lay tucked in under the goosey-gander's wing, but could not sleep because he was cold and wet. he heard such a lot of rustling and rattling and stealthy steps and menacing voices, that he was terror-stricken and didn't know where he should go. he must go somewhere, where there was light and heat, if he wasn't going to be entirely scared to death. "if i should venture where there are human beings, just for this night?" thought the boy. "only so i could sit by a fire for a moment, and get a little food. i could go back to the wild geese before sunrise." he crept from under the wing and slid down to the ground. he didn't awaken either the goosey-gander or any of the other geese, but stole, silently and unobserved, through the morass. he didn't know exactly where on earth he was: if he was in skåne, in småland, or in blekinge. but just before he had gotten down in the morass, he had caught a glimpse of a large village, and thither he directed his steps. it wasn't long, either, before he discovered a road; and soon he was on the village street, which was long, and had planted trees on both sides, and was bordered with garden after garden. the boy had come to one of the big cathedral towns, which are so common on the uplands, but can hardly be seen at all down in the plain. the houses were of wood, and very prettily constructed. most of them had gables and fronts, edged with carved mouldings, and glass doors, with here and there a coloured pane, opening on verandas. the walls were painted in light oil-colours; the doors and window-frames shone in blues and greens, and even in reds. while the boy walked about and viewed the houses, he could hear, all the way out to the road, how the people who sat in the warm cottages chattered and laughed. the words he could not distinguish, but he thought it was just lovely to hear human voices. "i wonder what they would say if i knocked and begged to be let in," thought he. this was, of course, what he had intended to do all along, but now that he saw the lighted windows, his fear of the darkness was gone. instead, he felt again that shyness which always came over him now when he was near human beings. "i'll take a look around the town for a while longer," thought he, "before i ask anyone to take me in." on one house there was a balcony. and just as the boy walked by, the doors were thrown open, and a yellow light streamed through the fine, sheer curtains. then a pretty young fru came out on the balcony and leaned over the railing. "it's raining; now we shall soon have spring," said she. when the boy saw her he felt a strange anxiety. it was as though he wanted to weep. for the first time he was a bit uneasy because he had shut himself out from the human kind. shortly after that he walked by a shop. outside the shop stood a red corn-drill. he stopped and looked at it; and finally crawled up to the driver's place, and seated himself. when he had got there, he smacked with his lips and pretended that he sat and drove. he thought what fun it would be to be permitted to drive such a pretty machine over a grainfield. for a moment he forgot what he was like now; then he remembered it, and jumped down quickly from the machine. then a greater unrest came over him. after all, human beings were very wonderful and clever. he walked by the post-office, and then he thought of all the newspapers which came every day, with news from all the four corners of the earth. he saw the apothecary's shop and the doctor's home, and he thought about the power of human beings, which was so great that they were able to battle with sickness and death. he came to the church. then he thought how human beings had built it, that they might hear about another world than the one in which they lived, of god and the resurrection and eternal life. and the longer he walked there, the better he liked human beings. it is so with children that they never think any farther ahead than the length of their noses. that which lies nearest them, they want promptly, without caring what it may cost them. nils holgersson had not understood what he was losing when he chose to remain an elf; but now he began to be dreadfully afraid that, perhaps, he should never again get back to his right form. how in all the world should he go to work in order to become human? this he wanted, oh! so much, to know. he crawled up on a doorstep, and seated himself in the pouring rain and meditated. he sat there one whole hour--two whole hours, and he thought so hard that his forehead lay in furrows; but he was none the wiser. it seemed as though the thoughts only rolled round and round in his head. the longer he sat there, the more impossible it seemed to him to find any solution. "this thing is certainly much too difficult for one who has learned as little as i have," he thought at last. "it will probably wind up by my having to go back among human beings after all. i must ask the minister and the doctor and the schoolmaster and others who are learned, and may know a cure for such things." this he concluded that he would do at once, and shook himself--for he was as wet as a dog that has been in a water-pool. just about then he saw that a big owl came flying along, and alighted on one of the trees that bordered the village street. the next instant a lady owl, who sat under the cornice of the house, began to call out: "kivitt, kivitt! are you at home again, mr. gray owl? what kind of a time did you have abroad?" "thank you, lady brown owl. i had a very comfortable time," said the gray owl. "has anything out of the ordinary happened here at home during my absence?" "not here in blekinge, mr. gray owl; but in skåne a marvellous thing has happened! a boy has been transformed by an elf into a goblin no bigger than a squirrel; and since then he has gone to lapland with a tame goose." "that's a remarkable bit of news, a remarkable bit of news. can he never be human again, lady brown owl? can he never be human again?" "that's a secret, mr. gray owl; but you shall hear it just the same. the elf has said that if the boy watches over the goosey-gander, so that he comes home safe and sound, and--" "what more, lady brown owl? what more? what more?" "fly with me up to the church tower, mr. gray owl, and you shall hear the whole story! i fear there may be someone listening down here in the street." with that, the owls flew their way; but the boy flung his cap in the air, and shouted: "if i only watch over the goosey-gander, so that he gets back safe and sound, then i shall become a human being again. hurrah! hurrah! then i shall become a human being again!" he shouted "hurrah" until it was strange that they did not hear him in the houses--but they didn't, and he hurried back to the wild geese, out in the wet morass, as fast as his legs could carry him. the stairway with the three steps _thursday, march thirty-first_. the following day the wild geese intended to travel northward through allbo district, in småland. they sent iksi and kaksi to spy out the land. but when they returned, they said that all the water was frozen, and all the land was snow-covered. "we may as well remain where we are," said the wild geese. "we cannot travel over a country where there is neither water nor food." "if we remain where we are, we may have to wait here until the next moon," said akka. "it is better to go eastward, through blekinge, and see if we can't get to småland by way of möre, which lies near the coast, and has an early spring." thus the boy came to ride over blekinge the next day. now, that it was light again, he was in a merry mood once more, and could not comprehend what had come over him the night before. he certainly didn't want to give up the journey and the outdoor life now. there lay a thick fog over blekinge. the boy couldn't see how it looked out there. "i wonder if it is a good, or a poor country that i'm riding over," thought he, and tried to search his memory for the things which he had heard about the country at school. but at the same time he knew well enough that this was useless, as he had never been in the habit of studying his lessons. at once the boy saw the whole school before him. the children sat by the little desks and raised their hands; the teacher sat in the lectern and looked displeased; and he himself stood before the map and should answer some question about blekinge, but he hadn't a word to say. the schoolmaster's face grew darker and darker for every second that passed, and the boy thought the teacher was more particular that they should know their geography, than anything else. now he came down from the lectern, took the pointer from the boy, and sent him back to his seat. "this won't end well," the boy thought then. but the schoolmaster had gone over to a window, and had stood there for a moment and looked out, and then he had whistled to himself once. then he had gone up into the lectern and said that he would tell them something about blekinge. and that which he then talked about had been so amusing that the boy had listened. when he only stopped and thought for a moment, he remembered every word. "småland is a tall house with spruce trees on the roof," said the teacher, "and leading up to it is a broad stairway with three big steps; and this stairway is called blekinge. it is a stairway that is well constructed. it stretches forty-two miles along the frontage of småland house, and anyone who wishes to go all the way down to the east sea, by way of the stairs, has twenty-four miles to wander. "a good long time must have elapsed since the stairway was built. both days and years have gone by since the steps were hewn from gray stones and laid down--evenly and smoothly--for a convenient track between småland and the east sea. "since the stairway is so old, one can, of course, understand that it doesn't look just the same now, as it did when it was new. i don't know how much they troubled themselves about such matters at that time; but big as it was, no broom could have kept it clean. after a couple of years, moss and lichen began to grow on it. in the autumn dry leaves and dry grass blew down over it; and in the spring it was piled up with falling stones and gravel. and as all these things were left there to mould, they finally gathered so much soil on the steps that not only herbs and grass, but even bushes and trees could take root there. "but, at the same time, a great disparity has arisen between the three steps. the topmost step, which lies nearest småland, is mostly covered with poor soil and small stones, and no trees except birches and bird-cherry and spruce--which can stand the cold on the heights, and are satisfied with little--can thrive up there. one understands best how poor and dry it is there, when one sees how small the field-plots are, that are ploughed up from the forest lands; and how many little cabins the people build for themselves; and how far it is between the churches. but on the middle step there is better soil, and it does not lie bound down under such severe cold, either. this one can see at a glance, since the trees are both higher and of finer quality. there you'll find maple and oak and linden and weeping-birch and hazel trees growing, but no cone-trees to speak of. and it is still more noticeable because of the amount of cultivated land that you will find there; and also because the people have built themselves great and beautiful houses. on the middle step, there are many churches, with large towns around them; and in every way it makes a better and finer appearance than the top step. "but the very lowest step is the best of all. it is covered with good rich soil; and, where it lies and bathes in the sea, it hasn't the slightest feeling of the småland chill. beeches and chestnut and walnut trees thrive down here; and they grow so big that they tower above the church-roofs. here lie also the largest grain-fields; but the people have not only timber and farming to live upon, but they are also occupied with fishing and trading and seafaring. for this reason you will find the most costly residences and the prettiest churches here; and the parishes have developed into villages and cities. "but this is not all that is said of the three steps. for one must realise that when it rains on the roof of the big småland house, or when the snow melts up there, the water has to go somewhere; and then, naturally, a lot of it is spilled over the big stairway. in the beginning it probably oozed over the whole stairway, big as it was; then cracks appeared in it, and, gradually, the water has accustomed itself to flow alongside of it, in well dug-out grooves. and water is water, whatever one does with it. it never has any rest. in one place it cuts and files away, and in another it adds to. those grooves it has dug into vales, and the walls of the vales it has decked with soil; and bushes and trees and vines have clung to them ever since--so thick, and in such profusion, that they almost hide the stream of water that winds its way down there in the deep. but when the streams come to the landings between the steps, they throw themselves headlong over them; this is why the water comes with such a seething rush, that it gathers strength with which to move mill-wheels and machinery--these, too, have sprung up by every waterfall. "but this does not tell all that is said of the land with the three steps. it must also be told that up in the big house in småland there lived once upon a time a giant, who had grown very old. and it fatigued him in his extreme age, to be forced to walk down that long stairway in order to catch salmon from the sea. to him it seemed much more suitable that the salmon should come up to him, where he lived. "therefore, he went up on the roof of his great house; and there he stood and threw stones down into the east sea. he threw them with such force that they flew over the whole of blekinge and dropped into the sea. and when the stones came down, the salmon got so scared that they came up from the sea and fled toward the blekinge streams; ran through the rapids; flung themselves with high leaps over the waterfalls, and stopped. "how true this is, one can see by the number of islands and points that lie along the coast of blekinge, and which are nothing in the world but the big stones that the giant threw. "one can also tell because the salmon always go up in the blekinge streams and work their way up through rapids and still water, all the way to småland. "that giant is worthy of great thanks and much honour from the blekinge people; for salmon in the streams, and stone-cutting on the island--that means work which gives food to many of them even to this day." by ronneby river _friday, april first_. neither the wild geese nor smirre fox had believed that they should ever run across each other after they had left skåne. but now it turned out so that the wild geese happened to take the route over blekinge and thither smirre fox had also gone. so far he had kept himself in the northern parts of the province; and since he had not as yet seen any manor parks, or hunting grounds filled with game and dainty young deer, he was more disgruntled than he could say. one afternoon, when smirre tramped around in the desolate forest district of mellanbygden, not far from ronneby river, he saw a flock of wild geese fly through the air. instantly he observed that one of the geese was white and then he knew, of course, with whom he had to deal. smirre began immediately to hunt the geese--just as much for the pleasure of getting a good square meal, as for the desire to be avenged for all the humiliation that they had heaped upon him. he saw that they flew eastward until they came to ronneby river. then they changed their course, and followed the river toward the south. he understood that they intended to seek a sleeping-place along the river-banks, and he thought that he should be able to get hold of a pair of them without much trouble. but when smirre finally discovered the place where the wild geese had taken refuge, he observed they had chosen such a well-protected spot, that he couldn't get near. ronneby river isn't any big or important body of water; nevertheless, it is just as much talked of, for the sake of its pretty shores. at several points it forces its way forward between steep mountain-walls that stand upright out of the water, and are entirely overgrown with honeysuckle and bird-cherry, mountain-ash and osier; and there isn't much that can be more delightful than to row out on the little dark river on a pleasant summer day, and look upward on all the soft green that fastens itself to the rugged mountain-sides. but now, when the wild geese and smirre came to the river, it was cold and blustery spring-winter; all the trees were nude, and there was probably no one who thought the least little bit about whether the shore was ugly or pretty. the wild geese thanked their good fortune that they had found a sand-strip large enough for them to stand upon, on a steep mountain wall. in front of them rushed the river, which was strong and violent in the snow-melting time; behind them they had an impassable mountain rock wall, and overhanging branches screened them. they couldn't have it better. the geese were asleep instantly; but the boy couldn't get a wink of sleep. as soon as the sun had disappeared he was seized with a fear of the darkness, and a wilderness-terror, and he longed for human beings. where he lay--tucked in under the goose-wing--he could see nothing, and only hear a little; and he thought if any harm came to the goosey-gander, he couldn't save him. noises and rustlings were heard from all directions, and he grew so uneasy that he had to creep from under the wing and seat himself on the ground, beside the goose. long-sighted smirre stood on the mountain's summit and looked down upon the wild geese. "you may as well give this pursuit up first as last," he said to himself. "you can't climb such a steep mountain; you can't swim in such a wild torrent; and there isn't the tiniest strip of land below the mountain which leads to the sleeping-place. those geese are too wise for you. don't ever bother yourself again to hunt them!" but smirre, like all foxes, had found it hard to give up an undertaking already begun, and so he lay down on the extremest point of the mountain edge, and did not take his eyes off the wild geese. while he lay and watched them, he thought of all the harm they had done him. yes, it was their fault that he had been driven from skåne, and had been obliged to move to poverty-stricken blekinge. he worked himself up to such a pitch, as he lay there, that he wished the wild geese were dead, even if he, himself, should not have the satisfaction of eating them. when smirre's resentment had reached this height, he heard rasping in a large pine that grew close to him, and saw a squirrel come down from the tree, hotly pursued by a marten. neither of them noticed smirre; and he sat quietly and watched the chase, which went from tree to tree. he looked at the squirrel, who moved among the branches as lightly as though he'd been able to fly. he looked at the marten, who was not as skilled at climbing as the squirrel, but who still ran up and along the branches just as securely as if they had been even paths in the forest. "if i could only climb half as well as either of them," thought the fox, "those things down there wouldn't sleep in peace very long!" as soon as the squirrel had been captured, and the chase was ended, smirre walked over to the marten, but stopped two steps away from him, to signify that he did not wish to cheat him of his prey. he greeted the marten in a very friendly manner, and wished him good luck with his catch. smirre chose his words well--as foxes always do. the marten, on the contrary, who, with his long and slender body, his fine head, his soft skin, and his light brown neck-piece, looked like a little marvel of beauty--but in reality was nothing but a crude forest dweller--hardly answered him. "it surprises me," said smirre, "that such a fine hunter as you are should be satisfied with chasing squirrels when there is much better game within reach." here he paused; but when the marten only grinned impudently at him, he continued: "can it be possible that you haven't seen the wild geese that stand under the mountain wall? or are you not a good enough climber to get down to them?" this time he had no need to wait for an answer. the marten rushed up to him with back bent, and every separate hair on end. "have you seen wild geese?" he hissed. "where are they? tell me instantly, or i'll bite your neck off!" "no! you must remember that i'm twice your size--so be a little polite. i ask nothing better than to show you the wild geese." the next instant the marten was on his way down the steep; and while smirre sat and watched how he swung his snake-like body from branch to branch, he thought: "that pretty tree-hunter has the wickedest heart in all the forest. i believe that the wild geese will have me to thank for a bloody awakening." but just as smirre was waiting to hear the geese's death-rattle, he saw the marten tumble from branch to branch--and plump into the river so the water splashed high. soon thereafter, wings beat loudly and strongly and all the geese went up in a hurried flight. smirre intended to hurry after the geese, but he was so curious to know how they had been saved, that he sat there until the marten came clambering up. that poor thing was soaked in mud, and stopped every now and then to rub his head with his forepaws. "now wasn't that just what i thought--that you were a booby, and would go and tumble into the river?" said smirre, contemptuously. "i haven't acted boobyishly. you don't need to scold me," said the marten. "i sat--all ready--on one of the lowest branches and thought how i should manage to tear a whole lot of geese to pieces, when a little creature, no bigger than a squirrel, jumped up and threw a stone at my head with such force, that i fell into the water; and before i had time to pick myself up--" the marten didn't have to say any more. he had no audience. smirre was already a long way off in pursuit of the wild geese. in the meantime akka had flown southward in search of a new sleeping-place. there was still a little daylight; and, beside, the half-moon stood high in the heavens, so that she could see a little. luckily, she was well acquainted in these parts, because it had happened more than once that she had been wind-driven to blekinge when she travelled over the east sea in the spring. she followed the river as long as she saw it winding through the moon-lit landscape like a black, shining snake. in this way she came way down to djupafors--where the river first hides itself in an underground channel--and then clear and transparent, as though it were made of glass, rushes down in a narrow cleft, and breaks into bits against its bottom in glittering drops and flying foam. below the white falls lay a few stones, between which the water rushed away in a wild torrent cataract. here mother akka alighted. this was another good sleeping-place--especially this late in the evening, when no human beings moved about. at sunset the geese would hardly have been able to camp there, for djupafors does not lie in any wilderness. on one side of the falls is a paper factory; on the other--which is steep, and tree-grown--is djupadal's park, where people are always strolling about on the steep and slippery paths to enjoy the wild stream's rushing movement down in the ravine. it was about the same here as at the former place; none of the travellers thought the least little bit that they had come to a pretty and well-known place. they thought rather that it was ghastly and dangerous to stand and sleep on slippery, wet stones, in the middle of a rumbling waterfall. but they had to be content, if only they were protected from carnivorous animals. the geese fell asleep instantly, while the boy could find no rest in sleep, but sat beside them that he might watch over the goosey-gander. after a while, smirre came running along the river-shore. he spied the geese immediately where they stood out in the foaming whirlpools, and understood that he couldn't get at them here, either. still he couldn't make up his mind to abandon them, but seated himself on the shore and looked at them. he felt very much humbled, and thought that his entire reputation as a hunter was at stake. all of a sudden, he saw an otter come creeping up from the falls with a fish in his mouth. smirre approached him but stopped within two steps of him, to show him that he didn't wish to take his game from him. "you're a remarkable one, who can content yourself with catching a fish, while the stones are covered with geese!" said smirre. he was so eager, that he hadn't taken the time to arrange his words as carefully as he was wont to do. the otter didn't turn his head once in the direction of the river. he was a vagabond--like all otters--and had fished many times by vomb lake, and probably knew smirre fox. "i know very well how you act when you want to coax away a salmon-trout, smirre," said he. "oh! is it you, gripe?" said smirre, and was delighted; for he knew that this particular otter was a quick and accomplished swimmer. "i don't wonder that you do not care to look at the wild geese, since you can't manage to get out to them." but the otter, who had swimming-webs between his toes, and a stiff tail--which was as good as an oar--and a skin that was water-proof, didn't wish to have it said of him that there was a waterfall that he wasn't able to manage. he turned toward the stream; and as soon as he caught sight of the wild geese, he threw the fish away, and rushed down the steep shore and into the river. if it had been a little later in the spring, so that the nightingales in djupafors had been at home, they would have sung for many a day of gripe's struggle with the rapid. for the otter was thrust back by the waves many times, and carried down river; but he fought his way steadily up again. he swam forward in still water; he crawled over stones, and gradually came nearer the wild geese. it was a perilous trip, which might well have earned the right to be sung by the nightingales. smirre followed the otter's course with his eyes as well as he could. at last he saw that the otter was in the act of climbing up to the wild geese. but just then it shrieked shrill and wild. the otter tumbled backward into the water, and dashed away as if he had been a blind kitten. an instant later, there was a great crackling of geese's wings. they raised themselves and flew away to find another sleeping-place. the otter soon came on land. he said nothing, but commenced to lick one of his forepaws. when smirre sneered at him because he hadn't succeeded, he broke out: "it was not the fault of my swimming-art, smirre. i had raced all the way over to the geese, and was about to climb up to them, when a tiny creature came running, and jabbed me in the foot with some sharp iron. it hurt so, i lost my footing, and then the current took me." he didn't have to say any more. smirre was already far away on his way to the wild geese. once again akka and her flock had to take a night fly. fortunately, the moon had not gone down; and with the aid of its light, she succeeded in finding another of those sleeping-places which she knew in that neighbourhood. again she followed the shining river toward the south. over djupadal's manor, and over ronneby's dark roofs and white waterfalls she swayed forward without alighting. but a little south of the city and not far from the sea, lies ronneby health-spring, with its bath house and spring house; with its big hotel and summer cottages for the spring's guests. all these stand empty and desolate in winter--which the birds know perfectly well; and many are the bird-companies who seek shelter on the deserted buildings' balustrades and balconies during hard storm-times. here the wild geese lit on a balcony, and, as usual, they fell asleep at once. the boy, on the contrary, could not sleep because he hadn't cared to creep in under the goosey-gander's wing. the balcony faced south, so the boy had an outlook over the sea. and since he could not sleep, he sat there and saw how pretty it looked when sea and land meet, here in blekinge. you see that sea and land can meet in many different ways. in many places the land comes down toward the sea with flat, tufted meadows, and the sea meets the land with flying sand, which piles up in mounds and drifts. it appears as though they both disliked each other so much that they only wished to show the poorest they possessed. but it can also happen that, when the land comes toward the sea, it raises a wall of hills in front of it--as though the sea were something dangerous. when the land does this, the sea comes up to it with fiery wrath, and beats and roars and lashes against the rocks, and looks as if it would tear the land-hill to pieces. but in blekinge it is altogether different when sea and land meet. there the land breaks itself up into points and islands and islets; and the sea divides itself into fiords and bays and sounds; and it is, perhaps, this which makes it look as if they must meet in happiness and harmony. think now first and foremost of the sea! far out it lies desolate and empty and big, and has nothing else to do but to roll its gray billows. when it comes toward the land, it happens across the first obstacle. this it immediately overpowers; tears away everything green, and makes it as gray as itself. then it meets still another obstacle. with this it does the same thing. and still another. yes, the same thing happens to this also. it is stripped and plundered, as if it had fallen into robbers' hands. then the obstacles come nearer and nearer together, and then the sea must understand that the land sends toward it her littlest children, in order to move it to pity. it also becomes more friendly the farther in it comes; rolls its waves less high; moderates its storms; lets the green things stay in cracks and crevices; separates itself into small sounds and inlets, and becomes at last so harmless in the land, that little boats dare venture out on it. it certainly cannot recognise itself--so mild and friendly has it grown. and then think of the hillside! it lies uniform, and looks the same almost everywhere. it consists of flat grain-fields, with one and another birch-grove between them; or else of long stretches of forest ranges. it appears as if it had thought about nothing but grain and turnips and potatoes and spruce and pine. then comes a sea-fiord that cuts far into it. it doesn't mind that, but borders it with birch and alder, just as if it was an ordinary fresh-water lake. then still another wave comes driving in. nor does the hillside bother itself about cringing to this, but it, too, gets the same covering as the first one. then the fiords begin to broaden and separate, they break up fields and woods and then the hillside cannot help but notice them. "i believe it is the sea itself that is coming," says the hillside, and then it begins to adorn itself. it wreathes itself with blossoms, travels up and down in hills and throws islands into the sea. it no longer cares about pines and spruces, but casts them off like old every day clothes, and parades later with big oaks and lindens and chestnuts, and with blossoming leafy bowers, and becomes as gorgeous as a manor-park. and when it meets the sea, it is so changed that it doesn't know itself. all this one cannot see very well until summertime; but, at any rate, the boy observed how mild and friendly nature was; and he began to feel calmer than he had been before, that night. then, suddenly, he heard a sharp and ugly yowl from the bath-house park; and when he stood up he saw, in the white moonlight, a fox standing on the pavement under the balcony. for smirre had followed the wild geese once more. but when he had found the place where they were quartered, he had understood that it was impossible to get at them in any way; then he had not been able to keep from yowling with chagrin. when the fox yowled in this manner, old akka, the leader-goose, was awakened. although she could see nothing, she thought she recognised the voice. "is it you who are out to-night, smirre?" said she. "yes," said smirre, "it is i; and i want to ask what you geese think of the night that i have given you?" "do you mean to say that it is you who have sent the marten and otter against us?" asked akka. "a good turn shouldn't be denied," said smirre. "you once played the goose-game with me, now i have begun to play the fox-game with you; and i'm not inclined to let up on it so long as a single one of you still lives even if i have to follow you the world over!" "you, smirre, ought at least to think whether it is right for you, who are weaponed with both teeth and claws, to hound us in this way; we, who are without defence," said akka. smirre thought that akka sounded scared, and he said quickly: "if you, akka, will take that thumbietot--who has so often opposed me--and throw him down to me, i'll promise to make peace with you. then i'll never more pursue you or any of yours." "i'm not going to give you thumbietot," said akka. "from the youngest of us to the oldest, we would willingly give our lives for his sake!" "since you're so fond of him," said smirre, "i'll promise you that he shall be the first among you that i will wreak vengeance upon." akka said no more, and after smirre had sent up a few more yowls, all was still. the boy lay all the while awake. now it was akka's words to the fox that prevented him from sleeping. never had he dreamed that he should hear anything so great as that anyone was willing to risk life for his sake. from that moment, it could no longer be said of nils holgersson that he did not care for anyone. karlskrona _saturday, april second_. it was a moonlight evening in karlskrona--calm and beautiful. but earlier in the day, there had been rain and wind; and the people must have thought that the bad weather still continued, for hardly one of them had ventured out on the streets. while the city lay there so desolate, akka, the wild goose, and her flock, came flying toward it over vemmön and pantarholmen. they were out in the late evening to seek a sleeping place on the islands. they couldn't remain inland because they were disturbed by smirre fox wherever they lighted. when the boy rode along high up in the air, and looked at the sea and the islands which spread themselves before him, he thought that everything appeared so strange and spook-like. the heavens were no longer blue, but encased him like a globe of green glass. the sea was milk-white, and as far as he could see rolled small white waves tipped with silver ripples. in the midst of all this white lay numerous little islets, absolutely coal black. whether they were big or little, whether they were as even as meadows, or full of cliffs, they looked just as black. even dwelling houses and churches and windmills, which at other times are white or red, were outlined in black against the green sky. the boy thought it was as if the earth had been transformed, and he was come to another world. he thought that just for this one night he wanted to be brave, and not afraid--when he saw something that really frightened him. it was a high cliff island, which was covered with big, angular blocks; and between the blocks shone specks of bright, shining gold. he couldn't keep from thinking of maglestone, by trolle-ljungby, which the trolls sometimes raised upon high gold pillars; and he wondered if this was something like that. but with the stones and the gold it might have gone fairly well, if such a lot of horrid things had not been lying all around the island. it looked like whales and sharks and other big sea-monsters. but the boy understood that it was the sea-trolls, who had gathered around the island and intended to crawl up on it, to fight with the land-trolls who lived there. and those on the land were probably afraid, for he saw how a big giant stood on the highest point of the island and raised his arms--as if in despair over all the misfortune that should come to him and his island. the boy was not a little terrified when he noticed that akka began to descend right over that particular island! "no, for pity's sake! we must not light there," said he. but the geese continued to descend, and soon the boy was astonished that he could have seen things so awry. in the first place, the big stone blocks were nothing but houses. the whole island was a city; and the shining gold specks were street lamps and lighted window-panes. the giant, who stood highest up on the island, and raised his arms, was a church with two cross-towers; all the sea-trolls and monsters, which he thought he had seen, were boats and ships of every description, that lay anchored all around the island. on the side which lay toward the land were mostly row-boats and sailboats and small coast steamers; but on the side that faced the sea lay armour-clad battleships; some were broad, with very thick, slanting smokestacks; others were long and narrow, and so constructed that they could glide through the water like fishes. now what city might this be? that, the boy could figure out because he saw all the battleships. all his life he had loved ships, although he had had nothing to do with any, except the galleys which he had sailed in the road ditches. he knew very well that this city--where so many battleships lay--couldn't be any place but karlskrona. the boy's grandfather had been an old marine; and as long as he had lived, he had talked of karlskrona every day; of the great warship dock, and of all the other things to be seen in that city. the boy felt perfectly at home, and he was glad that he should see all this of which he had heard so much. but he only had a glimpse of the towers and fortifications which barred the entrance to the harbour, and the many buildings, and the shipyard--before akka came down on one of the flat church-towers. this was a pretty safe place for those who wanted to get away from a fox, and the boy began to wonder if he couldn't venture to crawl in under the goosey-gander's wing for this one night. yes, that he might safely do. it would do him good to get a little sleep. he should try to see a little more of the dock and the ships after it had grown light. the boy himself thought it was strange that he could keep still and wait until the next morning to see the ships. he certainly had not slept five minutes before he slipped out from under the wing and slid down the lightning-rod and the waterspout all the way down to the ground. soon he stood on a big square which spread itself in front of the church. it was covered with round stones, and was just as difficult for him to travel over, as it is for big people to walk on a tufted meadow. those who are accustomed to live in the open--or way out in the country--always feel uneasy when they come into a city, where the houses stand straight and forbidding, and the streets are open, so that everyone can see who goes there. and it happened in the same way with the boy. when he stood on the big karlskrona square, and looked at the german church, and town hall, and the cathedral from which he had just descended, he couldn't do anything but wish that he was back on the tower again with the geese. it was a lucky thing that the square was entirely deserted. there wasn't a human being about--unless he counted a statue that stood on a high pedestal. the boy gazed long at the statue, which represented a big, brawny man in a three-cornered hat, long waistcoat, knee-breeches and coarse shoes, and wondered what kind of a one he was. he held a long stick in his hand, and he looked as if he would know how to make use of it, too--for he had an awfully severe countenance, with a big, hooked nose and an ugly mouth. "what is that long-lipped thing doing here?" said the boy at last. he had never felt so small and insignificant as he did that night. he tried to jolly himself up a bit by saying something audacious. then he thought no more about the statue, but betook himself to a wide street which led down to the sea. but the boy hadn't gone far before he heard that someone was following him. someone was walking behind him, who stamped on the stone pavement with heavy footsteps, and pounded on the ground with a hard stick. it sounded as if the bronze man up in the square had gone out for a promenade. the boy listened after the steps, while he ran down the street, and he became more and more convinced that it was the bronze man. the ground trembled, and the houses shook. it couldn't be anyone but he, who walked so heavily, and the boy grew panic-stricken when he thought of what he had just said to him. he did not dare to turn his head to find out if it really was he. "perhaps he is only out walking for recreation," thought the boy. "surely he can't be offended with me for the words i spoke. they were not at all badly meant." instead of going straight on, and trying to get down to the dock, the boy turned into a side street which led east. first and foremost, he wanted to get away from the one who tramped after him. but the next instant he heard that the bronze man had switched off to the same street; and then the boy was so scared that he didn't know what he would do with himself. and how hard it was to find any hiding places in a city where all the gates were closed! then he saw on his right an old frame church, which lay a short distance away from the street in the centre of a large grove. not an instant did he pause to consider, but rushed on toward the church. "if i can only get there, then i'll surely be shielded from all harm," thought he. as he ran forward, he suddenly caught sight of a man who stood on a gravel path and beckoned to him. "there is certainly someone who will help me!" thought the boy; he became intensely happy, and hurried off in that direction. he was actually so frightened that the heart of him fairly thumped in his breast. but when he came up to the man who stood on the edge of the gravel path, upon a low pedestal, he was absolutely thunderstruck. "surely, it can't have been that one who beckoned to me!" thought he; for he saw that the entire man was made of wood. he stood there and stared at him. he was a thick-set man on short legs, with a broad, ruddy countenance, shiny, black hair and full black beard. on his head he wore a wooden hat; on his body, a brown wooden coat; around his waist, a black wooden belt; on his legs he had wide wooden knee-breeches and wooden stockings; and on his feet black wooden shoes. he was newly painted and newly varnished, so that he glistened and shone in the moonlight. this undoubtedly had a good deal to do with giving him such a good-natured appearance, that the boy at once placed confidence in him. in his left hand he held a wooden slate, and there the boy read: _most humbly i beg you, though voice i may lack: come drop a penny, do; but lift my hat!_ oh ho! the man was only a poor-box. the boy felt that he had been done. he had expected that this should be something really remarkable. and now he remembered that grandpa had also spoken of the wooden man, and said that all the children in karlskrona were so fond of him. and that must have been true, for he, too, found it hard to part with the wooden man. he had something so old-timy about him, that one could well take him to be many hundred years old; and at the same time, he looked so strong and bold, and animated--just as one might imagine that folks looked in olden times. the boy had so much fun looking at the wooden man, that he entirely forgot the one from whom he was fleeing. but now he heard him. he turned from the street and came into the churchyard. he followed him here too! where should the boy go? just then he saw the wooden man bend down to him and stretch forth his big, broad hand. it was impossible to believe anything but good of him; and with one jump, the boy stood in his hand. the wooden man lifted him to his hat--and stuck him under it. the boy was just hidden, and the wooden man had just gotten his arm in its right place again, when the bronze man stopped in front of him and banged the stick on the ground, so that the wooden man shook on his pedestal. thereupon the bronze man said in a strong and resonant voice: "who might this one be?" the wooden man's arm went up, so that it creaked in the old woodwork, and he touched his hat brim as he replied: "rosenbom, by your majesty's leave. once upon a time boatswain on the man-of-war, _dristigheten_; after completed service, sexton at the admiral's church--and, lately, carved in wood and exhibited in the churchyard as a poor-box." the boy gave a start when he heard that the wooden man said "your majesty." for now, when he thought about it, he knew that the statue on the square represented the one who had founded the city. it was probably no less an one than charles the eleventh himself, whom he had encountered. "he gives a good account of himself," said the bronze man. "can he also tell me if he has seen a little brat who runs around in the city to-night? he's an impudent rascal, if i get hold of him, i'll teach him manners!" with that, he again pounded on the ground with his stick, and looked fearfully angry. "by your majesty's leave, i have seen him," said the wooden man; and the boy was so scared that he commenced to shake where he sat under the hat and looked at the bronze man through a crack in the wood. but he calmed down when the wooden man continued: "your majesty is on the wrong track. that youngster certainly intended to run into the shipyard, and conceal himself there." "does he say so, rosenbom? well then, don't stand still on the pedestal any longer but come with me and help me find him. four eyes are better than two, rosenbom." but the wooden man answered in a doleful voice: "i would most humbly beg to be permitted to stay where i am. i look well and sleek because of the paint, but i'm old and mouldy, and cannot stand moving about." the bronze man was not one of those who liked to be contradicted. "what sort of notions are these? come along, rosenbom!" then he raised his stick and gave the other one a resounding whack on the shoulder. "does rosenbom not see that he holds together?" with that they broke off and walked forward on the streets of karlskrona--large and mighty--until they came to a high gate, which led to the shipyard. just outside and on guard walked one of the navy's jack-tars, but the bronze man strutted past him and kicked the gate open without the jack-tar's pretending to notice it. as soon as they had gotten into the shipyard, they saw before them a wide, expansive harbor separated by pile-bridges. in the different harbour basins, lay the warships, which looked bigger, and more awe-inspiring close to, like this, than lately, when the boy had seen them from up above. "then it wasn't so crazy after all, to imagine that they were sea-trolls," thought he. "where does rosenbom think it most advisable for us to begin the search?" said the bronze man. "such an one as he could most easily conceal himself in the hall of models," replied the wooden man. on a narrow land-strip which stretched to the right from the gate, all along the harbour, lay ancient structures. the bronze man walked over to a building with low walls, small windows, and a conspicuous roof. he pounded on the door with his stick until it burst open; and tramped up a pair of worn-out steps. soon they came into a large hall, which was filled with tackled and full-rigged little ships. the boy understood without being told, that these were models for the ships which had been built for the swedish navy. there were ships of many different varieties. there were old men-of-war, whose sides bristled with cannon, and which had high structures fore and aft, and their masts weighed down with a network of sails and ropes. there were small island-boats with rowing-benches along the sides; there were undecked cannon sloops and richly gilded frigates, which were models of the ones the kings had used on their travels. finally, there were also the heavy, broad armour-plated ships with towers and cannon on deck--such as are in use nowadays; and narrow, shining torpedo boats which resembled long, slender fishes. when the boy was carried around among all this, he was awed. "fancy that such big, splendid ships have been built here in sweden!" he thought to himself. he had plenty of time to see all that was to be seen in there; for when the bronze man saw the models, he forgot everything else. he examined them all, from the first to the last, and asked about them. and rosenbom, the boatswain on the _dristigheten_, told as much as he knew of the ships' builders, and of those who had manned them; and of the fates they had met. he told them about chapman and puke and trolle; of hoagland and svensksund--all the way along until 1809--after that he had not been there. both he and the bronze man had the most to say about the fine old wooden ships. the new battleships they didn't exactly appear to understand. "i can hear that rosenbom doesn't know anything about these new-fangled things," said the bronze man. "therefore, let us go and look at something else; for this amuses me, rosenbom." by this time he had entirely given up his search for the boy, who felt calm and secure where he sat in the wooden hat. thereupon both men wandered through the big establishment: sail-making shops, anchor smithy, machine and carpenter shops. they saw the mast sheers and the docks; the large magazines, the arsenal, the rope-bridge and the big discarded dock, which had been blasted in the rock. they went out upon the pile-bridges, where the naval vessels lay moored, stepped on board and examined them like two old sea-dogs; wondered; disapproved; approved; and became indignant. the boy sat in safety under the wooden hat, and heard all about how they had laboured and struggled in this place, to equip the navies which had gone out from here. he heard how life and blood had been risked; how the last penny had been sacrificed to build the warships; how skilled men had strained all their powers, in order to perfect these ships which had been their fatherland's safeguard. a couple of times the tears came to the boy's eyes, as he heard all this. and the very last, they went into an open court, where the galley models of old men-of-war were grouped; and a more remarkable sight the boy had never beheld; for these models had inconceivably powerful and terror-striking faces. they were big, fearless and savage: filled with the same proud spirit that had fitted out the great ships. they were from another time than his. he thought that he shrivelled up before them. but when they came in here, the bronze man said to the wooden man: "take off thy hat, rosenbom, for those that stand here! they have all fought for the fatherland." and rosenbom--like the bronze man--had forgotten why they had begun this tramp. without thinking, he lifted the wooden hat from his head and shouted: "i take off my hat to the one who chose the harbour and founded the shipyard and recreated the navy; to the monarch who has awakened all this into life!" "thanks, rosenbom! that was well spoken. rosenbom is a fine man. but what is this, rosenbom?" for there stood nils holgersson, right on the top of rosenbom's bald pate. he wasn't afraid any longer; but raised his white toboggan hood, and shouted: "hurrah for you, longlip!" the bronze man struck the ground hard with his stick; but the boy never learned what he had intended to do for now the sun ran up, and, at the same time, both the bronze man and the wooden man vanished--as if they had been made of mists. while he still stood and stared after them, the wild geese flew up from the church tower, and swayed back and forth over the city. instantly they caught sight of nils holgersson; and then the big white one darted down from the sky and fetched him. the trip to öland _sunday, april third_. the wild geese went out on a wooded island to feed. there they happened to run across a few gray geese, who were surprised to see them--since they knew very well that their kinsmen, the wild geese, usually travel over the interior of the country. they were curious and inquisitive, and wouldn't be satisfied with less than that the wild geese should tell them all about the persecution which they had to endure from smirre fox. when they had finished, a gray goose, who appeared to be as old and as wise as akka herself, said: "it was a great misfortune for you that smirre fox was declared an outlaw in his own land. he'll be sure to keep his word, and follow you all the way up to lapland. if i were in your place, i shouldn't travel north over småland, but would take the outside route over öland instead, so that he'll be thrown off the track entirely. to really mislead him, you must remain for a couple of days on öland's southern point. there you'll find lots of food and lots of company. i don't believe you'll regret it, if you go over there." it was certainly very sensible advice, and the wild geese concluded to follow it. as soon as they had eaten all they could hold, they started on the trip to öland. none of them had ever been there before, but the gray goose had given them excellent directions. they only had to travel direct south until they came to a large bird-track, which extended all along the blekinge coast. all the birds who had winter residences by the west sea, and who now intended to travel to finland and russia, flew forward there--and, in passing, they were always in the habit of stopping at öland to rest. the wild geese would have no trouble in finding guides. that day it was perfectly still and warm--like a summer's day--the best weather in the world for a sea trip. the only grave thing about it was that it was not quite clear, for the sky was gray and veiled. here and there were enormous mist-clouds which hung way down to the sea's outer edge, and obstructed the view. when the travellers had gotten away from the wooded island, the sea spread itself so smooth and mirror-like, that the boy as he looked down thought the water had disappeared. there was no longer any earth under him. he had nothing but mist and sky around him. he grew very dizzy, and held himself tight on the goose-back, more frightened than when he sat there for the first time. it seemed as though he couldn't possibly hold on; he must fall in some direction. it was even worse when they reached the big bird-track, of which the gray goose had spoken. actually, there came flock after flock flying in exactly the same direction. they seemed to follow a fixed route. there were ducks and gray geese, surf-scoters and guillemots, loons and pin-tail ducks and mergansers and grebes and oyster-catchers and sea-grouse. but now, when the boy leaned forward, and looked in the direction where the sea ought to lie, he saw the whole bird procession reflected in the water. but he was so dizzy that he didn't understand how this had come about: he thought that the whole bird procession flew with their bellies upside down. still he didn't wonder at this so much, for he did not himself know which was up, and which was down. the birds were tired out and impatient to get on. none of them shrieked or said a funny thing, and this made everything seem peculiarly unreal. "think, if we have travelled away from the earth!" he said to himself. "think, if we are on our way up to heaven!" he saw nothing but mists and birds around him, and began to look upon it as reasonable that they were travelling heaven-ward. he was glad, and wondered what he should see up there. the dizziness passed all at once. he was so exceedingly happy at the thought that he was on his way to heaven and was leaving this earth. just about then he heard a couple of loud shots, and saw two white smoke-columns ascend. there was a sudden awakening, and an unrest among the birds. "hunters! hunters!" they cried. "fly high! fly away!" then the boy saw, finally, that they were travelling all the while over the sea-coast, and that they certainly were not in heaven. in a long row lay small boats filled with hunters, who fired shot upon shot. the nearest bird-flocks hadn't noticed them in time. they had flown too low. several dark bodies sank down toward the sea; and for every one that fell, there arose cries of anguish from the living. it was strange for one who had but lately believed himself in heaven, to wake up suddenly to such fear and lamentation. akka shot toward the heights as fast as she could, and the flock followed with the greatest possible speed. the wild geese got safely out of the way, but the boy couldn't get over his amazement. "to think that anyone could wish to shoot upon such as akka and yksi and kaksi and the goosey-gander and the others! human beings had no conception of what they did." so it bore on again, in the still air, and everything was as quiet as heretofore--with the exception that some of the tired birds called out every now and then: "are we not there soon? are you sure we're on the right track?" hereupon, those who flew in the centre answered: "we are flying straight to öland; straight to öland." the gray geese were tired out, and the loons flew around them. "don't be in such a rush!" cried the ducks. "you'll eat up all the food before we get there." "oh! there'll be enough for both you and us," answered the loons. before they had gotten so far that they saw öland, there came a light wind against them. it brought with it something that resembled immense clouds of white smoke--just as if there was a big fire somewhere. when the birds saw the first white spiral haze, they became uneasy and increased their speed. but that which resembled smoke blew thicker and thicker, and at last it enveloped them altogether. they smelled no smoke; and the smoke was not dark and dry, but white and damp. suddenly the boy understood that it was nothing but a mist. when the mist became so thick that one couldn't see a goose-length ahead, the birds began to carry on like real lunatics. all these, who before had travelled forward in such perfect order, began to play in the mist. they flew hither and thither, to entice one another astray. "be careful!" they cried. "you're only travelling round and round. turn back, for pity's sake! you'll never get to öland in this way." they all knew perfectly well where the island was, but they did their best to lead each other astray. "look at those wagtails!" rang out in the mist. "they are going back toward the north sea!" "have a care, wild geese!" shrieked someone from another direction. "if you continue like this, you'll get clear up to rügen." there was, of course, no danger that the birds who were accustomed to travel here would permit themselves to be lured in a wrong direction. but the ones who had a hard time of it were the wild geese. the jesters observed that they were uncertain as to the way, and did all they could to confuse them. "where do you intend to go, good people?" called a swan. he came right up to akka, and looked sympathetic and serious. "we shall travel to öland; but we have never been there before," said akka. she thought that this was a bird to be trusted. "it's too bad," said the swan. "they have lured you in the wrong direction. you're on the road to blekinge. now come with me, and i'll put you right!" and so he flew off with them; and when he had taken them so far away from the track that they heard no calls, he disappeared in the mist. they flew around for a while at random. they had barely succeeded in finding the birds again, when a duck approached them. "it's best that you lie down on the water until the mist clears," said the duck. "it is evident that you are not accustomed to look out for yourselves on journeys." those rogues succeeded in making akka's head swim. as near as the boy could make out, the wild geese flew round and round for a long time. "be careful! can't you see that you are flying up and down?" shouted a loon as he rushed by. the boy positively clutched the goosey-gander around the neck. this was something which he had feared for a long time. no one can tell when they would have arrived, if they hadn't heard a rolling and muffled sound in the distance. then akka craned her neck, snapped hard with her wings, and rushed on at full speed. now she had something to go by. the gray goose had told her not to light on öland's southern point, because there was a cannon there, which the people used to shoot the mist with. now she knew the way, and now no one in the world should lead her astray again. öland's southern point _april third to sixth_. on the most southerly part of öland lies a royal demesne, which is called ottenby. it is a rather large estate which extends from shore to shore, straight across the island; and it is remarkable because it has always been a haunt for large bird-companies. in the seventeenth century, when the kings used to go over to öland to hunt, the entire estate was nothing but a deer park. in the eighteenth century there was a stud there, where blooded race-horses were bred; and a sheep farm, where several hundred sheep were maintained. in our days you'll find neither blooded horses nor sheep at ottenby. in place of them live great herds of young horses, which are to be used by the cavalry. in all the land there is certainly no place that could be a better abode for animals. along the extreme eastern shore lies the old sheep meadow, which is a mile and a half long, and the largest meadow in all öland, where animals can graze and play and run about, as free as if they were in a wilderness. and there you will find the celebrated ottenby grove with the hundred-year-old oaks, which give shade from the sun, and shelter from the severe öland winds. and we must not forget the long ottenby wall, which stretches from shore to shore, and separates ottenby from the rest of the island, so that the animals may know how far the old royal demesne extends, and be careful about getting in on other ground, where they are not so well protected. you'll find plenty of tame animals at ottenby, but that isn't all. one could almost believe that the wild ones also felt that on an old crown property both the wild and the tame ones can count upon shelter and protection--since they venture there in such great numbers. besides, there are still a few stags of the old descent left; and burrow-ducks and partridges love to live there, and it offers a resting place, in the spring and late summer, for thousands of migratory birds. above all, it is the swampy eastern shore below the sheep meadow, where the migratory birds alight, to rest and feed. when the wild geese and nils holgersson had finally found their way to öland, they came down, like all the rest, on the shore near the sheep meadow. the mist lay thick over the island, just as it had over the sea. but still the boy was amazed at all the birds which he discerned, only on the little narrow stretch of shore which he could see. it was a low sand-shore with stones and pools, and a lot of cast-up sea-weed. if the boy had been permitted to choose, it isn't likely that he would have thought of alighting there; but the birds probably looked upon this as a veritable paradise. ducks and geese walked about and fed on the meadow; nearer the water, ran snipe, and other coast-birds. the loons lay in the sea and fished, but the life and movement was upon the long sea-weed banks along the coast. there the birds stood side by side close together and picked grub-worms--which must have been found there in limitless quantities for it was very evident that there was never any complaint over a lack of food. the great majority were going to travel farther, and had only alighted to take a short rest; and as soon as the leader of a flock thought that his comrades had recovered themselves sufficiently he said, "if you are ready now, we may as well move on." "no, wait, wait! we haven't had anything like enough," said the followers. "you surely don't believe that i intend to let you eat so much that you will not be able to move?" said the leader, and flapped his wings and started off. along the outermost sea-weed banks lay a flock of swans. they didn't bother about going on land, but rested themselves by lying and rocking on the water. now and then they dived down with their necks and brought up food from the sea-bottom. when they had gotten hold of anything very good, they indulged in loud shouts that sounded like trumpet calls. when the boy heard that there were swans on the shoals, he hurried out to the sea-weed banks. he had never before seen wild swans at close range. he had luck on his side, so that he got close up to them. the boy was not the only one who had heard the swans. both the wild geese and the gray geese and the loons swam out between the banks, laid themselves in a ring around the swans and stared at them. the swans ruffled their feathers, raised their wings like sails, and lifted their necks high in the air. occasionally one and another of them swam up to a goose, or a great loon, or a diving-duck, and said a few words. and then it appeared as though the one addressed hardly dared raise his bill to reply. but then there was a little loon--a tiny mischievous baggage--who couldn't stand all this ceremony. he dived suddenly, and disappeared under the water's edge. soon after that, one of the swans let out a scream, and swam off so quickly that the water foamed. then he stopped and began to look majestic once more. but soon, another one shrieked in the same way as the first one, and then a third. the little loon wasn't able to stay under water any longer, but appeared on the water's edge, little and black and venomous. the swans rushed toward him; but when they saw what a poor little thing it was, they turned abruptly--as if they considered themselves too good to quarrel with him. then the little loon dived again, and pinched their feet. it certainly must have hurt; and the worst of it was, that they could not maintain their dignity. at once they took a decided stand. they began to beat the air with their wings so that it thundered; came forward a bit--as though they were running on the water--got wind under their wings, and raised themselves. when the swans were gone they were greatly missed; and those who had lately been amused by the little loon's antics scolded him for his thoughtlessness. the boy walked toward land again. there he stationed himself to see how the pool-snipe played. they resembled small storks; like these, they had little bodies, long legs and necks, and light, swaying movements; only they were not gray, but brown. they stood in a long row on the shore where it was washed by waves. as soon as a wave rolled in, the whole row ran backward; as soon as it receded, they followed it. and they kept this up for hours. the showiest of all the birds were the burrow-ducks. they were undoubtedly related to the ordinary ducks; for, like these, they too had a thick-set body, broad bill, and webbed feet; but they were much more elaborately gotten up. the feather dress, itself, was white; around their necks they wore a broad gold band; the wing-mirror shone in green, red, and black; and the wing-edges were black, and the head was dark green and shimmered like satin. as soon as any of these appeared on the shore, the others said: "now, just look at those things! they know how to tog themselves out." "if they were not so conspicuous, they wouldn't have to dig their nests in the earth, but could lay above ground, like anyone else," said a brown mallard-duck. "they may try as much as they please, still they'll never get anywhere with such noses," said a gray goose. and this was actually true. the burrow-ducks had a big knob on the base of the bill, which spoiled their appearance. close to the shore, sea-gulls and sea-swallows moved forward on the water and fished. "what kind of fish are you catching?" asked a wild goose. "it's a stickleback. it's öland stickleback. it's the best stickleback in the world," said a gull. "won't you taste of it?" and he flew up to the goose, with his mouth full of the little fishes, and wanted to give her some. "ugh! do you think that i eat such filth?" said the wild goose. the next morning it was just as cloudy. the wild geese walked about on the meadow and fed; but the boy had gone to the seashore to gather mussels. there were plenty of them; and when he thought that the next day, perhaps, they would be in some place where they couldn't get any food at all, he concluded that he would try to make himself a little bag, which he could fill with mussels. he found an old sedge on the meadow, which was strong and tough; and out of this he began to braid a knapsack. he worked at this for several hours, but he was well satisfied with it when it was finished. at dinner time all the wild geese came running and asked him if he had seen anything of the white goosey-gander. "no, he has not been with me," said the boy. "we had him with us all along until just lately," said akka, "but now we no longer know where he's to be found." the boy jumped up, and was terribly frightened. he asked if any fox or eagle had put in an appearance, or if any human being had been seen in the neighbourhood. but no one had noticed anything dangerous. the goosey-gander had probably lost his way in the mist. but it was just as great a misfortune for the boy, in whatever way the white one had been lost, and he started off immediately to hunt for him. the mist shielded him, so that he could run wherever he wished without being seen, but it also prevented him from seeing. he ran southward along the shore--all the way down to the lighthouse and the mist cannon on the island's extreme point. it was the same bird confusion everywhere, but no goosey-gander. he ventured over to ottenby estate, and he searched every one of the old, hollow oaks in ottenby grove, but he saw no trace of the goosey-gander. he searched until it began to grow dark. then he had to turn back again to the eastern shore. he walked with heavy steps, and was fearfully blue. he didn't know what would become of him if he couldn't find the goosey-gander. there was no one whom he could spare less. but when he wandered over the sheep meadow, what was that big, white thing that came toward him in the mist if it wasn't the goosey-gander? he was all right, and very glad that, at last, he had been able to find his way back to the others. the mist had made him so dizzy, he said, that he had wandered around on the big meadow all day long. the boy threw his arms around his neck, for very joy, and begged him to take care of himself, and not wander away from the others. and he promised, positively, that he never would do this again. no, never again. but the next morning, when the boy went down to the beach and hunted for mussels, the geese came running and asked if he had seen the goosey-gander. no, of course he hadn't. "well, then the goosey-gander was lost again. he had gone astray in the mist, just as he had done the day before." the boy ran off in great terror and began to search. he found one place where the ottenby wall was so tumble-down that he could climb over it. later, he went about, first on the shore which gradually widened and became so large that there was room for fields and meadows and farms--then up on the flat highland, which lay in the middle of the island, and where there were no buildings except windmills, and where the turf was so thin that the white cement shone under it. meanwhile, he could not find the goosey-gander; and as it drew on toward evening, and the boy must return to the beach, he couldn't believe anything but that his travelling companion was lost. he was so depressed, he did not know what to do with himself. he had just climbed over the wall again when he heard a stone crash down close beside him. as he turned to see what it was, he thought that he could distinguish something that moved on a stone pile which lay close to the wall. he stole nearer, and saw the goosey-gander come trudging wearily over the stone pile, with several long fibres in his mouth. the goosey-gander didn't see the boy, and the boy did not call to him, but thought it advisable to find out first why the goosey-gander time and again disappeared in this manner. and he soon learned the reason for it. up in the stone pile lay a young gray goose, who cried with joy when the goosey-gander came. the boy crept near, so that he heard what they said; then he found out that the gray goose had been wounded in one wing, so that she could not fly, and that her flock had travelled away from her, and left her alone. she had been near death's door with hunger, when the white goosey-gander had heard her call, the other day, and had sought her out. ever since, he had been carrying food to her. they had both hoped that she would be well before they left the island, but, as yet, she could neither fly nor walk. she was very much worried over this, but he comforted her with the thought that he shouldn't travel for a long time. at last he bade her good-night, and promised to come the next day. the boy let the goosey-gander go; and as soon as he was gone, he stole, in turn, up to the stone heap. he was angry because he had been deceived, and now he wanted to say to that gray goose that the goosey-gander was his property. he was going to take the boy up to lapland, and there would be no talk of his staying here on her account. but now, when he saw the young gray goose close to, he understood, not only why the goosey-gander had gone and carried food to her for two days, but also why he had not wished to mention that he had helped her. she had the prettiest little head; her feather-dress was like soft satin, and the eyes were mild and pleading. when she saw the boy, she wanted to run away; but the left wing was out of joint and dragged on the ground, so that it interfered with her movements. "you mustn't be afraid of me," said the boy, and didn't look nearly so angry as he had intended to appear. "i'm thumbietot, morten goosey-gander's comrade," he continued. then he stood there, and didn't know what he wanted to say. occasionally one finds something among animals which makes one wonder what sort of creatures they really are. one is almost afraid that they may be transformed human beings. it was something like this with the gray goose. as soon as thumbietot said who he was, she lowered her neck and head very charmingly before him, and said in a voice that was so pretty that he couldn't believe it was a goose who spoke: "i am very glad that you have come here to help me. the white goosey-gander has told me that no one is as wise and as good as you." she said this with such dignity, that the boy grew really embarrassed. "this surely can't be any bird," thought he. "it is certainly some bewitched princess." he was filled with a desire to help her, and ran his hand under the feathers, and felt along the wing-bone. the bone was not broken, but there was something wrong with the joint. he got his finger down into the empty cavity. "be careful, now!" he said; and got a firm grip on the bone-pipe and fitted it into the place where it ought to be. he did it very quickly and well, considering it was the first time that he had attempted anything of the sort. but it must have hurt very much, for the poor young goose uttered a single shrill cry, and then sank down among the stones without showing a sign of life. the boy was terribly frightened. he had only wished to help her, and now she was dead. he made a big jump from the stone pile, and ran away. he thought it was as though he had murdered a human being. the next morning it was clear and free from mist, and akka said that now they should continue their travels. all the others were willing to go, but the white goosey-gander made excuses. the boy understood well enough that he didn't care to leave the gray goose. akka did not listen to him, but started off. the boy jumped up on the goosey-gander's back, and the white one followed the flock--albeit slowly and unwillingly. the boy was mighty glad that they could fly away from the island. he was conscience-stricken on account of the gray goose, and had not cared to tell the goosey-gander how it had turned out when he had tried to cure her. it would probably be best if morten goosey-gander never found out about this, he thought, though he wondered, at the same time, how the white one had the heart to leave the gray goose. but suddenly the goosey-gander turned. the thought of the young gray goose had overpowered him. it could go as it would with the lapland trip: he couldn't go with the others when he knew that she lay alone and ill, and would starve to death. with a few wing-strokes he was over the stone pile; but then, there lay no young gray goose between the stones. "dunfin! dunfin! where art thou?" called the goosey-gander. "the fox has probably been here and taken her," thought the boy. but at that moment he heard a pretty voice answer the goosey-gander. "here am i, goosey-gander; here am i! i have only been taking a morning bath." and up from the water came the little gray goose--fresh and in good trim--and told how thumbietot had pulled her wing into place, and that she was entirely well, and ready to follow them on the journey. the drops of water lay like pearl-dew on her shimmery satin-like feathers, and thumbietot thought once again that she was a real little princess. the big butterfly _wednesday, april sixth_. the geese travelled alongside the coast of the long island, which lay distinctly visible under them. the boy felt happy and light of heart during the trip. he was just as pleased and well satisfied as he had been glum and depressed the day before, when he roamed around down on the island, and hunted for the goosey-gander. he saw now that the interior of the island consisted of a barren high plain, with a wreath of fertile land along the coast; and he began to comprehend the meaning of something which he had heard the other evening. he had just seated himself to rest a bit by one of the many windmills on the highland, when a couple of shepherds came along with the dogs beside them, and a large herd of sheep in their train. the boy had not been afraid because he was well concealed under the windmill stairs. but as it turned out, the shepherds came and seated themselves on the same stairway, and then there was nothing for him to do but to keep perfectly still. one of the shepherds was young, and looked about as folks do mostly; the other was an old queer one. his body was large and knotty, but the head was small, and the face had sensitive and delicate features. it appeared as though the body and head didn't want to fit together at all. one moment he sat silent and gazed into the mist, with an unutterably weary expression. then he began to talk to his companion. then the other one took out some bread and cheese from his knapsack, to eat his evening meal. he answered scarcely anything, but listened very patiently, just as if he were thinking: "i might as well give you the pleasure of letting you chatter a while." "now i shall tell you something, eric," said the old shepherd. "i have figured out that in former days, when both human beings and animals were much larger than they are now, that the butterflies, too, must have been uncommonly large. and once there was a butterfly that was many miles long, and had wings as wide as seas. those wings were blue, and shone like silver, and so gorgeous that, when the butterfly was out flying, all the other animals stood still and stared at it. it had this drawback, however, that it was too large. the wings had hard work to carry it. but probably all would have gone very well, if the butterfly had been wise enough to remain on the hillside. but it wasn't; it ventured out over the east sea. and it hadn't gotten very far before the storm came along and began to tear at its wings. well, it's easy to understand, eric, how things would go when the east sea storm commenced to wrestle with frail butterfly-wings. it wasn't long before they were torn away and scattered; and then, of course, the poor butterfly fell into the sea. at first it was tossed backward and forward on the billows, and then it was stranded upon a few cliff-foundations outside of småland. and there it lay--as large and long as it was. "now i think, eric, that if the butterfly had dropped on land, it would soon have rotted and fallen apart. but since it fell into the sea, it was soaked through and through with lime, and became as hard as a stone. you know, of course, that we have found stones on the shore which were nothing but petrified worms. now i believe that it went the same way with the big butterfly-body. i believe that it turned where it lay into a long, narrow mountain out in the east sea. don't you?" he paused for a reply, and the other one nodded to him. "go on, so i may hear what you are driving at," said he. "and mark you, eric, that this very öland, upon which you and i live, is nothing else than the old butterfly-body. if one only thinks about it, one can observe that the island is a butterfly. toward the north, the slender fore-body and the round head can be seen, and toward the south, one sees the back-body--which first broadens out, and then narrows to a sharp point." here he paused once more and looked at his companion rather anxiously to see how he would take this assertion. but the young man kept on eating with the utmost calm, and nodded to him to continue. "as soon as the butterfly had been changed into a limestone rock, many different kinds of seeds of herbs and trees came travelling with the winds, and wanted to take root on it. it was a long time before anything but sedge could grow there. then came sheep sorrel, and the rock-rose and thorn-brush. but even to-day there is not so much growth on alvaret, that the mountain is well covered, but it shines through here and there. and no one can think of ploughing and sowing up here, where the earth-crust is so thin. but if you will admit that alvaret and the strongholds around it, are made of the butterfly-body, then you may well have the right to question where that land which lies beneath the strongholds came from." "yes, it is just that," said he who was eating. "that i should indeed like to know." "well, you must remember that öland has lain in the sea for a good many years, and in the course of time all the things which tumble around with the waves--sea-weed and sand and clams--have gathered around it, and remained lying there. and then, stone and gravel have fallen down from both the eastern and western strongholds. in this way the island has acquired broad shores, where grain and flowers and trees can grow. "up here, on the hard butterfly-back, only sheep and cows and little horses go about. only lapwings and plover live here, and there are no buildings except windmills and a few stone huts, where we shepherds crawl in. but down on the coast lie big villages and churches and parishes and fishing hamlets and a whole city." he looked questioningly at the other one. this one had finished his meal, and was tying the food-sack together. "i wonder where you will end with all this," said he. "it is only this that i want to know," said the shepherd, as he lowered his voice so that he almost whispered the words, and looked into the mist with his small eyes, which appeared to be worn out from spying after all that which does not exist. "only this i want to know: if the peasants who live on the built-up farms beneath the strongholds, or the fishermen who take the small herring from the sea, or the merchants in borgholm, or the bathing guests who come here every summer, or the tourists who wander around in borgholm's old castle ruin, or the sportsmen who come here in the fall to hunt partridges, or the painters who sit here on alvaret and paint the sheep and windmills--i should like to know if any of them understand that this island has been a butterfly which flew about with great shimmery wings." "ah!" said the young shepherd, suddenly. "it should have occurred to some of them, as they sat on the edge of the stronghold of an evening, and heard the nightingales trill in the groves below them, and looked over kalmar sound, that this island could not have come into existence in the same way as the others." "i want to ask," said the old one, "if no one has had the desire to give wings to the windmills--so large that they could reach to heaven, so large that they could lift the whole island out of the sea and let it fly like a butterfly among butterflies." "it may be possible that there is something in what you say," said the young one; "for on summer nights, when the heavens widen and open over the island, i have sometimes thought that it was as if it wanted to raise itself from the sea, and fly away." but when the old one had finally gotten the young one to talk, he didn't listen to him very much. "i would like to know," the old one said in a low tone, "if anyone can explain why one feels such a longing up here on alvaret. i have felt it every day of my life; and i think it preys upon each and every one who must go about here. i want to know if no one else has understood that all this wistfulness is caused by the fact that the whole island is a butterfly that longs for its wings." little karl's island the storm _friday, april eighth_. the wild geese had spent the night on öland's northern point, and were now on their way to the continent. a strong south wind blew over kalmar sound, and they had been thrown northward. still they worked their way toward land with good speed. but when they were nearing the first islands a powerful rumbling was heard, as if a lot of strong-winged birds had come flying; and the water under them, all at once, became perfectly black. akka drew in her wings so suddenly that she almost stood still in the air. thereupon, she lowered herself to light on the edge of the sea. but before the geese had reached the water, the west storm caught up with them. already, it drove before it fogs, salt scum and small birds; it also snatched with it the wild geese, threw them on end, and cast them toward the sea. it was a rough storm. the wild geese tried to turn back, time and again, but they couldn't do it and were driven out toward the east sea. the storm had already blown them past öland, and the sea lay before them--empty and desolate. there was nothing for them to do but to keep out of the water. when akka observed that they were unable to turn back she thought that it was needless to let the storm drive them over the entire east sea. therefore she sank down to the water. now the sea was raging, and increased in violence with every second. the sea-green billows rolled forward, with seething foam on their crests. each one surged higher than the other. it was as though they raced with each other, to see which could foam the wildest. but the wild geese were not afraid of the swells. on the contrary, this seemed to afford them much pleasure. they did not strain themselves with swimming, but lay and let themselves be washed up with the wave-crests, and down in the water-dales, and had just as much fun as children in a swing. their only anxiety was that the flock should be separated. the few land-birds who drove by, up in the storm, cried with envy: "there is no danger for you who can swim." but the wild geese were certainly not out of all danger. in the first place, the rocking made them helplessly sleepy. they wished continually to turn their heads backward, poke their bills under their wings, and go to sleep. nothing can be more dangerous than to fall asleep in this way; and akka called out all the while: "don't go to sleep, wild geese! he that falls asleep will get away from the flock. he that gets away from the flock is lost." despite all attempts at resistance one after another fell asleep; and akka herself came pretty near dozing off, when she suddenly saw something round and dark rise on the top of a wave. "seals! seals! seals!" cried akka in a high, shrill voice, and raised herself up in the air with resounding wing-strokes. it was just at the crucial moment. before the last wild goose had time to come up from the water, the seals were so close to her that they made a grab for her feet. then the wild geese were once more up in the storm which drove them before it out to sea. no rest did it allow either itself or the wild geese; and no land did they see--only desolate sea. they lit on the water again, as soon as they dared venture. but when they had rocked upon the waves for a while, they became sleepy again. and when they fell asleep, the seals came swimming. if old akka had not been so wakeful, not one of them would have escaped. all day the storm raged; and it caused fearful havoc among the crowds of little birds, which at this time of year were migrating. some were driven from their course to foreign lands, where they died of starvation; others became so exhausted that they sank down in the sea and were drowned. many were crushed against the cliff-walls, and many became a prey for the seals. the storm continued all day, and, at last, akka began to wonder if she and her flock would perish. they were now dead tired, and nowhere did they see any place where they might rest. toward evening she no longer dared to lie down on the sea, because now it filled up all of a sudden with large ice-cakes, which struck against each other, and she feared they should be crushed between these. a couple of times the wild geese tried to stand on the ice-crust; but one time the wild storm swept them into the water; another time, the merciless seals came creeping up on the ice. at sundown the wild geese were once more up in the air. they flew on--fearful for the night. the darkness seemed to come upon them much too quickly this night--which was so full of dangers. it was terrible that they, as yet, saw no land. how would it go with them if they were forced to stay out on the sea all night? they would either be crushed between the ice-cakes or devoured by seals or separated by the storm. the heavens were cloud-bedecked, the moon hid itself, and the darkness came quickly. at the same time all nature was filled with a horror which caused the most courageous hearts to quail. distressed bird-travellers' cries had sounded over the sea all day long, without anyone having paid the slightest attention to them; but now, when one no longer saw who it was that uttered them, they seemed mournful and terrifying. down on the sea, the ice-drifts crashed against each other with a loud rumbling noise. the seals tuned up their wild hunting songs. it was as though heaven and earth were, about to clash. the sheep the boy sat for a moment and looked down into the sea. suddenly he thought that it began to roar louder than ever. he looked up. right in front of him--only a couple of metres away--stood a rugged and bare mountain-wall. at its base the waves dashed into a foaming spray. the wild geese flew straight toward the cliff, and the boy did not see how they could avoid being dashed to pieces against it. hardly had he wondered that akka hadn't seen the danger in time, when they were over by the mountain. then he also noticed that in front of them was the half-round entrance to a grotto. into this the geese steered; and the next moment they were safe. the first thing the wild geese thought of--before they gave themselves time to rejoice over their safety--was to see if all their comrades were also harboured. yes, there were akka, iksi, kolmi, nelja, viisi, knusi, all the six goslings, the goosey-gander, dunfin and thumbietot; but kaksi from nuolja, the first left-hand goose, was missing--and no one knew anything about her fate. when the wild geese discovered that no one but kaksi had been separated from the flock, they took the matter lightly. kaksi was old and wise. she knew all their byways and their habits, and she, of course, would know how to find her way back to them. then the wild geese began to look around in the cave. enough daylight came in through the opening, so that they could see the grotto was both deep and wide. they were delighted to think they had found such a fine night harbour, when one of them caught sight of some shining, green dots, which glittered in a dark corner. "these are eyes!" cried akka. "there are big animals in here." they rushed toward the opening, but thumbietot called to them: "there is nothing to run away from! it's only a few sheep who are lying alongside the grotto wall." when the wild geese had accustomed themselves to the dim daylight in the grotto, they saw the sheep very distinctly. the grown-up ones might be about as many as there were geese; but beside these there were a few little lambs. an old ram with long, twisted horns appeared to be the most lordly one of the flock. the wild geese went up to him with much bowing and scraping. "well met in the wilderness!" they greeted, but the big ram lay still, and did not speak a word of welcome. then the wild geese thought that the sheep were displeased because they had taken shelter in their grotto. "it is perhaps not permissible that we have come in here?" said akka. "but we cannot help it, for we are wind-driven. we have wandered about in the storm all day, and it would be very good to be allowed to stop here to-night." after that a long time passed before any of the sheep answered with words; but, on the other hand, it could be heard distinctly that a pair of them heaved deep sighs. akka knew, to be sure, that sheep are always shy and peculiar; but these seemed to have no idea of how they should conduct themselves. finally an old ewe, who had a long and pathetic face and a doleful voice, said: "there isn't one among us that refuses to let you stay; but this is a house of mourning, and we cannot receive guests as we did in former days." "you needn't worry about anything of that sort," said akka. "if you knew what we have endured this day, you would surely understand that we are satisfied if we only get a safe spot to sleep on." when akka said this, the old ewe raised herself. "i believe that it would be better for you to fly about in the worst storm than to stop here. but, at least, you shall not go from here before we have had the privilege of offering you the best hospitality which the house affords." she conducted them to a hollow in the ground, which was filled with water. beside it lay a pile of bait and husks and chaff; and she bade them make the most of these. "we have had a severe snow-winter this year, on the island," she said. "the peasants who own us came out to us with hay and oaten straw, so we shouldn't starve to death. and this trash is all there is left of the good cheer." the geese rushed to the food instantly. they thought that they had fared well, and were in their best humour. they must have observed, of course, that the sheep were anxious; but they knew how easily scared sheep generally are, and didn't believe there was any actual danger on foot. as soon as they had eaten, they intended to stand up to sleep as usual. but then the big ram got up, and walked over to them. the geese thought that they had never seen a sheep with such big and coarse horns. in other respects, also, he was noticeable. he had a high, rolling forehead, intelligent eyes, and a good bearing--as though he were a proud and courageous animal. "i cannot assume the responsibility of letting you geese remain, without telling you that it is unsafe here," said he. "we cannot receive night guests just now." at last akka began to comprehend that this was serious. "we shall go away, since you really wish it," said she. "but won't you tell us first, what it is that troubles you? we know nothing about it. we do not even know where we are." "this is little karl's island!" said the ram. "it lies outside of gottland, and only sheep and seabirds live here." "perhaps you are wild sheep?" said akka. "we're not far removed from it," replied the ram. "we have nothing to do with human beings. it's an old agreement between us and some peasants on a farm in gottland, that they shall supply us with fodder in case we have snow-winter; and as a recompense they are permitted to take away those of us who become superfluous. the island is small, so it cannot feed very many of us. but otherwise we take care of ourselves all the year round, and we do not live in houses with doors and locks, but we reside in grottoes like these." "do you stay out here in the winter as well?" asked akka, surprised. "we do," answered the ram. "we have good fodder up here on the mountain, all the year around." "i think it sounds as if you might have it better than other sheep," said akka. "but what is the misfortune that has befallen you?" "it was bitter cold last winter. the sea froze, and then three foxes came over here on the ice, and here they have been ever since. otherwise, there are no dangerous animals here on the island." "oh, oh! do foxes dare to attack such as you?" "oh, no! not during the day; then i can protect myself and mine," said the ram, shaking his horns. "but they sneak upon us at night when we sleep in the grottoes. we try to keep awake, but one must sleep some of the time; and then they come upon us. they have already killed every sheep in the other grottoes, and there were herds that were just as large as mine." "it isn't pleasant to tell that we are so helpless," said the old ewe. "we cannot help ourselves any better than if we were tame sheep." "do you think that they will come here to-night?" asked akka. "there is nothing else in store for us," answered the old ewe. "they were here last night, and stole a lamb from us. they'll be sure to come again, as long as there are any of us alive. this is what they have done in the other places." "but if they are allowed to keep this up, you'll become entirely exterminated," said akka. "oh! it won't be long before it is all over with the sheep on little karl's island," said the ewe. akka stood there hesitatingly. it was not pleasant, by any means, to venture out in the storm again, and it wasn't good to remain in a house where such guests were expected. when she had pondered a while, she turned to thumbietot. "i wonder if you will help us, as you have done so many times before," said she. yes, that he would like to do, he replied. "it is a pity for you not to get any sleep!" said the wild goose, "but i wonder if you are able to keep awake until the foxes come, and then to awaken us, so we may fly away." the boy was so very glad of this--for anything was better than to go out in the storm again--so he promised to keep awake. he went down to the grotto opening, crawled in behind a stone, that he might be shielded from the storm, and sat down to watch. when the boy had been sitting there a while, the storm seemed to abate. the sky grew clear, and the moonlight began to play on the waves. the boy stepped to the opening to look out. the grotto was rather high up on the mountain. a narrow path led to it. it was probably here that he must await the foxes. as yet he saw no foxes; but, on the other hand, there was something which, for the moment, terrified him much more. on the land-strip below the mountain stood some giants, or other stone-trolls--or perhaps they were actual human beings. at first he thought that he was dreaming, but now he was positive that he had not fallen asleep. he saw the big men so distinctly that it couldn't be an illusion. some of them stood on the land-strip, and others right on the mountain just as if they intended to climb it. some had big, thick heads; others had no heads at all. some were one-armed, and some had humps both before and behind. he had never seen anything so extraordinary. the boy stood and worked himself into a state of panic because of those trolls, so that he almost forgot to keep his eye peeled for the foxes. but now he heard a claw scrape against a stone. he saw three foxes coming up the steep; and as soon as he knew that he had something real to deal with, he was calm again, and not the least bit scared. it struck him that it was a pity to awaken only the geese, and to leave the sheep to their fate. he thought he would like to arrange things some other way. he ran quickly to the other end of the grotto, shook the big ram's horns until he awoke, and, at the same time, swung himself upon his back. "get up, sheep, and well try to frighten the foxes a bit!" said the boy. he had tried to be as quiet as possible, but the foxes must have heard some noise; for when they came up to the mouth of the grotto they stopped and deliberated. "it was certainly someone in there that moved," said one. "i wonder if they are awake." "oh, go ahead, you!" said another. "at all events, they can't do anything to us." when they came farther in, in the grotto, they stopped and sniffed. "who shall we take to-night?" whispered the one who went first. "to-night we will take the big ram," said the last. "after that, we'll have easy work with the rest." the boy sat on the old ram's back and saw how they sneaked along. "now butt straight forward!" whispered the boy. the ram butted, and the first fox was thrust--top over tail--back to the opening. "now butt to the left!" said the boy, and turned the big ram's head in that direction. the ram measured a terrific assault that caught the second fox in the side. he rolled around several times before he got to his feet again and made his escape. the boy had wished that the third one, too, might have gotten a bump, but this one had already gone. "now i think that they've had enough for to-night," said the boy. "i think so too," said the big ram. "now lie down on my back, and creep into the wool! you deserve to have it warm and comfortable, after all the wind and storm that you have been out in." hell's hole the next day the big ram went around with the boy on his back, and showed him the island. it consisted of a single massive mountain. it was like a large house with perpendicular walls and a flat roof. first the ram walked up on the mountain-roof and showed the boy the good grazing lands there, and he had to admit that the island seemed to be especially created for sheep. there wasn't much else than sheep-sorrel and such little spicy growths as sheep are fond of that grew on the mountain. but indeed there was something beside sheep fodder to look at, for one who had gotten well up on the steep. to begin with, the largest part of the sea--which now lay blue and sunlit, and rolled forward in glittering swells--was visible. only upon one and another point, did the foam spray up. to the east lay gottland, with even and long-stretched coast; and to the southwest lay great karl's island, which was built on the same plan as the little island. when the ram walked to the very edge of the mountain roof, so the boy could look down the mountain walls, he noticed that they were simply filled with birds' nests; and in the blue sea beneath him, lay surf-scoters and eider-ducks and kittiwakes and guillemots and razor-bills--so pretty and peaceful--busying themselves with fishing for small herring. "this is really a favoured land," said the boy. "you live in a pretty place, you sheep." "oh, yes! it's pretty enough here," said the big ram. it was as if he wished to add something; but he did not, only sighed. "if you go about here alone you must look out for the crevices which run all around the mountain," he continued after a little. and this was a good warning, for there were deep and broad crevices in several places. the largest of them was called hell's hole. that crevice was many fathoms deep and nearly one fathom wide. "if anyone fell down there, it would certainly be the last of him," said the big ram. the boy thought it sounded as if he had a special meaning in what he said. then he conducted the boy down to the narrow strip of shore. now he could see those giants which had frightened him the night before, at close range. they were nothing but tall rock-pillars. the big ram called them "cliffs." the boy couldn't see enough of them. he thought that if there had ever been any trolls who had turned into stone they ought to look just like that. although it was pretty down on the shore, the boy liked it still better on the mountain height. it was ghastly down here; for everywhere they came across dead sheep. it was here that the foxes had held their orgies. he saw skeletons whose flesh had been eaten, and bodies that were half-eaten, and others which they had scarcely tasted, but had allowed to lie untouched. it was heart-rending to see how the wild beasts had thrown themselves upon the sheep just for sport--just to hunt them and tear them to death. the big ram did not pause in front of the dead, but walked by them in silence. but the boy, meanwhile, could not help seeing all the horror. then the big ram went up on the mountain height again; but when he was there he stopped and said: "if someone who is capable and wise could see all the misery which prevails here, he surely would not be able to rest until these foxes had been punished." "the foxes must live, too," said the boy. "yes," said the big ram, "those who do not tear in pieces more animals than they need for their sustenance, they may as well live. but these are felons." "the peasants who own the island ought to come here and help you," insisted the boy. "they have rowed over a number of times," replied the ram, "but the foxes always hid themselves in the grottoes and crevices, so they could not get near them, to shoot them." "you surely cannot mean, father, that a poor little creature like me should be able to get at them, when neither you nor the peasants have succeeded in getting the better of them." "he that is little and spry can put many things to rights," said the big ram. they talked no more about this, and the boy went over and seated himself among the wild geese who fed on the highland. although he had not cared to show his feelings before the ram, he was very sad on the sheep's account, and he would have been glad to help them. "i can at least talk with akka and morten goosey-gander about the matter," thought he. "perhaps they can help me with a good suggestion." a little later the white goosey-gander took the boy on his back and went over the mountain plain, and in the direction of hell's hole at that. he wandered, care-free, on the open mountain roof--apparently unconscious of how large and white he was. he didn't seek protection behind tufts, or any other protuberances, but went straight ahead. it was strange that he was not more careful, for it was apparent that he had fared badly in yesterday's storm. he limped on his right leg, and the left wing hung and dragged as if it might be broken. he acted as if there were no danger, pecked at a grass-blade here and another there, and did not look about him in any direction. the boy lay stretched out full length on the goose-back, and looked up toward the blue sky. he was so accustomed to riding now, that he could both stand and lie down on the goose-back. when the goosey-gander and the boy were so care-free, they did not observe, of course, that the three foxes had come up on the mountain plain. and the foxes, who knew that it was well-nigh impossible to take the life of a goose on an open plain, thought at first that they wouldn't chase after the goosey-gander. but as they had nothing else to do, they finally sneaked down on one of the long passes, and tried to steal up to him. they went about it so cautiously that the goosey-gander couldn't see a shadow of them. they were not far off when the goosey-gander made an attempt to raise himself into the air. he spread his wings, but he did not succeed in lifting himself. when the foxes seemed to grasp the fact that he couldn't fly, they hurried forward with greater eagerness than before. they no longer concealed themselves in the cleft, but came up on the highland. they hurried as fast as they could, behind tufts and hollows, and came nearer and nearer the goosey-gander--without his seeming to notice that he was being hunted. at last the foxes were so near that they could make the final leap. simultaneously, all three threw themselves with one long jump at the goosey-gander. but still at the last moment he must have noticed something, for he ran out of the way, so the foxes missed him. this, at any rate, didn't mean very much, for the goosey-gander only had a couple of metres headway, and, in the bargain, he limped. anyway, the poor thing ran ahead as fast as he could. the boy sat upon the goose-back--backward--and shrieked and called to the foxes. "you have eaten yourselves too fat on mutton, foxes. you can't catch up with a goose even." he teased them so that they became crazed with rage and thought only of rushing forward. the white one ran right straight to the big cleft. when he was there, he made one stroke with his wings, and got over. just then the foxes were almost upon him. the goosey-gander hurried on with the same haste as before, even after he had gotten across hell's hole. but he had hardly been running two metres before the boy patted him on the neck, and said: "now you can stop, goosey-gander." at that instant they heard a number of wild howls behind them, and a scraping of claws, and heavy falls. but of the foxes they saw nothing more. the next morning the lighthouse keeper on great karl's island found a bit of bark poked under the entrance-door, and on it had been cut, in slanting, angular letters: "the foxes on the little island have fallen down into hell's hole. take care of them!" and this the lighthouse keeper did, too. two cities the city at the bottom of the sea _saturday, april ninth_. it was a calm and clear night. the wild geese did not trouble themselves to seek shelter in any of the grottoes, but stood and slept upon the mountain top; and the boy had lain down in the short, dry grass beside the geese. it was bright moonlight that night; so bright that it was difficult for the boy to go to sleep. he lay there and thought about just how long he had been away from home; and he figured out that it was three weeks since he had started on the trip. at the same time he remembered that this was easter-eve. "it is to-night that all the witches come home from blakulla," thought he, and laughed to himself. for he was just a little afraid of both the sea-nymph and the elf, but he didn't believe in witches the least little bit. if there had been any witches out that night, he should have seen them, to be sure. it was so light in the heavens that not the tiniest black speck could move in the air without his seeing it. while the boy lay there with his nose in the air and thought about this, his eye rested on something lovely! the moon's disc was whole and round, and rather high, and over it a big bird came flying. he did not fly past the moon, but he moved just as though he might have flown out from it. the bird looked black against the light background, and the wings extended from one rim of the disc to the other. he flew on, evenly, in the same direction, and the boy thought that he was painted on the moon's disc. the body was small, the neck long and slender, the legs hung down, long and thin. it couldn't be anything but a stork. a couple of seconds later herr ermenrich, the stork, lit beside the boy. he bent down and poked him with his bill to awaken him. instantly the boy sat up. "i'm not asleep, herr ermenrich," he said. "how does it happen that you are out in the middle of the night, and how is everything at glimminge castle? do you want to speak with mother akka?" "it's too light to sleep to-night," answered herr ermenrich. "therefore i concluded to travel over here to karl's island and hunt you up, friend thumbietot. i learned from the seamew that you were spending the night here. i have not as yet moved over to glimminge castle, but am still living at pommern." the boy was simply overjoyed to think that herr ermenrich had sought him out. they chatted about all sorts of things, like old friends. at last the stork asked the boy if he wouldn't like to go out riding for a while on this beautiful night. oh, yes! that the boy wanted to do, if the stork would manage it so that he got back to the wild geese before sunrise. this he promised, so off they went. again herr ermenrich flew straight toward the moon. they rose and rose; the sea sank deep down, but the flight went so light and easy that it seemed almost as if the boy lay still in the air. when herr ermenrich began to descend, the boy thought that the flight had lasted an unreasonably short time. they landed on a desolate bit of seashore, which was covered with fine, even sand. all along the coast ran a row of flying-sand drifts, with lyme-grass on their tops. they were not very high, but they prevented the boy from seeing any of the island. herr ermenrich stood on a sand-hill, drew up one leg and bent his head backward, so he could stick his bill under the wing. "you can roam around on the shore for a while," he said to thumbietot, "while i rest myself. but don't go so far away but what you can find your way back to me again!" to start with, the boy intended to climb a sand-hill and see how the land behind it looked. but when he had walked a couple of paces, he stubbed the toe of his wooden shoe against something hard. he stooped down, and saw that a small copper coin lay on the sand, and was so worn with verdigris that it was almost transparent. it was so poor that he didn't even bother to pick it up, but only kicked it out of the way. but when he straightened himself up once more he was perfectly astounded, for two paces away from him stood a high, dark wall with a big, turreted gate. the moment before, when the boy bent down, the sea lay there--shimmering and smooth, while now it was hidden by a long wall with towers and battlements. directly in front of him, where before there had been only a few sea-weed banks, the big gate of the wall opened. the boy probably understood that it was a spectre-play of some sort; but this was nothing to be afraid of, thought he. it wasn't any dangerous trolls, or any other evil--such as he always dreaded to encounter at night. both the wall and the gate were so beautifully constructed that he only desired to see what there might be back of them. "i must find out what this can be," thought he, and went in through the gate. in the deep archway there were guards, dressed in brocaded and purred suits, with long-handled spears beside them, who sat and threw dice. they thought only of the game, and took no notice of the boy who hurried past them quickly. just within the gate he found an open space, paved with large, even stone blocks. all around this were high and magnificent buildings; and between these opened long, narrow streets. on the square--facing the gate--it fairly swarmed with human beings. the men wore long, fur-trimmed capes over satin suits; plume-bedecked hats sat obliquely on their heads; on their chests hung superb chains. they were all so regally gotten up that the whole lot of them might have been kings. the women went about in high head-dresses and long robes with tight-fitting sleeves. they, too, were beautifully dressed, but their splendour was not to be compared with that of the men. this was exactly like the old story-book which mother took from the chest--only once--and showed to him. the boy simply couldn't believe his eyes. but that which was even more wonderful to look upon than either the men or the women, was the city itself. every house was built in such a way that a gable faced the street. and the gables were so highly ornamented, that one could believe they wished to compete with each other as to which one could show the most beautiful decorations. when one suddenly sees so much that is new, he cannot manage to treasure it all in his memory. but at least the boy could recall that he had seen stairway gables on the various landings, which bore images of the christ and his apostles; gables, where there were images in niche after niche all along the wall; gables that were inlaid with multi-coloured bits of glass, and gables that were striped and checked with white and black marble. as the boy admired all this, a sudden sense of haste came over him. "anything like this my eyes have never seen before. anything like this, they would never see again," he said to himself. and he began to run in toward the city--up one street, and down another. the streets were straight and narrow, but not empty and gloomy, as they were in the cities with which he was familiar. there were people everywhere. old women sat by their open doors and spun without a spinning-wheel--only with the help of a shuttle. the merchants' shops were like market-stalls--opening on the street. all the hand-workers did their work out of doors. in one place they were boiling crude oil; in another tanning hides; in a third there was a long rope-walk. if only the boy had had time enough he could have learned how to make all sorts of things. here he saw how armourers hammered out thin breast-plates; how turners tended their irons; how the shoemakers soled soft, red shoes; how the gold-wire drawers twisted gold thread, and how the weavers inserted silver and gold into their weaving. but the boy did not have the time to stay. he just rushed on, so that he could manage to see as much as possible before it would all vanish again. the high wall ran all around the city and shut it in, as a hedge shuts in a field. he saw it at the end of every street--gable-ornamented and crenelated. on the top of the wall walked warriors in shining armour; and when he had run from one end of the city to the other, he came to still another gate in the wall. outside of this lay the sea and harbour. the boy saw olden-time ships, with rowing-benches straight across, and high structures fore and aft. some lay and took on cargo, others were just casting anchor. carriers and merchants hurried around each other. all over, it was life and bustle. but not even here did he seem to have the time to linger. he rushed into the city again; and now he came up to the big square. there stood the cathedral with its three high towers and deep vaulted arches filled with images. the walls had been so highly decorated by sculptors that there was not a stone without its own special ornamentation. and what a magnificent display of gilded crosses and gold-trimmed altars and priests in golden vestments, shimmered through the open gate! directly opposite the church there was a house with a notched roof and a single slender, sky-high tower. that was probably the courthouse. and between the courthouse and the cathedral, all around the square, stood the beautiful gabled houses with their multiplicity of adornments. the boy had run himself both warm and tired. he thought that now he had seen the most remarkable things, and therefore he began to walk more leisurely. the street which he had turned into now was surely the one where the inhabitants purchased their fine clothing. he saw crowds of people standing before the little stalls where the merchants spread brocades, stiff satins, heavy gold cloth, shimmery velvet, delicate veiling, and laces as sheer as a spider's web. before, when the boy ran so fast, no one had paid any attention to him. the people must have thought that it was only a little gray rat that darted by them. but now, when he walked down the street, very slowly, one of the salesmen caught sight of him, and began to beckon to him. at first the boy was uneasy and wanted to hurry out of the way, but the salesman only beckoned and smiled, and spread out on the counter a lovely piece of satin damask as if he wanted to tempt him. the boy shook his head. "i will never be so rich that i can buy even a metre of that cloth," thought he. but now they had caught sight of him in every stall, all along the street. wherever he looked stood a salesman and beckoned to him. they left their costly wares, and thought only of him. he saw how they hurried into the most hidden corner of the stall to fetch the best that they had to sell, and how their hands trembled with eagerness and haste as they laid it upon the counter. when the boy continued to go on, one of the merchants jumped over the counter, caught hold of him, and spread before him silver cloth and woven tapestries, which shone with brilliant colours. the boy couldn't do anything but laugh at him. the salesman certainly must understand that a poor little creature like him couldn't buy such things. he stood still and held out his two empty hands, so they would understand that he had nothing and let him go in peace. but the merchant raised a finger and nodded and pushed the whole pile of beautiful things over to him. "can he mean that he will sell all this for a gold piece?" wondered the boy. the merchant brought out a tiny worn and poor coin--the smallest that one could see--and showed it to him. and he was so eager to sell that he increased his pile with a pair of large, heavy, silver goblets. then the boy began to dig down in his pockets. he knew, of course, that he didn't possess a single coin, but he couldn't help feeling for it. all the other merchants stood still and tried to see how the sale would come off, and when they observed that the boy began to search in his pockets, they flung themselves over the counters, filled their hands full of gold and silver ornaments, and offered them to him. and they all showed him that what they asked in payment was just one little penny. but the boy turned both vest and breeches pockets inside out, so they should see that he owned nothing. then tears filled the eyes of all these regal merchants, who were so much richer than he. at last he was moved because they looked so distressed, and he pondered if he could not in some way help them. and then he happened to think of the rusty coin, which he had but lately seen on the strand. he started to run down the street, and luck was with him so that he came to the self-same gate which he had happened upon first. he dashed through it, and commenced to search for the little green copper penny which lay on the strand a while ago. he found it too, very promptly; but when he had picked it up, and wanted to run back to the city with it--he saw only the sea before him. no city wall, no gate, no sentinels, no streets, no houses could now be seen--only the sea. the boy couldn't help that the tears came to his eyes. he had believed in the beginning, that that which he saw was nothing but an hallucination, but this he had already forgotten. he only thought about how pretty everything was. he felt a genuine, deep sorrow because the city had vanished. that moment herr ermenrich awoke, and came up to him. but he didn't hear him, and the stork had to poke the boy with his bill to attract attention to himself. "i believe that you stand here and sleep just as i do," said herr ermenrich. "oh, herr ermenrich!" said the boy. "what was that city which stood here just now?" "have you seen a city?" said the stork. "you have slept and dreamt, as i say." "no! i have not dreamt," said thumbietot, and he told the stork all that he had experienced. then herr ermenrich said: "for my part, thumbietot, i believe that you fell asleep here on the strand and dreamed all this. "but i will not conceal from you that bataki, the raven, who is the most learned of all birds, once told me that in former times there was a city on this shore, called vineta. it was so rich and so fortunate, that no city has ever been more glorious; but its inhabitants, unluckily, gave themselves up to arrogance and love of display. as a punishment for this, says bataki, the city of vineta was overtaken by a flood, and sank into the sea. but its inhabitants cannot die, neither is their city destroyed. and one night in every hundred years, it rises in all its splendour up from the sea, and remains on the surface just one hour." "yes, it must be so," said thumbietot, "for this i have seen." "but when the hour is up, it sinks again into the sea, if, during that time, no merchant in vineta has sold anything to a single living creature. if you, thumbietot, only had had an ever so tiny coin, to pay the merchants, vineta might have remained up here on the shore; and its people could have lived and died like other human beings." "herr ermenrich," said the boy, "now i understand why you came and fetched me in the middle of the night. it was because you believed that i should be able to save the old city. i am so sorry it didn't turn out as you wished, herr ermenrich." he covered his face with his hands and wept. it wasn't easy to say which one looked the more disconsolate--the boy, or herr ermenrich. the living city _monday, april eleventh_. on the afternoon of easter monday, the wild geese and thumbietot were on the wing. they travelled over gottland. the large island lay smooth and even beneath them. the ground was checked just as it was in skåne and there were many churches and farms. but there was this difference, however, that there were more leafy meadows between the fields here, and then the farms were not built up with small houses. and there were no large manors with ancient tower-ornamented castles. the wild geese had taken the route over gottland on account of thumbietot. he had been altogether unlike himself for two days, and hadn't spoken a cheerful word. this was because he had thought of nothing but that city which had appeared to him in such a strange way. he had never seen anything so magnificent and royal, and he could not be reconciled with himself for having failed to save it. usually he was not chicken-hearted, but now he actually grieved for the beautiful buildings and the stately people. both akka and the goosey-gander tried to convince thumbietot that he had been the victim of a dream, or an hallucination, but the boy wouldn't listen to anything of that sort. he was so positive that he had really seen what he had seen, that no one could move him from this conviction. he went about so disconsolate that his travelling companions became uneasy for him. just as the boy was the most depressed, old kaksi came back to the flock. she had been blown toward gottland, and had been compelled to travel over the whole island before she had learned through some crows that her comrades were on little karl's island. when kaksi found out what was wrong with thumbietot, she said impulsively: "if thumbietot is grieving over an old city, we'll soon be able to comfort him. just come along, and i'll take you to a place that i saw yesterday! you will not need to be distressed very long." thereupon the geese had taken farewell of the sheep, and were on their way to the place which kaksi wished to show thumbietot. as blue as he was, he couldn't keep from looking at the land over which he travelled, as usual. he thought it looked as though the whole island had in the beginning been just such a high, steep cliff as karl's island--though much bigger of course. but afterward, it had in some way been flattened out. someone had taken a big rolling-pin and rolled over it, as if it had been a lump of dough. not that the island had become altogether flat and even, like a bread-cake, for it wasn't like that. while they had travelled along the coast, he had seen white lime walls with grottoes and crags, in several directions; but in most of the places they were levelled, and sank inconspicuously down toward the sea. in gottland they had a pleasant and peaceful holiday afternoon. it turned out to be mild spring weather; the trees had large buds; spring blossoms dressed the ground in the leafy meadows; the poplars' long, thin pendants swayed; and in the little gardens, which one finds around every cottage, the gooseberry bushes were green. the warmth and the spring-budding had tempted the people out into the gardens and roads, and wherever a number of them were gathered together they were playing. it was not the children alone who played, but the grown-ups also. they were throwing stones at a given point, and they threw balls in the air with such exact aim that they almost touched the wild geese. it looked cheerful and pleasant to see big folks at play; and the boy certainly would have enjoyed it, if he had been able to forget his grief because he had failed to save the city. anyway, he had to admit that this was a lovely trip. there was so much singing and sound in the air. little children played ring games, and sang as they played. the salvation army was out. he saw a lot of people dressed in black and red--sitting upon a wooded hill, playing on guitars and brass instruments. on one road came a great crowd of people. they were good templars who had been on a pleasure trip. he recognized them by the big banners with the gold inscriptions which waved above them. they sang song after song as long as he could hear them. after that the boy could never think of gottland without thinking of the games and songs at the same time. he had been sitting and looking down for a long while; but now he happened to raise his eyes. no one can describe his amazement. before he was aware of it, the wild geese had left the interior of the island and gone westward--toward the sea-coast. now the wide, blue sea lay before him. however, it was not the sea that was remarkable, but a city which appeared on the sea-shore. the boy came from the east, and the sun had just begun to go down in the west. when he came nearer the city, its walls and towers and high, gabled houses and churches stood there, perfectly black, against the light evening sky. he couldn't see therefore what it really looked like, and for a couple of moments he believed that this city was just as beautiful as the one he had seen on easter night. when he got right up to it, he saw that it was both like and unlike that city from the bottom of the sea. there was the same contrast between them, as there is between a man whom one sees arrayed in purple and jewels one day, and on another day one sees him dressed in rags. yes, this city had probably, once upon a time, been like the one which he sat and thought about. this one, also, was enclosed by a wall with towers and gates. but the towers in this city, which had been allowed to remain on land, were roofless, hollow and empty. the gates were without doors; sentinels and warriors had disappeared. all the glittering splendour was gone. there was nothing left but the naked, gray stone skeleton. when the boy came farther into the city, he saw that the larger part of it was made up of small, low houses; but here and there were still a few high gabled houses and a few cathedrals, which were from the olden time. the walls of the gabled houses were whitewashed, and entirely without ornamentation; but because the boy had so lately seen the buried city, he seemed to understand how they had been decorated: some with statues, and others with black and white marble. and it was the same with the old cathedrals; the majority of them were roofless with bare interiors. the window openings were empty, the floors were grass-grown, and ivy clambered along the walls. but now he knew how they had looked at one time; that they had been covered with images and paintings; that the chancel had had trimmed altars and gilded crosses, and that their priests had moved about, arrayed in gold vestments. the boy saw also the narrow streets, which were almost deserted on holiday afternoons. he knew, he did, what a stream of stately people had once upon a time sauntered about on them. he knew that they had been like large workshops--filled with all sorts of workmen. but that which nils holgersson did not see was, that the city--even to-day--was both beautiful and remarkable. he saw neither the cheery cottages on the side streets, with their black walls, and white bows and red pelargoniums behind the shining window-panes, nor the many pretty gardens and avenues, nor the beauty in the weed-clad ruins. his eyes were so filled with the preceding glory, that he could not see anything good in the present. the wild geese flew back and forth over the city a couple of times, so that thumbietot might see everything. finally they sank down on the grass-grown floor of a cathedral ruin to spend the night. when they had arranged themselves for sleep, thumbietot was still awake and looked up through the open arches, to the pale pink evening sky. when he had been sitting there a while, he thought he didn't want to grieve any more because he couldn't save the buried city. no, that he didn't want to do, now that he had seen this one. if that city, which he had seen, had not sunk into the sea again, then it would perhaps become as dilapidated as this one in a little while. perhaps it could not have withstood time and decay, but would have stood there with roofless churches and bare houses and desolate, empty streets--just like this one. then it was better that it should remain in all its glory down in the deep. "it was best that it happened as it happened," thought he. "if i had the power to save the city, i don't believe that i should care to do it." then he no longer grieved over that matter. and there are probably many among the young who think in the same way. but when people are old, and have become accustomed to being satisfied with little, then they are more happy over the visby that exists, than over a magnificent vineta at the bottom of the sea. the legend of småland _tuesday, april twelfth_. the wild geese had made a good trip over the sea, and had lighted in tjust township, in northern småland. that township didn't seem able to make up its mind whether it wanted to be land or sea. fiords ran in everywhere, and cut the land up into islands and peninsulas and points and capes. the sea was so forceful that the only things which could hold themselves above it were hills and mountains. all the lowlands were hidden away under the water exterior. it was evening when the wild geese came in from the sea; and the land with the little hills lay prettily between the shimmering fiords. here and there, on the islands, the boy saw cabins and cottages; and the farther inland he came, the bigger and better became the dwelling houses. finally, they grew into large, white manors. along the shores there was generally a border of trees; and within this lay field-plots, and on the tops of the little hills there were trees again. he could not help but think of blekinge. here again was a place where land and sea met, in such a pretty and peaceful sort of way, just as if they tried to show each other the best and loveliest which they possessed. the wild geese alighted upon a limestone island a good way in on goose-fiord. with the first glance at the shore they observed that spring had made rapid strides while they had been away on the islands. the big, fine trees were not as yet leaf-clad, but the ground under them was brocaded with white anemones, gagea, and blue anemones. when the wild geese saw the flower-carpet they feared that they had lingered too long in the southern part of the country. akka said instantly that there was no time in which to hunt up any of the stopping places in småland. by the next morning they must travel northward, over östergötland. the boy should then see nothing of småland, and this grieved him. he had heard more about småland than he had about any other province, and he had longed to see it with his own eyes. the summer before, when he had served as goose-boy with a farmer in the neighbourhood of jordberga, he had met a pair of småland children, almost every day, who also tended geese. these children had irritated him terribly with their småland. it wasn't fair to say that osa, the goose-girl, had annoyed him. she was much too wise for that. but the one who could be aggravating with a vengeance was her brother, little mats. "have you heard, nils goose-boy, how it went when småland and skåne were created?" he would ask, and if nils holgersson said no, he began immediately to relate the old joke-legend. "well, it was at that time when our lord was creating the world. while he was doing his best work, saint peter came walking by. he stopped and looked on, and then he asked if it was hard to do. 'well, it isn't exactly easy,' said our lord. saint peter stood there a little longer, and when he noticed how easy it was to lay out one landscape after another, he too wanted to try his hand at it. 'perhaps you need to rest yourself a little,' said saint peter, 'i could attend to the work in the meantime for you.' but this our lord did not wish. 'i do not know if you are so much at home in this art that i can trust you to take hold where i leave off,' he answered. then saint peter was angry, and said that he believed he could create just as fine countries as our lord himself. "it happened that our lord was just then creating småland. it wasn't even half-ready but it looked as though it would be an indescribably pretty and fertile land. it was difficult for our lord to say no to saint peter, and aside from this, he thought very likely that a thing so well begun no one could spoil. therefore he said: if you like, we will prove which one of us two understands this sort of work the better. you, who are only a novice, shall go on with this which i have begun, and i will create a new land.' to this saint peter agreed at once; and so they went to work--each one in his place. "our lord moved southward a bit, and there he undertook to create skåne. it wasn't long before he was through with it, and soon he asked if saint peter had finished, and would come and look at his work. 'i had mine ready long ago,' said saint peter; and from the sound of his voice it could be heard how pleased he was with what he had accomplished. "when saint peter saw skåne, he had to acknowledge that there was nothing but good to be said of that land. it was a fertile land and easy to cultivate, with wide plains wherever one looked, and hardly a sign of hills. it was evident that our lord had really contemplated making it such that people should feel at home there. 'yes, this is a good country,' said saint peter, 'but i think that mine is better.' 'then we'll take a look at it,' said our lord. "the land was already finished in the north and east when saint peter began the work, but the southern and western parts; and the whole interior, he had created all by himself. now when our lord came up there, where saint peter had been at work, he was so horrified that he stopped short and exclaimed: 'what on earth have you been doing with this land, saint peter?' "saint peter, too, stood and looked around--perfectly astonished. he had had the idea that nothing could be so good for a land as a great deal of warmth. therefore he had gathered together an enormous mass of stones and mountains, and erected a highland, and this he had done so that it should be near the sun, and receive much help from the sun's heat. over the stone-heaps he had spread a thin layer of soil, and then he had thought that everything was well arranged. "but while he was down in skåne, a couple of heavy showers had come up, and more was not needed to show what his work amounted to. when our lord came to inspect the land, all the soil had been washed away, and the naked mountain foundation shone forth all over. where it was about the best, lay clay and heavy gravel over the rocks, but it looked so poor that it was easy to understand that hardly anything except spruce and juniper and moss and heather could grow there. but what there was plenty of was water. it had filled up all the clefts in the mountain; and lakes and rivers and brooks; these one saw everywhere, to say nothing of swamps and morasses, which spread over large tracts. and the most exasperating thing of all was, that while some tracts had too much water, it was so scarce in others, that whole fields lay like dry moors, where sand and earth whirled up in clouds with the least little breeze. "'what can have been your meaning in creating such a land as this?' said our lord. saint peter made excuses, and declared he had wished to build up a land so high that it should have plenty of warmth from the sun. 'but then you will also get much of the night chill,' said our lord, 'for that too comes from heaven. i am very much afraid the little that can grow here will freeze.' "this, to be sure, saint peter hadn't thought about. "'yes, here it will be a poor and frost-bound land,' said our lord, 'it can't be helped.'" when little mats had gotten this far in his story, osa, the goose-girl, protested: "i cannot bear, little mats, to hear you say that it is so miserable in småland," said she. "you forget entirely how much good soil there is there. only think of möre district, by kalmar sound! i wonder where you'll find a richer grain region. there are fields upon fields, just like here in skåne. the soil is so good that i cannot imagine anything that couldn't grow there." "i can't help that," said little mats. "i'm only relating what others have said before." "and i have heard many say that there is not a more beautiful coast land than tjust. think of the bays and islets, and the manors, and the groves!" said osa. "yes, that's true enough," little mats admitted. "and don't you remember," continued osa, "the school teacher said that such a lively and picturesque district as that bit of småland which lies south of lake vettern is not to be found in all sweden? think of the beautiful sea and the yellow coast-mountains, and of grenna and jönköping, with its match factory, and think of huskvarna, and all the big establishments there!" "yes, that's true enough," said little mats once again. "and think of visingsö, little mats, with the ruins and the oak forests and the legends! think of the valley through which emån flows, with all the villages and flour-mills and sawmills, and the carpenter shops!" "yes, that is true enough," said little mats, and looked troubled. all of a sudden he had looked up. "now we are pretty stupid," said he. "all this, of course, lies in our lord's småland, in that part of the land which was already finished when saint peter undertook the job. it's only natural that it should be pretty and fine there. but in saint peter's småland it looks as it says in the legend. and it wasn't surprising that our lord was distressed when he saw it," continued little mats, as he took up the thread of his story again. "saint peter didn't lose his courage, at all events, but tried to comfort our lord. 'don't be so grieved over this!' said he. 'only wait until i have created people who can till the swamps and break up fields from the stone hills.' "that was the end of our lord's patience--and he said: 'no! you can go down to skåne and make the skåninge, but the smålander i will create myself.' and so our lord created the smålander, and made him quick-witted and contented and happy and thrifty and enterprising and capable, that he might be able to get his livelihood in his poor country." then little mats was silent; and if nils holgersson had also kept still, all would have gone well; but he couldn't possibly refrain from asking how saint peter had succeeded in creating the skåninge. "well, what do you think yourself?" said little mats, and looked so scornful that nils holgersson threw himself upon him, to thrash him. but mats was only a little tot, and osa, the goose-girl, who was a year older than he, ran forward instantly to help him. good-natured though she was, she sprang like a lion as soon as anyone touched her brother. and nils holgersson did not care to fight a girl, but turned his back, and didn't look at those småland children for the rest of the day. the crows the earthen crock in the southwest corner of småland lies a township called sonnerbo. it is a rather smooth and even country. and one who sees it in winter, when it is covered with snow, cannot imagine that there is anything under the snow but garden-plots, rye-fields and clover-meadows as is generally the case in flat countries. but, in the beginning of april when the snow finally melts away in sonnerbo, it is apparent that that which lies hidden under it is only dry, sandy heaths, bare rocks, and big, marshy swamps. there are fields here and there, to be sure, but they are so small that they are scarcely worth mentioning; and one also finds a few little red or gray farmhouses hidden away in some beech-coppice--almost as if they were afraid to show themselves. where sonnerbo township touches the boundaries of halland, there is a sandy heath which is so far-reaching that he who stands upon one edge of it cannot look across to the other. nothing except heather grows on the heath, and it wouldn't be easy either to coax other growths to thrive there. to start with one would have to uproot the heather; for it is thus with heather: although it has only a little shrunken root, small shrunken branches, and dry, shrunken leaves it fancies that it's a tree. therefore it acts just like real trees--spreads itself out in forest fashion over wide areas; holds together faithfully, and causes all foreign growths that wish to crowd in upon its territory to die out. the only place on the heath where the heather is not all-powerful, is a low, stony ridge which passes over it. there you'll find juniper bushes, mountain ash, and a few large, fine oaks. at the time when nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, a little cabin stood there, with a bit of cleared ground around it. but the people who had lived there at one time, had, for some reason or other, moved away. the little cabin was empty, and the ground lay unused. when the tenants left the cabin they closed the damper, fastened the window-hooks, and locked the door. but no one had thought of the broken window-pane which was only stuffed with a rag. after the showers of a couple of summers, the rag had moulded and shrunk, and, finally, a crow had succeeded in poking it out. the ridge on the heather-heath was really not as desolate as one might think, for it was inhabited by a large crow-folk. naturally, the crows did not live there all the year round. they moved to foreign lands in the winter; in the autumn they travelled from one grain-field to another all over götaland, and picked grain; during the summer, they spread themselves over the farms in sonnerbo township, and lived upon eggs and berries and birdlings; but every spring, when nesting time came, they came back to the heather-heath. the one who had poked the rag from the window was a crow-cock named garm whitefeather; but he was never called anything but fumle or drumle, or out and out fumle-drumle, because he always acted awkwardly and stupidly, and wasn't good for anything except to make fun of. fumle-drumle was bigger and stronger than any of the other crows, but that didn't help him in the least; he was--and remained--a butt for ridicule. and it didn't profit him, either, that he came from very good stock. if everything had gone smoothly, he should have been leader for the whole flock, because this honour had, from time immemorial, belonged to the oldest whitefeather. but long before fumle-drumle was born, the power had gone from his family, and was now wielded by a cruel wild crow, named wind-rush. this transference of power was due to the fact that the crows on crow-ridge desired to change their manner of living. possibly there are many who think that everything in the shape of crow lives in the same way; but this is not so. there are entire crow-folk who lead honourable lives--that is to say, they only eat grain, worms, caterpillars, and dead animals; and there are others who lead a regular bandit's life, who throw themselves upon baby-hares and small birds, and plunder every single bird's nest they set eyes on. the ancient whitefeathers had been strict and temperate; and as long as they had led the flock, the crows had been compelled to conduct themselves in such a way that other birds could speak no ill of them. but the crows were numerous, and poverty was great among them. they didn't care to go the whole length of living a strictly moral life, so they rebelled against the whitefeathers, and gave the power to wind-rush, who was the worst nest-plunderer and robber that could be imagined--if his wife, wind-air, wasn't worse still. under their government the crows had begun to lead such a life that now they were more feared than pigeon-hawks and leech-owls. naturally, fumle-drumle had nothing to say in the flock. the crows were all of the opinion that he did not in the least take after his forefathers, and that he wouldn't suit as a leader. no one would have mentioned him, if he hadn't constantly committed fresh blunders. a few, who were quite sensible, sometimes said perhaps it was lucky for fumle-drumle that he was such a bungling idiot, otherwise wind-rush and wind-air would hardly have allowed him--who was of the old chieftain stock--to remain with the flock. now, on the other hand, they were rather friendly toward him, and willingly took him along with them on their hunting expeditions. there all could observe how much more skilful and daring they were than he. none of the crows knew that it was fumle-drumle who had pecked the rag out of the window; and had they known of this, they would have been very much astonished. such a thing as daring to approach a human being's dwelling, they had never believed of him. he kept the thing to himself very carefully; and he had his own good reasons for it. wind-rush always treated him well in the daytime, and when the others were around; but one very dark night, when the comrades sat on the night branch, he was attacked by a couple of crows and nearly murdered. after that he moved every night, after dark, from his usual sleeping quarters into the empty cabin. now one afternoon, when the crows had put their nests in order on crow-ridge, they happened upon a remarkable find. wind-rush, fumle-drumle, and a couple of others had flown down into a big hollow in one corner of the heath. the hollow was nothing but a gravel-pit, but the crows could not be satisfied with such a simple explanation; they flew down in it continually, and turned every single sand-grain to get at the reason why human beings had digged it. while the crows were pottering around down there, a mass of gravel fell from one side. they rushed up to it, and had the good fortune to find amongst the fallen stones and stubble--a large earthen crock, which was locked with a wooden clasp! naturally they wanted to know if there was anything in it, and they tried both to peck holes in the crock, and to bend up the clasp, but they had no success. they stood perfectly helpless and examined the crock, when they heard someone say: "shall i come down and assist you crows?" they glanced up quickly. on the edge of the hollow sat a fox and blinked down at them. he was one of the prettiest foxes--both in colour and form--that they had ever seen. the only fault with him was that he had lost an ear. "if you desire to do us a service," said wind-rush, "we shall not say nay." at the same time, both he and the others flew up from the hollow. then the fox jumped down in their place, bit at the jar, and pulled at the lock--but he couldn't open it either. "can you make out what there is in it?" said wind-rush. the fox rolled the jar back and forth, and listened attentively. "it must be silver money," said he. this was more than the crows had expected. "do you think it can be silver?" said they, and their eyes were ready to pop out of their heads with greed; for remarkable as it may sound, there is nothing in the world which crows love as much as silver money. "hear how it rattles!" said the fox and rolled the crock around once more. "only i can't understand how we shall get at it." "that will surely be impossible," said the crows. the fox stood and rubbed his head against his left leg, and pondered. now perhaps he might succeed, with the help of the crows, in becoming master of that little imp who always eluded him. "oh! i know someone who could open the crock for you," said the fox. "then tell us! tell us!" cried the crows; and they were so excited that they tumbled down into the pit. "that i will do, if you'll first promise me that you will agree to my terms," said he. then the fox told the crows about thumbietot, and said that if they could bring him to the heath he would open the crock for them. but in payment for this counsel, he demanded that they should deliver thumbietot to him, as soon as he had gotten the silver money for them. the crows had no reason to spare thumbietot, so agreed to the compact at once. it was easy enough to agree to this; but it was harder to find out where thumbietot and the wild geese were stopping. wind-rush himself travelled away with fifty crows, and said that he should soon return. but one day after another passed without the crows on crow-ridge seeing a shadow of him. kidnapped by crows _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." the cabin _thursday, april fourteenth_. the following morning when the boy awoke, he lay in a bed. when he saw that he was in a house with four walls around him, and a roof over him, he thought that he was at home. "i wonder if mother will come soon with some coffee," he muttered to himself where he lay half-awake. then he remembered that he was in a deserted cabin on the crow-ridge, and that fumle-drumle with the white feather had borne him there the night before. the boy was sore all over after the journey he had made the day before, and he thought it was lovely to lie still while he waited for fumle-drumle who had promised to come and fetch him. curtains of checked cotton hung before the bed, and he drew them aside to look out into the cabin. it dawned upon him instantly that he had never seen the mate to a cabin like this. the walls consisted of nothing but a couple of rows of logs; then the roof began. there was no interior ceiling, so he could look clear up to the roof-tree. the cabin was so small that it appeared to have been built rather for such as he than for real people. however, the fireplace and chimney were so large, he thought that he had never seen larger. the entrance door was in a gable-wall at the side of the fireplace, and was so narrow that it was more like a wicket than a door. in the other gable-wall he saw a low and broad window with many panes. there was scarcely any movable furniture in the cabin. the bench on one side, and the table under the window, were also stationary--also the big bed where he lay, and the many-coloured cupboard. the boy could not help wondering who owned the cabin, and why it was deserted. it certainly looked as though the people who had lived there expected to return. the coffee-urn and the gruel-pot stood on the hearth, and there was some wood in the fireplace; the oven-rake and baker's peel stood in a corner; the spinning wheel was raised on a bench; on the shelf over the window lay oakum and flax, a couple of skeins of yarn, a candle, and a bunch of matches. yes, it surely looked as if those who had lived there had intended to come back. there were bed-clothes on the bed; and on the walls there still hung long strips of cloth, upon which three riders named kasper, melchior, and baltasar were painted. the same horses and riders were pictured many times. they rode around the whole cabin, and continued their ride even up toward the joists. but in the roof the boy saw something which brought him to his senses in a jiffy. it was a couple of loaves of big bread-cakes that hung there upon a spit. they looked old and mouldy, but it was bread all the same. he gave them a knock with the oven-rake and one piece fell to the floor. he ate, and stuffed his bag full. it was incredible how good bread was, anyway. he looked around the cabin once more, to try and discover if there was anything else which he might find useful to take along. "i may as well take what i need, since no one else cares about it," thought he. but most of the things were too big and heavy. the only things that he could carry might be a few matches perhaps. he clambered up on the table, and swung with the help of the curtains up to the window-shelf. while he stood there and stuffed the matches into his bag, the crow with the white feather came in through the window. "well here i am at last," said fumle-drumle as he lit on the table. "i couldn't get here any sooner because we crows have elected a new chieftain in wind-rush's place." "whom have you chosen?" said the boy. "well, we have chosen one who will not permit robbery and injustice. we have elected garm whitefeather, lately called fumle-drumle," answered he, drawing himself up until he looked absolutely regal. "that was a good choice," said the boy and congratulated him. "you may well wish me luck," said garm; then he told the boy about the time they had had with wind-rush and wind-air. during this recital the boy heard a voice outside the window which he thought sounded familiar. "is he here?"--inquired the fox. "yes, he's hidden in there," answered a crow-voice. "be careful, thumbietot!" cried garm. "wind-air stands without with that fox who wants to eat you." more he didn't have time to say, for smirre dashed against the window. the old, rotten window-frame gave way, and the next second smirre stood upon the window-table. garm whitefeather, who didn't have time to fly away, he killed instantly. thereupon he jumped down to the floor, and looked around for the boy. he tried to hide behind a big oakum-spiral, but smirre had already spied him, and was crouched for the final spring. the cabin was so small, and so low, the boy understood that the fox could reach him without the least difficulty. but just at that moment the boy was not without weapons of defence. he struck a match quickly, touched the curtains, and when they were in flames, he threw them down upon smirre fox. when the fire enveloped the fox, he was seized with a mad terror. he thought no more about the boy, but rushed wildly out of the cabin. but it looked as if the boy had escaped one danger to throw himself into a greater one. from the tuft of oakum which he had flung at smirre the fire had spread to the bed-hangings. he jumped down and tried to smother it, but it blazed too quickly now. the cabin was soon filled with smoke, and smirre fox, who had remained just outside the window, began to grasp the state of affairs within. "well, thumbietot," he called out, "which do you choose now: to be broiled alive in there, or to come out here to me? of course, i should prefer to have the pleasure of eating you; but in whichever way death meets you it will be dear to me." the boy could not think but what the fox was right, for the fire was making rapid headway. the whole bed was now in a blaze, and smoke rose from the floor; and along the painted wall-strips the fire crept from rider to rider. the boy jumped up in the fireplace, and tried to open the oven door, when he heard a key which turned around slowly in the lock. it must be human beings coming. and in the dire extremity in which he found himself, he was not afraid, but only glad. he was already on the threshold when the door opened. he saw a couple of children facing him; but how they looked when they saw the cabin in flames, he took no time to find out; but rushed past them into the open. he didn't dare run far. he knew, of course, that smirre fox lay in wait for him, and he understood that he must remain near the children. he turned round to see what sort of folk they were, but he hadn't looked at them a second before he ran up to them and cried: "oh, good-day, osa goose-girl! oh, good-day, little mats!" for when the boy saw those children he forgot entirely where he was. crows and burning cabin and talking animals had vanished from his memory. he was walking on a stubble-field, in west vemminghög, tending a goose-flock; and beside him, on the field, walked those same småland children, with their geese. as soon as he saw them, he ran up on the stone-hedge and shouted: "oh, good-day, osa goose-girl! oh, good-day, little mats!" but when the children saw such a little creature coming up to them with outstretched hands, they grabbed hold of each other, took a couple of steps backward, and looked scared to death. when the boy noticed their terror he woke up and remembered who he was. and then it seemed to him that nothing worse could happen to him than that those children should see how he had been bewitched. shame and grief because he was no longer a human being overpowered him. he turned and fled. he knew not whither. but a glad meeting awaited the boy when he came down to the heath. for there, in the heather, he spied something white, and toward him came the white goosey-gander, accompanied by dunfin. when the white one saw the boy running with such speed, he thought that dreadful fiends were pursuing him. he flung him in all haste upon his back and flew off with him. the old peasant woman _thursday, april fourteenth_. three tired wanderers were out in the late evening in search of a night harbour. they travelled over a poor and desolate portion of northern småland. but the sort of resting place which they wanted, they should have been able to find; for they were no weaklings who asked for soft beds or comfortable rooms. "if one of these long mountain-ridges had a peak so high and steep that a fox couldn't in any way climb up to it, then we should have a good sleeping-place," said one of them. "if a single one of the big swamps was thawed out, and was so marshy and wet that a fox wouldn't dare venture out on it, this, too, would be a right good night harbour," said the second. "if the ice on one of the large lakes we travel past were loose, so that a fox could not come out on it, then we should have found just what we are seeking," said the third. the worst of it was that when the sun had gone down, two of the travellers became so sleepy that every second they were ready to fall to the ground. the third one, who could keep himself awake, grew more and more uneasy as night approached. "then it was a misfortune that we came to a land where lakes and swamps are frozen, so that a fox can get around everywhere. in other places the ice has melted away; but now we're well up in the very coldest småland, where spring has not as yet arrived. i don't know how i shall ever manage to find a good sleeping-place! unless i find some spot that is well protected, smirre fox will be upon us before morning." he gazed in all directions, but he saw no shelter where he could lodge. it was a dark and chilly night, with wind and drizzle. it grew more terrible and disagreeable around him every second. this may sound strange, perhaps, but the travellers didn't seem to have the least desire to ask for house-room on any farm. they had already passed many parishes without knocking at a single door. little hillside cabins on the outskirts of the forests, which all poor wanderers are glad to run across, they took no notice of either. one might almost be tempted to say they deserved to have a hard time of it, since they did not seek help where it was to be had for the asking. but finally, when it was so dark that there was scarcely a glimmer of light left under the skies and the two who needed sleep journeyed on in a kind of half-sleep, they happened into a farmyard which was a long way off from all neighbours. and not only did it lie there desolate, but it appeared to be uninhabited as well. no smoke rose from the chimney; no light shone through the windows; no human being moved on the place. when the one among the three who could keep awake, saw the place, he thought: "now come what may, we must try to get in here. anything better we are not likely to find." soon after that, all three stood in the house-yard. two of them fell asleep the instant they stood still, but the third looked about him eagerly, to find where they could get under cover. it was not a small farm. beside the dwelling house and stable and smoke-house, there were long ranges with granaries and storehouses and cattlesheds. but it all looked awfully poor and dilapidated. the houses had gray, moss-grown, leaning walls, which seemed ready to topple over. in the roofs were yawning holes, and the doors hung aslant on broken hinges. it was apparent that no one had taken the trouble to drive a nail into a wall on this place for a long time. meanwhile, he who was awake had figured out which house was the cowshed. he roused his travelling companions from their sleep, and conducted them to the cowshed door. luckily, this was not fastened with anything but a hook, which he could easily push up with a rod. he heaved a sigh of relief at the thought that they should soon be in safety. but when the cowshed door swung open with a sharp creaking, he heard a cow begin to bellow. "are you coming at last, mistress?" said she. "i thought that you didn't propose to give me any supper to-night." the one who was awake stopped in the doorway, absolutely terrified when he discovered that the cowshed was not empty. but he soon saw that there was not more than one cow, and three or four chickens; and then he took courage again. "we are three poor travellers who want to come in somewhere, where no fox can assail us, and no human being capture us," said he. "we wonder if this can be a good place for us." "i cannot believe but what it is," answered the cow. "to be sure the walls are poor, but the fox does not walk through them as yet; and no one lives here except an old peasant woman, who isn't at all likely to make a captive of anyone. but who are you?" she continued, as she twisted in her stall to get a sight of the newcomers. "i am nils holgersson from vemminghög, who has been transformed into an elf," replied the first of the incomers, "and i have with me a tame goose, whom i generally ride, and a gray goose." "such rare guests have never before been within my four walls," said the cow, "and you shall be welcome, although i would have preferred that it had been my mistress, come to give me my supper." the boy led the geese into the cowshed, which was rather large, and placed them in an empty manger, where they fell asleep instantly. for himself, he made a little bed of straw and expected that he, too, should go to sleep at once. but this was impossible, for the poor cow, who hadn't had her supper, wasn't still an instant. she shook her flanks, moved around in the stall, and complained of how hungry she was. the boy couldn't get a wink of sleep, but lay there and lived over all the things that had happened to him during these last days. he thought of osa, the goose-girl, and little mats, whom he had encountered so unexpectedly; and he fancied that the little cabin which he had set on fire must have been their old home in småland. now he recalled that he had heard them speak of just such a cabin, and of the big heather-heath which lay below it. now osa and mats had wandered back there to see their old home again, and then, when they had reached it, it was in flames. it was indeed a great sorrow which he had brought upon them, and it hurt him very much. if he ever again became a human being, he would try to compensate them for the damage and miscalculation. then his thoughts wandered to the crows. and when he thought of fumle-drumle who had saved his life, and had met his own death so soon after he had been elected chieftain, he was so distressed that tears filled his eyes. he had had a pretty rough time of it these last few days. but, anyway, it was a rare stroke of luck that the goosey-gander and dunfin had found him. the goosey-gander had said that as soon as the geese discovered that thumbietot had disappeared, they had asked all the small animals in the forest about him. they soon learned that a flock of småland crows had carried him off. but the crows were already out of sight, and whither they had directed their course no one had been able to say. that they might find the boy as soon as possible, akka had commanded the wild geese to start out--two and two--in different directions, to search for him. but after a two days' hunt, whether or not they had found him, they were to meet in northwestern småland on a high mountain-top, which resembled an abrupt, chopped-off tower, and was called taberg. after akka had given them the best directions, and described carefully how they should find taberg, they had separated. the white goosey-gander had chosen dunfin as travelling companion, and they had flown about hither and thither with the greatest anxiety for thumbietot. during this ramble they had heard a thrush, who sat in a tree-top, cry and wail that someone, who called himself kidnapped-by-crows, had made fun of him. they had talked with the thrush, and he had shown them in which direction that kidnapped-by-crows had travelled. afterward, they had met a dove-cock, a starling and a drake; they had all wailed about a little culprit who had disturbed their song, and who was named caught-by-crows, captured-by-crows, and stolen-by-crows. in this way, they were enabled to trace thumbietot all the way to the heather-heath in sonnerbo township. as soon as the goosey-gander and dunfin had found thumbietot, they had started toward the north, in order to reach taberg. but it had been a long road to travel, and the darkness was upon them before they had sighted the mountain top. "if we only get there by to-morrow, surely all our troubles will be over," thought the boy, and dug down into the straw to have it warmer. all the while the cow fussed and fumed in the stall. then, all of a sudden, she began to talk to the boy. "everything is wrong with me," said the cow. "i am neither milked nor tended. i have no night fodder in my manger, and no bed has been made under me. my mistress came here at dusk, to put things in order for me, but she felt so ill, that she had to go in soon again, and she has not returned." "it's distressing that i should be little and powerless," said the boy. "i don't believe that i am able to help you." "you can't make me believe that you are powerless because you are little," said the cow. "all the elves that i've ever heard of, were so strong that they could pull a whole load of hay and strike a cow dead with one fist." the boy couldn't help laughing at the cow. "they were a very different kind of elf from me," said he. "but i'll loosen your halter and open the door for you, so that you can go out and drink in one of the pools on the place, and then i'll try to climb up to the hayloft and throw down some hay in your manger." "yes, that would be some help," said the cow. the boy did as he had said; and when the cow stood with a full manger in front of her, he thought that at last he should get some sleep. but he had hardly crept down in the bed before she began, anew, to talk to him. "you'll be clean put out with me if i ask you for one thing more," said the cow. "oh, no i won't, if it's only something that i'm able to do," said the boy. "then i will ask you to go into the cabin, directly opposite, and find out how my mistress is getting along. i fear some misfortune has come to her." "no! i can't do that," said the boy. "i dare not show myself before human beings." "'surely you're not afraid of an old and sick woman," said the cow. "but you do not need to go into the cabin. just stand outside the door and peep in through the crack!" "oh! if that is all you ask of me, i'll do it of course," said the boy. with that he opened the cowshed door and went out in the yard. it was a fearful night! neither moon nor stars shone; the wind blew a gale, and the rain came down in torrents. and the worst of all was that seven great owls sat in a row on the eaves of the cabin. it was awful just to hear them, where they sat and grumbled at the weather; but it was even worse to think what would happen to him if one of them should set eyes on him. that would be the last of him. "pity him who is little!" said the boy as he ventured out in the yard. and he had a right to say this, for he was blown down twice before he got to the house: once the wind swept him into a pool, which was so deep that he came near drowning. but he got there nevertheless. he clambered up a pair of steps, scrambled over a threshold, and came into the hallway. the cabin door was closed, but down in one corner a large piece had been cut away, that the cat might go in and out. it was no difficulty whatever for the boy to see how things were in the cabin. he had hardly cast a glance in there before he staggered back and turned his head away. an old, gray-haired woman lay stretched out on the floor within. she neither moved nor moaned; and her face shone strangely white. it was as if an invisible moon had thrown a feeble light over it. the boy remembered that when his grandfather had died, his face had also become so strangely white-like. and he understood that the old woman who lay on the cabin floor must be dead. death had probably come to her so suddenly that she didn't even have time to lie down on her bed. as he thought of being alone with the dead in the middle of the dark night, he was terribly afraid. he threw himself headlong down the steps, and rushed back to the cowshed. when he told the cow what he had seen in the cabin, she stopped eating. "so my mistress is dead," said she. "then it will soon be over for me as well." "there will always be someone to look out for you," said the boy comfortingly. "ah! you don't know," said the cow, "that i am already twice as old as a cow usually is before she is laid upon the slaughter-bench. but then i do not care to live any longer, since she, in there, can come no more to care for me." she said nothing more for a while, but the boy observed, no doubt, that she neither slept nor ate. it was not long before she began to speak again. "is she lying on the bare floor?" she asked. "she is," said the boy. "she had a habit of coming out to the cowshed," she continued, "and talking about everything that troubled her. i understood what she said, although i could not answer her. these last few days she talked of how afraid she was lest there would be no one with her when she died. she was anxious for fear no one should close her eyes and fold her hands across her breast, after she was dead. perhaps you'll go in and do this?" the boy hesitated. he remembered that when his grandfather had died, mother had been very careful about putting everything to rights. he knew this was something which had to be done. but, on the other hand, he felt that he didn't care go to the dead, in the ghastly night. he didn't say no; neither did he take a step toward the cowshed door. for a couple of seconds the old cow was silent--just as if she had expected an answer. but when the boy said nothing, she did not repeat her request. instead, she began to talk with him of her mistress. there was much to tell, first and foremost, about all the children which she had brought up. they had been in the cowshed every day, and in the summer they had taken the cattle to pasture on the swamp and in the groves, so the old cow knew all about them. they had been splendid, all of them, and happy and industrious. a cow knew well enough what her caretakers were good for. there was also much to be said about the farm. it had not always been as poor as it was now. it was very large--although the greater part of it consisted of swamps and stony groves. there was not much room for fields, but there was plenty of good fodder everywhere. at one time there had been a cow for every stall in the cowshed; and the oxshed, which was now empty, had at one time been filled with oxen. and then there was life and gayety, both in cabin and cowhouse. when the mistress opened the cowshed door she would hum and sing, and all the cows lowed with gladness when they heard her coming. but the good man had died when the children were so small that they could not be of any assistance, and the mistress had to take charge of the farm, and all the work and responsibility. she had been as strong as a man, and had both ploughed and reaped. in the evenings, when she came into the cowshed to milk, sometimes she was so tired that she wept. then she dashed away her tears, and was cheerful again. "it doesn't matter. good times are coming again for me too, if only my children grow up. yes, if they only grow up." but as soon as the children were grown, a strange longing came over them. they didn't want to stay at home, but went away to a strange country. their mother never got any help from them. a couple of her children were married before they went away, and they had left their children behind, in the old home. and now these children followed the mistress in the cowshed, just as her own had done. they tended the cows, and were fine, good folk. and, in the evenings, when the mistress was so tired out that she could fall asleep in the middle of the milking, she would rouse herself again to renewed courage by thinking of them. "good times are coming for me, too," said she--and shook off sleep--"when once they are grown." but when these children grew up, they went away to their parents in the strange land. no one came back--no one stayed at home--the old mistress was left alone on the farm. probably she had never asked them to remain with her. "think you, rödlinna, that i would ask them to stay here with me, when they can go out in the world and have things comfortable?" she would say as she stood in the stall with the old cow. "here in småland they have only poverty to look forward to." but when the last grandchild was gone, it was all up with the mistress. all at once she became bent and gray, and tottered as she walked; as if she no longer had the strength to move about. she stopped working. she did not care to look after the farm, but let everything go to rack and ruin. she didn't repair the houses; and she sold both the cows and the oxen. the only one that she kept was the old cow who now talked with thumbietot. her she let live because all the children had tended her. she could have taken maids and farm-hands into her service, who would have helped her with the work, but she couldn't bear to see strangers around her, since her own had deserted her. perhaps she was better satisfied to let the farm go to ruin, since none of her children were coming back to take it after she was gone. she did not mind that she herself became poor, because she didn't value that which was only hers. but she was troubled lest the children should find out how hard she had it. "if only the children do not hear of this! if only the children do not hear of this!" she sighed as she tottered through the cowhouse. the children wrote constantly, and begged her to come out to them; but this she did not wish. she didn't want to see the land that had taken them from her. she was angry with it. "it's foolish of me, perhaps, that i do not like that land which has been so good for them," said she. "but i don't want to see it." she never thought of anything but the children, and of this--that they must needs have gone. when summer came, she led the cow out to graze in the big swamp. all day she would sit on the edge of the swamp, her hands in her lap; and on the way home she would say: "you see, rödlinna, if there had been large, rich fields here, in place of these barren swamps, then there would have been no need for them to leave." she could become furious with the swamp which spread out so big, and did no good. she could sit and talk about how it was the swamp's fault that the children had left her. this last evening she had been more trembly and feeble than ever before. she could not even do the milking. she had leaned against the manger and talked about two strangers who had been to see her, and had asked if they might buy the swamp. they wanted to drain it, and sow and raise grain on it. this had made her both anxious and glad. "do you hear, rödlinna," she had said, "do you hear they said that grain can grow on the swamp? now i shall write to the children to come home. now they'll not have to stay away any longer; for now they can get their bread here at home." it was this that she had gone into the cabin to do-the boy heard no more of what the old cow said. he had opened the cowhouse door and gone across the yard, and in to the dead whom he had but lately been so afraid of. it was not so poor in the cabin as he had expected. it was well supplied with the sort of things one generally finds among those who have relatives in america. in a corner there was an american rocking chair; on the table before the window lay a brocaded plush cover; there was a pretty spread on the bed; on the walls, in carved-wood frames, hung the photographs of the children and grandchildren who had gone away; on the bureau stood high vases and a couple of candlesticks, with thick, spiral candles in them. the boy searched for a matchbox and lighted these candles, not because he needed more light than he already had; but because he thought that this was one way to honour the dead. then he went up to her, closed her eyes, folded her hands across her breast, and stroked back the thin gray hair from her face. he thought no more about being afraid of her. he was so deeply grieved because she had been forced to live out her old age in loneliness and longing. he, at least, would watch over her dead body this night. he hunted up the psalm book, and seated himself to read a couple of psalms in an undertone. but in the middle of the reading he paused--because he had begun to think about his mother and father. think, that parents can long so for their children! this he had never known. think, that life can be as though it was over for them when the children are away! think, if those at home longed for him in the same way that this old peasant woman had longed! this thought made him happy, but he dared not believe in it. he had not been such a one that anybody could long for him. but what he had not been, perhaps he could become. round about him he saw the portraits of those who were away. they were big, strong men and women with earnest faces. there were brides in long veils, and gentlemen in fine clothes; and there were children with waved hair and pretty white dresses. and he thought that they all stared blindly into vacancy--and did not want to see. "poor you!" said the boy to the portraits. "your mother is dead. you cannot make reparation now, because you went away from her. but my mother is living!" here he paused, and nodded and smiled to himself. "my mother is living," said he. "both father and mother are living." from taberg to huskvarna _friday, april fifteenth_. the boy sat awake nearly all night, but toward morning he fell asleep and then he dreamed of his father and mother. he could hardly recognise them. they had both grown gray, and had old and wrinkled faces. he asked how this had come about, and they answered that they had aged so because they had longed for him. he was both touched and astonished, for he had never believed but what they were glad to be rid of him. when the boy awoke the morning was come, with fine, clear weather. first, he himself ate a bit of bread which he found in the cabin; then he gave morning feed to both geese and cow, and opened the cowhouse door so that the cow could go over to the nearest farm. when the cow came along all by herself the neighbours would no doubt understand that something was wrong with her mistress. they would hurry over to the desolate farm to see how the old woman was getting along, and then they would find her dead body and bury it. the boy and the geese had barely raised themselves into the air, when they caught a glimpse of a high mountain, with almost perpendicular walls, and an abrupt, broken-off top; and they understood that this must be taberg. on the summit stood akka, with yksi and kaksi, kolmi and neljä, viisi and knusi, and all six goslings and waited for them. there was a rejoicing, and a cackling, and a fluttering, and a calling which no one can describe, when they saw that the goosey-gander and dunfin had succeeded in finding thumbietot. the woods grew pretty high up on taberg's sides, but her highest peak was barren; and from there one could look out in all directions. if one gazed toward the east, or south, or west, then there was hardly anything to be seen but a poor highland with dark spruce-trees, brown morasses, ice-clad lakes, and bluish mountain-ridges. the boy couldn't keep from thinking it was true that the one who had created this hadn't taken very great pains with his work, but had thrown it together in a hurry. but if one glanced to the north, it was altogether different. here it looked as if it had been worked out with the utmost care and affection. in this direction one saw only beautiful mountains, soft valleys, and winding rivers, all the way to the big lake vettern, which lay ice-free and transparently clear, and shone as if it wasn't filled with water but with blue light. it was vettern that made it so pretty to look toward the north, because it looked as though a blue stream had risen up from the lake, and spread itself over land also. groves and hills and roofs, and the spires of jönköping city--which shimmered along vettern's shores--lay enveloped in pale blue which caressed the eye. if there were countries in heaven, they, too, must be blue like this, thought the boy, and imagined that he had gotten a faint idea of how it must look in paradise. later in the day, when the geese continued their journey, they flew up toward the blue valley. they were in holiday humour; shrieked and made such a racket that no one who had ears could help hearing them. this happened to be the first really fine spring day they had had in this section. until now, the spring had done its work under rain and bluster; and now, when it had all of a sudden become fine weather, the people were filled with such a longing after summer warmth and green woods that they could hardly perform their tasks. and when the wild geese rode by, high above the ground, cheerful and free, there wasn't one who did not drop what he had in hand, and glance at them. the first ones who saw the wild geese that day were miners on taberg, who were digging ore at the mouth of the mine. when they heard them cackle, they paused in their drilling for ore, and one of them called to the birds: "where are you going? where are you going?" the geese didn't understand what he said, but the boy leaned forward over the goose-back, and answered for them: "where there is neither pick nor hammer." when the miners heard the words, they thought it was their own longing that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "take us along with you! take us along with you!" they cried. "not this year," shrieked the boy. "not this year." the wild geese followed taberg river down toward monk lake, and all the while they made the same racket. here, on the narrow land-strip between monk and vettern lakes, lay jönköping with its great factories. the wild geese rode first over monksjö paper mills. the noon rest hour was just over, and the big workmen were streaming down to the mill-gate. when they heard the wild geese, they stopped a moment to listen to them. "where are you going? where are you going?" called the workmen. the wild geese understood nothing of what they said, but the boy answered for them: "there, where there are neither machines nor steam-boxes." when the workmen heard the answer, they believed it was their own longing that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "take us along with you!" "not this year," answered the boy. "not this year." next, the geese rode over the well-known match factory, which lies on the shores of vettern--large as a fortress--and lifts its high chimneys toward the sky. not a soul moved out in the yards; but in a large hall young working-women sat and filled match-boxes. they had opened a window on account of the beautiful weather, and through it came the wild geese's call. the one who sat nearest the window, leaned out with a match-box in her hand, and cried: "where are you going? where are you going?" "to that land where there is no need of either light or matches," said the boy. the girl thought that what she had heard was only goose-cackle; but since she thought she had distinguished a couple of words, she called out in answer: "take me along with you!" "not this year," replied the boy. "not this year." east of the factories rises jönköping, on the most glorious spot that any city can occupy. the narrow vettern has high, steep sand-shores, both on the eastern and western sides; but straight south, the sand-walls are broken down, just as if to make room for a large gate, through which one reaches the lake. and in the middle of the gate--with mountains to the left, and mountains to the right, with monk lake behind it, and vettern in front of it--lies jönköping. the wild geese travelled forward over the long, narrow city, and behaved themselves here just as they had done in the country. but in the city there was no one who answered them. it was not to be expected that city folks should stop out in the streets, and call to the wild geese. the trip extended further along vettern's shores; and after a little they came to sanna sanitarium. some of the patients had gone out on the veranda to enjoy the spring air, and in this way they heard the goose-cackle. "where are you going?" asked one of them with such a feeble voice that he was scarcely heard. "to that land where there is neither sorrow nor sickness," answered the boy. "take us along with you!" said the sick ones. "not this year," answered the boy. "not this year." when they had travelled still farther on, they came to huskvarna. it lay in a valley. the mountains around it were steep and beautifully formed. a river rushed along the heights in long and narrow falls. big workshops and factories lay below the mountain walls; and scattered over the valley-bottom were the workingmens' homes, encircled by little gardens; and in the centre of the valley lay the schoolhouse. just as the wild geese came along, a bell rang, and a crowd of school children marched out in line. they were so numerous that the whole schoolyard was filled with them. "where are you going? where are you going?" the children shouted when they heard the wild geese. "where there are neither books nor lessons to be found," answered the boy. "take us along!" shrieked the children. "not this year, but next," cried the boy. "not this year, but next." the big bird lake jarro, the wild duck on the eastern shore of vettern lies mount omberg; east of omberg lies dagmosse; east of dagmosse lies lake takern. around the whole of takern spreads the big, even östergöta plain. takern is a pretty large lake and in olden times it must have been still larger. but then the people thought it covered entirely too much of the fertile plain, so they attempted to drain the water from it, that they might sow and reap on the lake-bottom. but they did not succeed in laying waste the entire lake--which had evidently been their intention--therefore it still hides a lot of land. since the draining the lake has become so shallow that hardly at any point is it more than a couple of metres deep. the shores have become marshy and muddy; and out in the lake, little mud-islets stick up above the water's surface. now, there is one who loves to stand with his feet in the water, if he can just keep his body and head in the air, and that is the reed. and it cannot find a better place to grow upon, than the long, shallow takern shores, and around the little mud-islets. it thrives so well that it grows taller than a man's height, and so thick that it is almost impossible to push a boat through it. it forms a broad green enclosure around the whole lake, so that it is only accessible in a few places where the people have taken away the reeds. but if the reeds shut the people out, they give, in return, shelter and protection to many other things. in the reeds there are a lot of little dams and canals with green, still water, where duckweed and pondweed run to seed; and where gnat-eggs and blackfish and worms are hatched out in uncountable masses. and all along the shores of these little dams and canals, there are many well-concealed places, where seabirds hatch their eggs, and bring up their young without being disturbed, either by enemies or food worries. an incredible number of birds live in the takern reeds; and more and more gather there every year, as it becomes known what a splendid abode it is. the first who settled there were the wild ducks; and they still live there by thousands. but they no longer own the entire lake, for they have been obliged to share it with swans, grebes, coots, loons, fen-ducks, and a lot of others. takern is certainly the largest and choicest bird lake in the whole country; and the birds may count themselves lucky as long as they own such a retreat. but it is uncertain just how long they will be in control of reeds and mud-banks, for human beings cannot forget that the lake extends over a considerable portion of good and fertile soil; and every now and then the proposition to drain it comes up among them. and if these propositions were carried out, the many thousands of water-birds would be forced to move from this quarter. at the time when nils holgersson travelled around with the wild geese, there lived at takern a wild duck named jarro. he was a young bird, who had only lived one summer, one fall, and a winter; now, it was his first spring. he had just returned from south africa, and had reached takern in such good season that the ice was still on the lake. one evening, when he and the other young wild ducks played at racing backward and forward over the lake, a hunter fired a couple of shots at them, and jarro was wounded in the breast. he thought he should die; but in order that the one who had shot him shouldn't get him into his power, he continued to fly as long as he possibly could. he didn't think whither he was directing his course, but only struggled to get far away. when his strength failed him, so that he could not fly any farther, he was no longer on the lake. he had flown a bit inland, and now he sank down before the entrance to one of the big farms which lie along the shores of takern. a moment later a young farm-hand happened along. he saw jarro, and came and lifted him up. but jarro, who asked for nothing but to be let die in peace, gathered his last powers and nipped the farm-hand in the finger, so he should let go of him. jarro didn't succeed in freeing himself. the encounter had this good in it at any rate: the farm-hand noticed that the bird was alive. he carried him very gently into the cottage, and showed him to the mistress of the house--a young woman with a kindly face. at once she took jarro from the farm-hand, stroked him on the back and wiped away the blood which trickled down through the neck-feathers. she looked him over very carefully; and when she saw how pretty he was, with his dark-green, shining head, his white neck-band, his brownish-red back, and his blue wing-mirror, she must have thought that it was a pity for him to die. she promptly put a basket in order, and tucked the bird into it. all the while jarro fluttered and struggled to get loose; but when he understood that the people didn't intend to kill him, he settled down in the basket with a sense of pleasure. now it was evident how exhausted he was from pain and loss of blood. the mistress carried the basket across the floor to place it in the corner by the fireplace; but before she put it down jarro was already fast asleep. in a little while jarro was awakened by someone who nudged him gently. when he opened his eyes he experienced such an awful shock that he almost lost his senses. now he was lost; for there stood _the_ one who was more dangerous than either human beings or birds of prey. it was no less a thing than caesar himself--the long-haired dog--who nosed around him inquisitively. how pitifully scared had he not been last summer, when he was still a little yellow-down duckling, every time it had sounded over the reed-stems: "caesar is coming! caesar is coming!" when he had seen the brown and white spotted dog with the teeth-filled jowls come wading through the reeds, he had believed that he beheld death itself. he had always hoped that he would never have to live through that moment when he should meet caesar face to face. but, to his sorrow, he must have fallen down in the very yard where caesar lived, for there he stood right over him. "who are you?" he growled. "how did you get into the house? don't you belong down among the reed banks?" it was with great difficulty that he gained the courage to answer. "don't be angry with me, caesar, because i came into the house!" said he. "it isn't my fault. i have been wounded by a gunshot. it was the people themselves who laid me in this basket." "oho! so it's the folks themselves that have placed you here," said caesar. "then it is surely their intention to cure you; although, for my part, i think it would be wiser for them to eat you up, since you are in their power. but, at any rate, you are tabooed in the house. you needn't look so scared. now, we're not down on takern." with that caesar laid himself to sleep in front of the blazing log-fire. as soon as jarro understood that this terrible danger was past, extreme lassitude came over him, and he fell asleep anew. the next time jarro awoke, he saw that a dish with grain and water stood before him. he was still quite ill, but he felt hungry nevertheless, and began to eat. when the mistress saw that he ate, she came up and petted him, and looked pleased. after that, jarro fell asleep again. for several days he did nothing but eat and sleep. one morning jarro felt so well that he stepped from the basket and wandered along the floor. but he hadn't gone very far before he keeled over, and lay there. then came caesar, opened his big jaws and grabbed him. jarro believed, of course, that the dog was going to bite him to death; but caesar carried him back to the basket without harming him. because of this, jarro acquired such a confidence in the dog caesar, that on his next walk in the cottage, he went over to the dog and lay down beside him. thereafter caesar and he became good friends, and every day, for several hours, jarro lay and slept between caesar's paws. but an even greater affection than he felt for caesar, did jarro feel toward his mistress. of her he had not the least fear; but rubbed his head against her hand when she came and fed him. whenever she went out of the cottage he sighed with regret; and when she came back he cried welcome to her in his own language. jarro forgot entirely how afraid he had been of both dogs and humans in other days. he thought now that they were gentle and kind, and he loved them. he wished that he were well, so he could fly down to takern and tell the wild ducks that their enemies were not dangerous, and that they need not fear them. he had observed that the human beings, as well as caesar, had calm eyes, which it did one good to look into. the only one in the cottage whose glance he did not care to meet, was clawina, the house cat. she did him no harm, either, but he couldn't place any confidence in her. then, too, she quarrelled with him constantly, because he loved human beings. "you think they protect you because they are fond of you," said clawina. "you just wait until you are fat enough! then they'll wring the neck off you. i know them, i do." jarro, like all birds, had a tender and affectionate heart; and he was unutterably distressed when he heard this. he couldn't imagine that his mistress would wish to wring the neck off him, nor could he believe any such thing of her son, the little boy who sat for hours beside his basket, and babbled and chattered. he seemed to think that both of them had the same love for him that he had for them. one day, when jarro and caesar lay on the usual spot before the fire, clawina sat on the hearth and began to tease the wild duck. "i wonder, jarro, what you wild ducks will do next year, when takern is drained and turned into grain fields?" said clawina. "what's that you say, clawina?" cried jarro, and jumped up--scared through and through. "i always forget, jarro, that you do not understand human speech, like caesar and myself," answered the cat. "or else you surely would have heard how the men, who were here in the cottage yesterday, said that all the water was going to be drained from takern, and that next year the lake-bottom would be as dry as a house-floor. and now i wonder where you wild ducks will go." when jarro heard this talk he was so furious that he hissed like a snake. "you are just as mean as a common coot!" he screamed at clawina. "you only want to incite me against human beings. i don't believe they want to do anything of the sort. they must know that takern is the wild ducks' property. why should they make so many birds homeless and unhappy? you have certainly hit upon all this to scare me. i hope that you may be torn in pieces by gorgo, the eagle! i hope that my mistress will chop off your whiskers!" but jarro couldn't shut clawina up with this outburst. "so you think i'm lying," said she. "ask caesar, then! he was also in the house last night. caesar never lies." "caesar," said jarro, "you understand human speech much better than clawina. say that she hasn't heard aright! think how it would be if the people drained takern, and changed the lake-bottom into fields! then there would be no more pondweed or duck-food for the grown wild ducks, and no blackfish or worms or gnat-eggs for the ducklings. then the reed-banks would disappear--where now the ducklings conceal themselves until they are able to fly. all ducks would be compelled to move away from here and seek another home. but where shall they find a retreat like takern? caesar, say that clawina has not heard aright!" it was extraordinary to watch caesar's behaviour during this conversation. he had been wide-awake the whole time before, but now, when jarro turned to him, he panted, laid his long nose on his forepaws, and was sound asleep within the wink of an eyelid. the cat looked down at caesar with a knowing smile. "i believe that caesar doesn't care to answer you," she said to jarro. "it is with him as with all dogs; they will never acknowledge that humans can do any wrong. but you can rely upon my word, at any rate. i shall tell you why they wish to drain the lake just now. as long as you wild ducks still had the power on takern, they did not wish to drain it, for, at least, they got some good out of you; but now, grebes and coots and other birds who are no good as food, have infested nearly all the reed-banks, and the people don't think they need let the lake remain on their account." jarro didn't trouble himself to answer clawina, but raised his head, and shouted in caesar's ear: "caesar! you know that on takern there are still so many ducks left that they fill the air like clouds. say it isn't true that human beings intend to make all of these homeless!" then caesar sprang up with such a sudden outburst at clawina that she had to save herself by jumping up on a shelf. "i'll teach you to keep quiet when i want to sleep," bawled caesar. "of course i know that there is some talk about draining the lake this year. but there's been talk of this many times before without anything coming of it. and that draining business is a matter in which i take no stock whatever. for how would it go with the game if takern were laid waste. you're a donkey to gloat over a thing like that. what will you and i have to amuse ourselves with, when there are no more birds on takern?" the decoy-duck _sunday, april seventeenth_. a couple of days later jarro was so well that he could fly all about the house. then he was petted a good deal by the mistress, and the little boy ran out in the yard and plucked the first grass-blades for him which had sprung up. when the mistress caressed him, jarro thought that, although he was now so strong that he could fly down to takern at any time, he shouldn't care to be separated from the human beings. he had no objection to remaining with them all his life. but early one morning the mistress placed a halter, or noose, over jarro, which prevented him from using his wings, and then she turned him over to the farm-hand who had found him in the yard. the farm-hand poked him under his arm, and went down to takern with him. the ice had melted away while jarro had been ill. the old, dry fall leaves still stood along the shores and islets, but all the water-growths had begun to take root down in the deep; and the green stems had already reached the surface. and now nearly all the migratory birds were at home. the curlews' hooked bills peeped out from the reeds. the grebes glided about with new feather-collars around the neck; and the jack-snipes were gathering straws for their nests. the farm-hand got into a scow, laid jarro in the bottom of the boat, and began to pole himself out on the lake. jarro, who had now accustomed himself to expect only good of human beings, said to caesar, who was also in the party, that he was very grateful toward the farm-hand for taking him out on the lake. but there was no need to keep him so closely guarded, for he did not intend to fly away. to this caesar made no reply. he was very close-mouthed that morning. the only thing which struck jarro as being a bit peculiar was that the farm-hand had taken his gun along. he couldn't believe that any of the good folk in the cottage would want to shoot birds. and, beside, caesar had told him that the people didn't hunt at this time of the year. "it is a prohibited time," he had said, "although this doesn't concern me, of course." the farm-hand went over to one of the little reed-enclosed mud-islets. there he stepped from the boat, gathered some old reeds into a pile, and lay down behind it. jarro was permitted to wander around on the ground, with the halter over his wings, and tethered to the boat, with a long string. suddenly jarro caught sight of some young ducks and drakes, in whose company he had formerly raced backward and forward over the lake. they were a long way off, but jarro called them to him with a couple of loud shouts. they responded, and a large and beautiful flock approached. before they got there, jarro began to tell them about his marvellous rescue, and of the kindness of human beings. just then, two shots sounded behind him. three ducks sank down in the reeds--lifeless--and caesar bounced out and captured them. then jarro understood. the human beings had only saved him that they might use him as a decoy-duck. and they had also succeeded. three ducks had died on his account. he thought he should die of shame. he thought that even his friend caesar looked contemptuously at him; and when they came home to the cottage, he didn't dare lie down and sleep beside the dog. the next morning jarro was again taken out on the shallows. this time, too, he saw some ducks. but when he observed that they flew toward him, he called to them: "away! away! be careful! fly in another direction! there's a hunter hidden behind the reed-pile. i'm only a decoy-bird!" and he actually succeeded in preventing them from coming within shooting distance. jarro had scarcely had time to taste of a grass-blade, so busy was he in keeping watch. he called out his warning as soon as a bird drew nigh. he even warned the grebes, although he detested them because they crowded the ducks out of their best hiding-places. but he did not wish that any bird should meet with misfortune on his account. and, thanks to jarro's vigilance, the farm-hand had to go home without firing off a single shot. despite this fact, caesar looked less displeased than on the previous day; and when evening came he took jarro in his mouth, carried him over to the fireplace, and let him sleep between his forepaws. nevertheless jarro was no longer contented in the cottage, but was grievously unhappy. his heart suffered at the thought that humans never had loved him. when the mistress, or the little boy, came forward to caress him, he stuck his bill under his wing and pretended that he slept. for several days jarro continued his distressful watch-service; and already he was known all over takern. then it happened one morning, while he called as usual: "have a care, birds! don't come near me! i'm only a decoy-duck," that a grebe-nest came floating toward the shallows where he was tied. this was nothing especially remarkable. it was a nest from the year before; and since grebe-nests are built in such a way that they can move on water like boats, it often happens that they drift out toward the lake. still jarro stood there and stared at the nest, because it came so straight toward the islet that it looked as though someone had steered its course over the water. as the nest came nearer, jarro saw that a little human being--the tiniest he had ever seen--sat in the nest and rowed it forward with a pair of sticks. and this little human called to him: "go as near the water as you can, jarro, and be ready to fly. you shall soon be freed." a few seconds later the grebe-nest lay near land, but the little oarsman did not leave it, but sat huddled up between branches and straw. jarro too held himself almost immovable. he was actually paralysed with fear lest the rescuer should be discovered. the next thing which occurred was that a flock of wild geese came along. then jarro woke up to business, and warned them with loud shrieks; but in spite of this they flew backward and forward over the shallows several times. they held themselves so high that they were beyond shooting distance; still the farm-hand let himself be tempted to fire a couple of shots at them. these shots were hardly fired before the little creature ran up on land, drew a tiny knife from its sheath, and, with a couple of quick strokes, cut loose jarro's halter. "now fly away, jarro, before the man has time to load again!" cried he, while he himself ran down to the grebe-nest and poled away from the shore. the hunter had had his gaze fixed upon the geese, and hadn't observed that jarro had been freed; but caesar had followed more carefully that which happened; and just as jarro raised his wings, he dashed forward and grabbed him by the neck. jarro cried pitifully; and the boy who had freed him said quietly to caesar: "if you are just as honourable as you look, surely you cannot wish to force a good bird to sit here and entice others into trouble." when caesar heard these words, he grinned viciously with his upper lip, but the next second he dropped jarro. "fly, jarro!" said he. "you are certainly too good to be a decoy-duck. it wasn't for this that i wanted to keep you here; but because it will be lonely in the cottage without you." the lowering of the lake _wednesday, april twentieth_. it was indeed very lonely in the cottage without jarro. the dog and the cat found the time long, when they didn't have him to wrangle over; and the housewife missed the glad quacking which he had indulged in every time she entered the house. but the one who longed most for jarro, was the little boy, per ola. he was but three years old, and the only child; and in all his life he had never had a playmate like jarro. when he heard that jarro had gone back to takern and the wild ducks, he couldn't be satisfied with this, but thought constantly of how he should get him back again. per ola had talked a good deal with jarro while he lay still in his basket, and he was certain that the duck understood him. he begged his mother to take him down to the lake that he might find jarro, and persuade him to come back to them. mother wouldn't listen to this; but the little one didn't give up his plan on that account. the day after jarro had disappeared, per ola was running about in the yard. he played by himself as usual, but caesar lay on the stoop; and when mother let the boy out, she said: "take care of per ola, caesar!" now if all had been as usual, caesar would also have obeyed the command, and the boy would have been so well guarded that he couldn't have run the least risk. but caesar was not like himself these days. he knew that the farmers who lived along takern had held frequent conferences about the lowering of the lake; and that they had almost settled the matter. the ducks must leave, and caesar should nevermore behold a glorious chase. he was so preoccupied with thoughts of this misfortune, that he did not remember to watch over per ola. and the little one had scarcely been alone in the yard a minute, before he realised that now the right moment was come to go down to takern and talk with jarro. he opened a gate, and wandered down toward the lake on the narrow path which ran along the banks. as long as he could be seen from the house, he walked slowly; but afterward he increased his pace. he was very much afraid that mother, or someone else, should call to him that he couldn't go. he didn't wish to do anything naughty, only to persuade jarro to come home; but he felt that those at home would not have approved of the undertaking. when per ola came down to the lake-shore, he called jarro several times. thereupon he stood for a long time and waited, but no jarro appeared. he saw several birds that resembled the wild duck, but they flew by without noticing him, and he could understand that none among them was the right one. when jarro didn't come to him, the little boy thought that it would be easier to find him if he went out on the lake. there were several good craft lying along the shore, but they were tied. the only one that lay loose, and at liberty, was an old leaky scow which was so unfit that no one thought of using it. but per ola scrambled up in it without caring that the whole bottom was filled with water. he had not strength enough to use the oars, but instead, he seated himself to swing and rock in the scow. certainly no grown person would have succeeded in moving a scow out on takern in that manner; but when the tide is high--and ill-luck to the fore--little children have a marvellous faculty for getting out to sea. per ola was soon riding around on takern, and calling for jarro. when the old scow was rocked like this--out to sea--its cracks opened wider and wider, and the water actually streamed into it. per ola didn't pay the slightest attention to this. he sat upon the little bench in front and called to every bird he saw, and wondered why jarro didn't appear. at last jarro caught sight of per ola. he heard that someone called him by the name which he had borne among human beings, and he understood that the boy had gone out on takern to search for him. jarro was unspeakably happy to find that one of the humans really loved him. he shot down toward per ola, like an arrow, seated himself beside him, and let him caress him. they were both very happy to see each other again. but suddenly jarro noticed the condition of the scow. it was half-filled with water, and was almost ready to sink. jarro tried to tell per ola that he, who could neither fly nor swim, must try to get upon land; but per ola didn't understand him. then jarro did not wait an instant, but hurried away to get help. jarro came back in a little while, and carried on his back a tiny thing, who was much smaller than per ola himself. if he hadn't been able to talk and move, the boy would have believed that it was a doll. instantly, the little one ordered per ola to pick up a long, slender pole that lay in the bottom of the scow, and try to pole it toward one of the reed-islands. per ola obeyed him, and he and the tiny creature, together, steered the scow. with a couple of strokes they were on a little reed-encircled island, and now per ola was told that he must step on land. and just the very moment that per ola set foot on land, the scow was filled with water, and sank to the bottom. when per ola saw this he was sure that father and mother would be very angry with him. he would have started in to cry if he hadn't found something else to think about soon; namely, a flock of big, gray birds, who lighted on the island. the little midget took him up to them, and told him their names, and what they said. and this was so funny that per ola forgot everything else. meanwhile the folks on the farm had discovered that the boy had disappeared, and had started to search for him. they searched the outhouses, looked in the well, and hunted through the cellar. then they went out into the highways and by-paths; wandered to the neighbouring farm to find out if he had strayed over there, and searched for him also down by takern. but no matter how much they sought they did not find him. caesar, the dog, understood very well that the farmer-folk were looking for per ola, but he did nothing to lead them on the right track; instead, he lay still as though the matter didn't concern him. later in the day, per ola's footprints were discovered down by the boat-landing. and then came the thought that the old, leaky scow was no longer on the strand. then one began to understand how the whole affair had come about. the farmer and his helpers immediately took out the boats and went in search of the boy. they rowed around on takern until way late in the evening, without seeing the least shadow of him. they couldn't help believing that the old scow had gone down, and that the little one lay dead on the lake-bottom. in the evening, per ola's mother hunted around on the strand. everyone else was convinced that the boy was drowned, but she could not bring herself to believe this. she searched all the while. she searched between reeds and bulrushes; tramped and tramped on the muddy shore, never thinking of how deep her foot sank, and how wet she had become. she was unspeakably desperate. her heart ached in her breast. she did not weep, but wrung her hands and called for her child in loud piercing tones. round about her she heard swans' and ducks' and curlews' shrieks. she thought that they followed her, and moaned and wailed--they too. "surely, they, too, must be in trouble, since they moan so," thought she. then she remembered: these were only birds that she heard complain. they surely had no worries. it was strange that they did not quiet down after sunset. but she heard all these uncountable bird-throngs, which lived along takern, send forth cry upon cry. several of them followed her wherever she went; others came rustling past on light wings. all the air was filled with moans and lamentations. but the anguish which she herself was suffering, opened her heart. she thought that she was not as far removed from all other living creatures as people usually think. she understood much better than ever before, how birds fared. they had their constant worries for home and children; they, as she. there was surely not such a great difference between them and her as she had heretofore believed. then she happened to think that it was as good as settled that these thousands of swans and ducks and loons would lose their homes here by takern. "it will be very hard for them," she thought. "where shall they bring up their children now?" she stood still and mused on this. it appeared to be an excellent and agreeable accomplishment to change a lake into fields and meadows, but let it be some other lake than takern; some other lake, which was not the home of so many thousand creatures. she remembered how on the following day the proposition to lower the lake was to be decided, and she wondered if this was why her little son had been lost--just to-day. was it god's meaning that sorrow should come and open her heart--just to-day--before it was too late to avert the cruel act? she walked rapidly up to the house, and began to talk with her husband about this. she spoke of the lake, and of the birds, and said that she believed it was god's judgment on them both. and she soon found that he was of the same opinion. they already owned a large place, but if the lake-draining was carried into effect, such a goodly portion of the lake-bottom would fall to their share that their property would be nearly doubled. for this reason they had been more eager for the undertaking than any of the other shore owners. the others had been worried about expenses, and anxious lest the draining should not prove any more successful this time than it was the last. per ola's father knew in his heart that it was he who had influenced them to undertake the work. he had exercised all his eloquence, so that he might leave to his son a farm as large again as his father had left to him. he stood and pondered if god's hand was back of the fact that takern had taken his son from him on the day before he was to draw up the contract to lay it waste. the wife didn't have to say many words to him, before he answered: "it may be that god does not want us to interfere with his order. i'll talk with the others about this to-morrow, and i think we'll conclude that all may remain as it is." while the farmer-folk were talking this over, caesar lay before the fire. he raised his head and listened very attentively. when he thought that he was sure of the outcome, he walked up to the mistress, took her by the skirt, and led her to the door. "but caesar!" said she, and wanted to break loose. "do you know where per ola is?" she exclaimed. caesar barked joyfully, and threw himself against the door. she opened it, and caesar dashed down toward takern. the mistress was so positive he knew where per ola was, that she rushed after him. and no sooner had they reached the shore than they heard a child's cry out on the lake. per ola had had the best day of his life, in company with thumbietot and the birds; but now he had begun to cry because he was hungry and afraid of the darkness. and he was glad when father and mother and caesar came for him. ulvåsa-lady the prophecy _friday, april twenty-second_. one night when the boy lay and slept on an island in takern, he was awakened by oar-strokes. he had hardly gotten his eyes open before there fell such a dazzling light on them that he began to blink. at first he couldn't make out what it was that shone so brightly out here on the lake; but he soon saw that a scow with a big burning torch stuck up on a spike, aft, lay near the edge of the reeds. the red flame from the torch was clearly reflected in the night-dark lake; and the brilliant light must have lured the fish, for round about the flame in the deep a mass of dark specks were seen, that moved continually, and changed places. there were two old men in the scow. one sat at the oars, and the other stood on a bench in the stern and held in his hand a short spear which was coarsely barbed. the one who rowed was apparently a poor fisherman. he was small, dried-up and weather-beaten, and wore a thin, threadbare coat. one could see that he was so used to being out in all sorts of weather that he didn't mind the cold. the other was well fed and well dressed, and looked like a prosperous and self-complacent farmer. "now, stop!" said the farmer, when they were opposite the island where the boy lay. at the same time he plunged the spear into the water. when he drew it out again, a long, fine eel came with it. "look at that!" said he as he released the eel from the spear. "that was one who was worth while. now i think we have so many that we can turn back." his comrade did not lift the oars, but sat and looked around. "it is lovely out here on the lake to-night," said he. and so it was. it was absolutely still, so that the entire water-surface lay in undisturbed rest with the exception of the streak where the boat had gone forward. this lay like a path of gold, and shimmered in the firelight. the sky was clear and dark blue and thickly studded with stars. the shores were hidden by the reed islands except toward the west. there mount omberg loomed up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and, cut away a big, three-cornered piece of the vaulted heavens. the other one turned his head to get the light out of his eyes, and looked about him. "yes, it is lovely here in östergylln," said he. "still the best thing about the province is not its beauty." "then what is it that's best?" asked the oarsman. "that it has always been a respected and honoured province." "that may be true enough." "and then this, that one knows it will always continue to be so." "but how in the world can one know this?" said the one who sat at the oars. the farmer straightened up where he stood and braced himself with the spear. "there is an old story which has been handed down from father to son in my family; and in it one learns what will happen to östergötland." "then you may as well tell it to me," said the oarsman. "we do not tell it to anyone and everyone, but i do not wish to keep it a secret from an old comrade. "at ulvåsa, here in östergötland," he continued (and one could tell by the tone of his voice that he talked of something which he had heard from others, and knew by heart), "many, many years ago, there lived a lady who had the gift of looking into the future, and telling people what was going to happen to them--just as certainly and accurately as though it had already occurred. for this she became widely noted; and it is easy to understand that people would come to her, both from far and near, to find out what they were going to pass through of good or evil. "one day, when ulvåsa-lady sat in her hall and spun, as was customary in former days, a poor peasant came into the room and seated himself on the bench near the door. "'i wonder what you are sitting and thinking about, dear lady,' said the peasant after a little. "'i am sitting and thinking about high and holy things,' answered she. 'then it is not fitting, perhaps, that i ask you about something which weighs on my heart,' said the peasant. "'it is probably nothing else that weighs on your heart than that you may reap much grain on your field. but i am accustomed to receive communications from the emperor about how it will go with his crown; and from the pope, about how it will go with his keys.' 'such things cannot be easy to answer,' said the peasant. 'i have also heard that no one seems to go from here without being dissatisfied with what he has heard.' "when the peasant said this, he saw that ulvåsa-lady bit her lip, and moved higher up on the bench. 'so this is what you have heard about me,' said she. 'then you may as well tempt fortune by asking me about the thing you wish to know; and you shall see if i can answer so that you will be satisfied.' "after this the peasant did not hesitate to state his errand. he said that he had come to ask how it would go with östergötland in the future. there was nothing which was so dear to him as his native province, and he felt that he should be happy until his dying day if he could get a satisfactory reply to his query. "'oh! is that all you wish to know,' said the wise lady; 'then i think that you will be content. for here where i now sit, i can tell you that it will be like this with östergötland: it will always have something to boast of ahead of other provinces.' "'yes, that was a good answer, dear lady,' said the peasant, 'and now i would be entirely at peace if i could only comprehend how such a thing should be possible.' "'why should it not be possible?' said ulvåsa-lady. 'don't you know that östergötland is already renowned? or think you there is any place in sweden that can boast of owning, at the same time, two such cloisters as the ones in alvastra and vreta, and such a beautiful cathedral as the one in linköping?' "'that may be so,' said the peasant. 'but i'm an old man, and i know that people's minds are changeable. i fear that there will come a time when they won't want to give us any glory, either for alvastra or vreta or for the cathedral.' "'herein you may be right,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but you need not doubt prophecy on that account. i shall now build up a new cloister on vadstena, and that will become the most celebrated in the north. thither both the high and the lowly shall make pilgrimages, and all shall sing the praises of the province because it has such a holy place within its confines.' "the peasant replied that he was right glad to know this. but he also knew, of course, that everything was perishable; and he wondered much what would give distinction to the province, if vadstena cloister should once fall into disrepute. "'you are not easy to satisfy,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but surely i can see so far ahead that i can tell you, before vadstena cloister shall have lost its splendour, there will be a castle erected close by, which will be the most magnificent of its period. kings and dukes will be guests there, and it shall be accounted an honour to the whole province, that it owns such an ornament.' "'this i am also glad to hear,' said the peasant. 'but i'm an old man, and i know how it generally turns out with this world's glories. and if the castle goes to ruin, i wonder much what there will be that can attract the people's attention to this province.' "'it's not a little that you want to know,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but, certainly, i can look far enough into the future to see that there will be life and movement in the forests around finspång. i see how cabins and smithies arise there, and i believe that the whole province shall be renowned because iron will be moulded within its confines.' "the peasant didn't deny that he was delighted to hear this. 'but if it should go so badly that even finspång's foundry went down in importance, then it would hardly be possible that any new thing could arise of which östergötland might boast.' "'you are not easy to please,' said ulvåsa-lady, 'but i can see so far into the future that i mark how, along the lake-shores, great manors--large as castles--are built by gentlemen who have carried on wars in foreign lands. i believe that the manors will bring the province just as much honour as anything else that i have mentioned.' "'but if there comes a time when no one lauds the great manors?' insisted the peasant. "'you need not be uneasy at all events,' said ulvåsa-lady. i see how health-springs bubble on medevi meadows, by vätter's shores. i believe that the wells at medevi will bring the land as much praise as you can desire.' "'that is a mighty good thing to know,' said the peasant. 'but if there comes a time when people will seek their health at other springs?' "'you must not give yourself any anxiety on that account,' answered ulvåsa-lady. i see how people dig and labour, from motala to mem. they dig a canal right through the country, and then östergötland's praise is again on everyone's lips.' "but, nevertheless, the peasant looked distraught. "'i see that the rapids in motala stream begin to draw wheels,' said ulvåsa-lady--and now two bright red spots came to her cheeks, for she began to be impatient--'i hear hammers resound in motala, and looms clatter in norrköping.' "'yes, that's good to know,' said the peasant, 'but everything is perishable, and i'm afraid that even this can be forgotten, and go into oblivion.' "when the peasant was not satisfied even now, there was an end to the lady's patience. 'you say that everything is perishable,' said she, 'but now i shall still name something which will always be like itself; and that is that such arrogant and pig-headed peasants as you will always be found in this province--until the end of time.' "hardly had ulvåsa-lady said this before the peasant rose--happy and satisfied--and thanked her for a good answer. now, at last, he was satisfied, he said. "'verily, i understand now how you look at it,' then said ulvåsa-lady. "'well, i look at it in this way, dear lady,' said the peasant, 'that everything which kings and priests and noblemen and merchants build and accomplish, can only endure for a few years. but when you tell me that in östergötland there will always be peasants who are honour-loving and persevering, then i know also that it will be able to keep its ancient glory. for it is only those who go bent under the eternal labour with the soil, who can hold this land in good repute and honour--from one time to another.'" the homespun cloth _saturday, april twenty-third_. the boy rode forward--way up in the air. he had the great östergötland plain under him, and sat and counted the many white churches which towered above the small leafy groves around them. it wasn't long before he had counted fifty. after that he became confused and couldn't keep track of the counting. nearly all the farms were built up with large, whitewashed two-story houses, which looked so imposing that the boy couldn't help admiring them. "there can't be any peasants in this land," he said to himself, "since i do not see any peasant farms." immediately all the wild geese shrieked: "here the peasants live like gentlemen. here the peasants live like gentlemen." on the plains the ice and snow had disappeared, and the spring work had begun. "what kind of long crabs are those that creep over the fields?" asked the boy after a bit. "ploughs and oxen. ploughs and oxen," answered the wild geese. the oxen moved so slowly down on the fields, that one could scarcely perceive they were in motion, and the geese shouted to them: "you won't get there before next year. you won't get there before next year." but the oxen were equal to the occasion. they raised their muzzles in the air and bellowed: "we do more good in an hour than such as you do in a whole lifetime." in a few places the ploughs were drawn by horses. they went along with much more eagerness and haste than the oxen; but the geese couldn't keep from teasing these either. "ar'n't you ashamed to be doing ox-duty?" cried the wild geese. "ar'n't you ashamed yourselves to be doing lazy man's duty?" the horses neighed back at them. but while horses and oxen were at work in the fields, the stable ram walked about in the barnyard. he was newly clipped and touchy, knocked over the small boys, chased the shepherd dog into his kennel, and then strutted about as though he alone were lord of the whole place. "rammie, rammie, what have you done with your wool?" asked the wild geese, who rode by up in the air. "that i have sent to drag's woollen mills in norrköping," replied the ram with a long, drawn-out bleat. "rammie, rammie, what have you done with your horns?" asked the geese. but any horns the rammie had never possessed, to his sorrow, and one couldn't offer him a greater insult than to ask after them. he ran around a long time, and butted at the air, so furious was he. on the country road came a man who drove a flock of skåne pigs that were not more than a few weeks old, and were going to be sold up country. they trotted along bravely, as little as they were, and kept close together--as if they sought protection. "nuff, nuff, nuff, we came away too soon from father and mother. nuff, nuff, nuff, how will it go with us poor children?" said the little pigs. the wild geese didn't have the heart to tease such poor little creatures. "it will be better for you than you can ever believe," they cried as they flew past them. the wild geese were never so merry as when they flew over a flat country. then they did not hurry themselves, but flew from farm to farm, and joked with the tame animals. as the boy rode over the plain, he happened to think of a legend which he had heard a long time ago. he didn't remember it exactly, but it was something about a petticoat--half of which was made of gold-woven velvet, and half of gray homespun cloth. but the one who owned the petticoat adorned the homespun cloth with such a lot of pearls and precious stones that it looked richer and more gorgeous than the gold-cloth. he remembered this about the homespun cloth, as he looked down on östergötland, because it was made up of a large plain, which lay wedged in between two mountainous forest-tracts--one to the north, the other to the south. the two forest-heights lay there, a lovely blue, and shimmered in the morning light, as if they were decked with golden veils; and the plain, which simply spread out one winter-naked field after another, was, in and of itself, prettier to look upon than gray homespun. but the people must have been contented on the plain, because it was generous and kind, and they had tried to decorate it in the best way possible. high up--where the boy rode by--he thought that cities and farms, churches and factories, castles and railway stations were scattered over it, like large and small trinkets. it shone on the roofs, and the window-panes glittered like jewels. yellow country roads, shining railway-tracks and blue canals ran along between the districts like embroidered loops. linköping lay around its cathedral like a pearl-setting around a precious stone; and the gardens in the country were like little brooches and buttons. there was not much regulation in the pattern, but it was a display of grandeur which one could never tire of looking at. the geese had left öberg district, and travelled toward the east along göta canal. this was also getting itself ready for the summer. workmen laid canal-banks, and tarred the huge lock-gates. they were working everywhere to receive spring fittingly, even in the cities. there, masons and painters stood on scaffoldings and made fine the exteriors of the houses while maids were cleaning the windows. down at the harbour, sailboats and steamers were being washed and dressed up. at norrköping the wild geese left the plain, and flew up toward kolmården. for a time they had followed an old, hilly country road, which wound around cliffs, and ran forward under wild mountain-walls--when the boy suddenly let out a shriek. he had been sitting and swinging his foot back and forth, and one of his wooden shoes had slipped off. "goosey-gander, goosey-gander, i have dropped my shoe!" cried the boy. the goosey-gander turned about and sank toward the ground; then the boy saw that two children, who were walking along the road, had picked up his shoe. "goosey-gander, goosey-gander," screamed the boy excitedly, "fly upward again! it is too late. i cannot get my shoe back again." down on the road stood osa, the goose-girl, and her brother, little mats, looking at a tiny wooden shoe that had fallen from the skies. osa, the goose-girl, stood silent a long while, and pondered over the find. at last she said, slowly and thoughtfully: "do you remember, little mats, that when we went past övid cloister, we heard that the folks in a farmyard had seen an elf who was dressed in leather breeches, and had wooden shoes on his feet, like any other working man? and do you recollect when we came to vittskövle, a girl told us that she had seen a goa-nisse with wooden shoes, who flew away on the back of a goose? and when we ourselves came home to our cabin, little mats, we saw a goblin who was dressed in the same way, and who also straddled the back of a goose--and flew away. maybe it was the same one who rode along on his goose up here in the air and dropped his wooden shoe." "yes, it must have been," said little mats. they turned the wooden shoe about and examined it carefully--for it isn't every day that one happens across a goa-nisse's wooden shoe on the highway. "wait, wait, little mats!" said osa, the goose-girl. "there is something written on one side of it." "why, so there is! but they are such tiny letters." "let me see! it says--it says: 'nils holgersson from w. vemminghög.' that's the most wonderful thing i've ever heard!" said little mats. the story of karr and grayskin karr about twelve years before nils holgersson started on his travels with the wild geese there was a manufacturer at kolmården who wanted to be rid of one of his dogs. he sent for his game-keeper and said to him that it was impossible to keep the dog because he could not be broken of the habit of chasing all the sheep and fowl he set eyes on, and he asked the man to take the dog into the forest and shoot him. the game-keeper slipped the leash on the dog to lead him to a spot in the forest where all the superannuated dogs from the manor were shot and buried. he was not a cruel man, but he was very glad to shoot that dog, for he knew that sheep and chickens were not the only creatures he hunted. times without number he had gone into the forest and helped himself to a hare or a grouse-chick. the dog was a little black-and-tan setter. his name was karr, and he was so wise he understood all that was said. as the game-keeper was leading him through the thickets, karr knew only too well what was in store for him. but this no one could have guessed by his behaviour, for he neither hung his head nor dragged his tail, but seemed as unconcerned as ever. it was because they were in the forest that the dog was so careful not to appear the least bit anxious. there were great stretches of woodland on every side of the factory, and this forest was famed both among animals and human beings because for many, many years the owners had been so careful of it that they had begrudged themselves even the trees needed for firewood. nor had they had the heart to thin or train them. the trees had been allowed to grow as they pleased. naturally a forest thus protected was a beloved refuge for wild animals, which were to be found there in great numbers. among themselves they called it liberty forest, and regarded it as the best retreat in the whole country. as the dog was being led through the woods he thought of what a bugaboo he had been to all the small animals and birds that lived there. "now, karr, wouldn't they be happy in their lairs if they only knew what was awaiting you?" he thought, but at the same time he wagged his tail and barked cheerfully, so that no one should think that he was worried or depressed. "what fun would there have been in living had i not hunted occasionally?" he reasoned. "let him who will, regret; it's not going to be karr!" but the instant the dog said this, a singular change came over him. he stretched his neck as though he had a mind to howl. he no longer trotted alongside the game-keeper, but walked behind him. it was plain that he had begun to think of something unpleasant. it was early summer; the elk cows had just given birth to their young, and, the night before, the dog had succeeded in parting from its mother an elk calf not more than five days old, and had driven it down into the marsh. there he had chased it back and forth over the knolls--not with the idea of capturing it, but merely for the sport of seeing how he could scare it. the elk cow knew that the marsh was bottomless so soon after the thaw, and that it could not as yet hold up so large an animal as herself, so she stood on the solid earth for the longest time, watching! but when karr kept chasing the calf farther and farther away, she rushed out on the marsh, drove the dog off, took the calf with her, and turned back toward firm land. elk are more skilled than other animals in traversing dangerous, marshy ground, and it seemed as if she would reach solid land in safety; but when she was almost there a knoll which she had stepped upon sank into the mire, and she went down with it. she tried to rise, but could get no secure foothold, so she sank and sank. karr stood and looked on, not daring to move. when he saw that the elk could not save herself, he ran away as fast as he could, for he had begun to think of the beating he would get if it were discovered that he had brought a mother elk to grief. he was so terrified that he dared not pause for breath until he reached home. it was this that the dog recalled; and it troubled him in a way very different from the recollection of all his other misdeeds. this was doubtless because he had not really meant to kill either the elk cow or her calf, but had deprived them of life without wishing to do so. "but maybe they are alive yet!" thought the dog. "they were not dead when i ran away; perhaps they saved themselves." he was seized with an irresistible longing to know for a certainty while yet there was time for him to find out. he noticed that the game-keeper did not have a firm hold on the leash; so he made a sudden spring, broke loose, and dashed through the woods down to the marsh with such speed that he was out of sight before the game-keeper had time to level his gun. there was nothing for the game-keeper to do but to rush after him. when he got to the marsh he found the dog standing upon a knoll, howling with all his might. the man thought he had better find out the meaning of this, so he dropped his gun and crawled out over the marsh on hands and knees. he had not gone far when he saw an elk cow lying dead in the quagmire. close beside her lay a little calf. it was still alive, but so much exhausted that it could not move. karr was standing beside the calf, now bending down and licking it, now howling shrilly for help. the game-keeper raised the calf and began to drag it toward land. when the dog understood that the calf would be saved he was wild with joy. he jumped round and round the game-keeper, licking his hands and barking with delight. the man carried the baby elk home and shut it up in a calf stall in the cow shed. then he got help to drag the mother elk from the marsh. only after this had been done did he remember that he was to shoot karr. he called the dog to him, and again took him into the forest. the game-keeper walked straight on toward the dog's grave; but all the while he seemed to be thinking deeply. suddenly he turned and walked toward the manor. karr had been trotting along quietly; but when the game-keeper turned and started for home, he became anxious. the man must have discovered that it was he that had caused the death of the elk, and now he was going back to the manor to be thrashed before he was shot! to be beaten was worse than all else! with that prospect karr could no longer keep up his spirits, but hung his head. when he came to the manor he did not look up, but pretended that he knew no one there. the master was standing on the stairs leading to the hall when the game-keeper came forward. "where on earth did that dog come from?" he exclaimed. "surely it can't be karr? he must be dead this long time!" then the man began to tell his master all about the mother elk, while karr made himself as little as he could, and crouched behind the game-keeper's legs. much to his surprise the man had only praise for him. he said it was plain the dog knew that the elk were in distress, and wished to save them. "you may do as you like, but i can't shoot that dog!" declared the game-keeper. karr raised himself and pricked up his ears. he could hardly believe that he heard aright. although he did not want to show how anxious he had been, he couldn't help whining a little. could it be possible that his life was to be spared simply because he had felt uneasy about the elk? the master thought that karr had conducted himself well, but as he did not want the dog, he could not decide at once what should be done with him. "if you will take charge of him and answer for his good behaviour in the future, he may as well live," he said, finally. this the game-keeper was only too glad to do, and that was how karr came to move to the game-keeper's lodge. grayskin's flight from the day that karr went to live with the game-keeper he abandoned entirely his forbidden chase in the forest. this was due not only to his having been thoroughly frightened, but also to the fact that he did not wish to make the game-keeper angry at him. ever since his new master saved his life the dog loved him above everything else. he thought only of following him and watching over him. if he left the house, karr would run ahead to make sure that the way was clear, and if he sat at home, karr would lie before the door and keep a close watch on every one who came and went. when all was quiet at the lodge, when no footsteps were heard on the road, and the game-keeper was working in his garden, karr would amuse himself playing with the baby elk. at first the dog had no desire to leave his master even for a moment. since he accompanied him everywhere, he went with him to the cow shed. when he gave the elk calf its milk, the dog would sit outside the stall and gaze at it. the game-keeper called the calf grayskin because he thought it did not merit a prettier name, and karr agreed with him on that point. every time the dog looked at it he thought that he had never seen anything so ugly and misshapen as the baby elk, with its long, shambly legs, which hung down from the body like loose stilts. the head was large, old, and wrinkled, and it always drooped to one side. the skin lay in tucks and folds, as if the animal had put on a coat that had not been made for him. always doleful and discontented, curiously enough he jumped up every time karr appeared as if glad to see him. the elk calf became less hopeful from day to day, did not grow any, and at last he could not even rise when he saw karr. then the dog jumped up into the crib to greet him, and thereupon a light kindled in the eyes of the poor creature--as if a cherished longing were fulfilled. after that karr visited the elk calf every day, and spent many hours with him, licking his coat, playing and racing with him, till he taught him a little of everything a forest animal should know. it was remarkable that, from the time karr began to visit the elk calf in his stall, the latter seemed more contented, and began to grow. after he was fairly started, he grew so rapidly that in a couple of weeks the stall could no longer hold him, and he had to be moved into a grove. when he had been in the grove two months his legs were so long that he could step over the fence whenever he wished. then the lord of the manor gave the game-keeper permission to put up a higher fence and to allow him more space. here the elk lived for several years, and grew up into a strong and handsome animal. karr kept him company as often as he could; but now it was no longer through pity, for a great friendship had sprung up between the two. the elk was always inclined to be melancholy, listless, and, indifferent, but karr knew how to make him playful and happy. grayskin had lived for five summers on the game-keeper's place, when his owner received a letter from a zoölogical garden abroad asking if the elk might be purchased. the master was pleased with the proposal, the game-keeper was distressed, but had not the power to say no; so it was decided that the elk should be sold. karr soon discovered what was in the air and ran over to the elk to have a chat with him. the dog was very much distressed at the thought of losing his friend, but the elk took the matter calmly, and seemed neither glad nor sorry. "do you think of letting them send you away without offering resistance?" asked karr. "what good would it do to resist?" asked grayskin. "i should prefer to remain where i am, naturally, but if i've been sold, i shall have to go, of course." karr looked at grayskin and measured him with his eyes. it was apparent that the elk was not yet full grown. he did not have the broad antlers, high hump, and long mane of the mature elk; but he certainly had strength enough to fight for his freedom. "one can see that he has been in captivity all his life," thought karr, but said nothing. karr left and did not return to the grove till long past midnight. by that time he knew grayskin would be awake and eating his breakfast. "of course you are doing right, grayskin, in letting them take you away," remarked karr, who appeared now to be calm and satisfied. "you will be a prisoner in a large park and will have no responsibilities. it seems a pity that you must leave here without having seen the forest. you know your ancestors have a saying that 'the elk are one with the forest.' but you haven't even been in a forest!" grayskin glanced up from the clover which he stood munching. "indeed, i should love to see the forest, but how am i to get over the fence?" he said with his usual apathy. "oh, that is difficult for one who has such short legs!" said karr. the elk glanced slyly at the dog, who jumped the fence many times a day--little as he was. he walked over to the fence, and with one spring he was on the other side, without knowing how it happened. then karr and grayskin went into the forest. it was a beautiful moonlight night in late summer; but in among the trees it was dark, and the elk walked along slowly. "perhaps we had better turn back," said karr. "you, who have never before tramped the wild forest, might easily break your legs." grayskin moved more rapidly and with more courage. karr conducted the elk to a part of the forest where the pines grew so thickly that no wind could penetrate them. "it is here that your kind are in the habit of seeking shelter from cold and storm," said karr. "here they stand under the open skies all winter. but you will fare much better where you are going, for you will stand in a shed, with a roof over your head, like an ox." grayskin made no comment, but stood quietly and drank in the strong, piney air. "have you anything more to show me, or have i now seen the whole forest?" he asked. then karr went with him to a big marsh, and showed him clods and quagmire. "over this marsh the elk take flight when they are in peril," said karr. "i don't know how they manage it, but, large and heavy as they are, they can walk here without sinking. of course you couldn't hold yourself up on such dangerous ground, but then there is no occasion for you to do so, for you will never be hounded by hunters." grayskin made no retort, but with a leap he was out on the marsh, and happy when he felt how the clods rocked under him. he dashed across the marsh, and came back again to karr, without having stepped into a mudhole. "have we seen the whole forest now?" he asked. "no, not yet," said karr. he next conducted the elk to the skirt of the forest, where fine oaks, lindens, and aspens grew. "here your kind eat leaves and bark, which they consider the choicest of food; but you will probably get better fare abroad." grayskin was astonished when he saw the enormous leaf-trees spreading like a great canopy above him. he ate both oak leaves and aspen bark. "these taste deliciously bitter and good!" he remarked. "better than clover!" "then wasn't it well that you should taste them once?" said the dog. thereupon he took the elk down to a little forest lake. the water was as smooth as a mirror, and reflected the shores, which were veiled in thin, light mists. when grayskin saw the lake he stood entranced. "what is this, karr?" he asked. it was the first time that he had seen a lake. "it's a large body of water--a lake," said karr. "your people swim across it from shore to shore. one could hardly expect you to be familiar with this; but at least you should go in and take a swim!" karr, himself, plunged into the water for a swim. grayskin stayed back on the shore for some little time, but finally followed. he grew breathless with delight as the cool water stole soothingly around his body. he wanted it over his back, too, so went farther out. then he felt that the water could hold him up, and began to swim. he swam all around karr, ducking and snorting, perfectly at home in the water. when they were on shore again, the dog asked if they had not better go home now. "it's a long time until morning," observed grayskin, "so we can tramp around in the forest a little longer." they went again into the pine wood. presently they came to an open glade illuminated by the moonlight, where grass and flowers shimmered beneath the dew. some large animals were grazing on this forest meadow--an elk bull, several elk cows and a number of elk calves. when grayskin caught sight of them he stopped short. he hardly glanced at the cows or the young ones, but stared at the old bull, which had broad antlers with many taglets, a high hump, and a long-haired fur piece hanging down from his throat. "what kind of an animal is that?" asked grayskin in wonderment. "he is called antler-crown," said karr, "and he is your kinsman. one of these days you, too, will have broad antlers, like those, and just such a mane; and if you were to remain in the forest, very likely you, also, would have a herd to lead." "if he is my kinsman, i must go closer and have a look at him," said grayskin. "i never dreamed that an animal could be so stately!" grayskin walked over to the elk, but almost immediately he came back to karr, who had remained at the edge of the clearing. "you were not very well received, were you?" said karr. "i told him that this was the first time i had run across any of my kinsmen, and asked if i might walk with them on their meadow. but they drove me back, threatening me with their antlers." "you did right to retreat," said karr. "a young elk bull with only a taglet crown must be careful about fighting with an old elk. another would have disgraced his name in the whole forest by retreating without resistance, but such things needn't worry you who are going to move to a foreign land." karr had barely finished speaking when grayskin turned and walked down to the meadow. the old elk came toward him, and instantly they began to fight. their antlers met and clashed, and grayskin was driven backward over the whole meadow. apparently he did not know how to make use of his strength; but when he came to the edge of the forest, he planted his feet on the ground, pushed hard with his antlers, and began to force antler-crown back. grayskin fought quietly, while antler-crown puffed and snorted. the old elk, in his turn, was now being forced backward over the meadow. suddenly a loud crash was heard! a taglet in the old elk's antlers had snapped. he tore himself loose, and dashed into the forest. karr was still standing at the forest border when grayskin came along. "now that you have seen what there is in the forest," said karr, "will you come home with me?" "yes, it's about time," observed the elk. both were silent on the way home. karr sighed several times, as if he was disappointed about something; but grayskin stepped along--his head in the air--and seemed delighted over the adventure. he walked ahead unhesitatingly until they came to the enclosure. there he paused. he looked in at the narrow pen where he had lived up till now; saw the beaten ground, the stale fodder, the little trough where he had drunk water, and the dark shed in which he had slept. "the elk are one with the forest!" he cried. then he threw back his head, so that his neck rested against his back, and rushed wildly into the woods. helpless, the water-snake in a pine thicket in the heart of liberty forest, every year, in the month of august, there appeared a few grayish-white moths of the kind which are called nun moths. they were small and few in number, and scarcely any one noticed them. when they had fluttered about in the depth of the forest a couple of nights, they laid a few thousand eggs on the branches of trees; and shortly afterward dropped lifeless to the ground. when spring came, little prickly caterpillars crawled out from the eggs and began to eat the pine needles. they had good appetites, but they never seemed to do the trees any serious harm, because they were hotly pursued by birds. it was seldom that more than a few hundred caterpillars escaped the pursuers. the poor things that lived to be full grown crawled up on the branches, spun white webs around themselves, and sat for a couple of weeks as motionless pupae. during this period, as a rule, more than half of them were abducted. if a hundred nun moths came forth in august, winged and perfect, it was reckoned a good year for them. this sort of uncertain and obscure existence did the moths lead for many years in liberty forest. there were no insect folk in the whole country that were so scarce, and they would have remained quite harmless and powerless had they not, most unexpectedly, received a helper. this fact has some connection with grayskin's flight from the game-keeper's paddock. grayskin roamed the forest that he might become more familiar with the place. late in the afternoon he happened to squeeze through some thickets behind a clearing where the soil was muddy and slimy, and in the centre of it was a murky pool. this open space was encircled by tall pines almost bare from age and miasmic air. grayskin was displeased with the place and would have left it at once had he not caught sight of some bright green calla leaves which grew near the pool. as he bent his head toward the calla stalks, he happened to disturb a big black snake, which lay sleeping under them. grayskin had heard karr speak of the poisonous adders that were to be found in the forest. so, when the snake raised its head, shot out its tongue and hissed at him, he thought he had encountered an awfully dangerous reptile. he was terrified and, raising his foot, he struck so hard with his hoof that he crushed the snake's head. then, away he ran in hot haste! as soon as grayskin had gone, another snake, just as long and as black as the first, came up from the pool. it crawled over to the dead one, and licked the poor, crushed-in head. "can it be true that you are dead, old harmless?" hissed the snake. "we two have lived together so many years; we two have been so happy with each other, and have fared so well here in the swamp, that we have lived to be older than all the other water-snakes in the forest! this is the worst sorrow that could have befallen me!" the snake was so broken-hearted that his long body writhed as if it had been wounded. even the frogs, who lived in constant fear of him, were sorry for him. "what a wicked creature he must be to murder a poor water-snake that cannot defend itself!" hissed the snake. "he certainly deserves a severe punishment. as sure as my name is helpless and i'm the oldest water-snake in the whole forest, i'll be avenged! i shall not rest until that elk lies as dead on the ground as my poor old snake-wife." when the snake had made this vow he curled up into a hoop and began to ponder. one can hardly imagine anything that would be more difficult for a poor water-snake than to wreak vengeance upon a big, strong elk; and old helpless pondered day and night without finding any solution. one night, as he lay there with his vengeance-thoughts, he heard a slight rustle over his head. he glanced up and saw a few light nun moths playing in among the trees. he followed them with his eyes a long while; then began to hiss loudly to himself, apparently pleased with the thought that had occurred to him--then he fell asleep. the next morning the water-snake went over to see crawlie, the adder, who lived in a stony and hilly part of liberty forest. he told him all about the death of the old water-snake, and begged that he who could deal such deadly thrusts would undertake the work of vengeance. but crawlie was not exactly disposed to go to war with an elk. "if i were to attack an elk," said the adder, "he would instantly kill me. old harmless is dead and gone, and we can't bring her back to life, so why should i rush into danger on her account?" when the water-snake got this reply he raised his head a whole foot from the ground, and hissed furiously: "vish vash! vish vash!" he said. "it's a pity that you, who have been blessed with such weapons of defence, should be so cowardly that you don't dare use them!" when the adder heard this, he, too, got angry. "crawl away, old helpless!" he hissed. "the poison is in my fangs, but i would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman." but the water-snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other. when crawlie was so angry that he couldn't hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water-snake changed the subject, and began to talk in a very different tone. "i had still another errand, crawlie," he said, lowering his voice to a mild whisper. "but now i suppose you are so angry that you wouldn't care to help me?" "if you don't ask anything foolish of me, i shall certainly be at your service." "in the pine trees down by the swamp live a moth folk that fly around all night." "i know all about them," remarked crawlie. "what's up with them now?" "they are the smallest insect family in the forest," said helpless, "and the most harmless, since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles." "yes, i know," said crawlie. "i'm afraid those moths will soon be exterminated," sighed the water-snake. "there are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring." now crawlie began to understand that the water-snake wanted the caterpillars for his own purpose, and he answered pleasantly: "do you wish me to say to the owls that they are to leave those pine tree worms in peace?" "yes, it would be well if you who have some authority in the forest should do this," said helpless. "i might also drop a good word for the pine needle pickers among the thrushes?" volunteered the adder. "i will gladly serve you when you do not demand anything unreasonable." "now you have given me a good promise, crawlie," said helpless, "and i'm glad that i came to you." the nun moths one morning--several years later--karr lay asleep on the porch. it was in the early summer, the season of light nights, and it was as bright as day, although the sun was not yet up. karr was awakened by some one calling his name. "is it you, grayskin?" he asked, for he was accustomed to the elk's nightly visits. again he heard the call; then he recognized grayskin's voice, and hastened in the direction of the sound. karr heard the elk's footfalls in the distance, as he dashed into the thickest pine wood, and straight through the brush, following no trodden path. karr could not catch up with him, and he had great difficulty in even following the trail. "karr, karri" came the cry, and the voice was certainly grayskin's, although it had a ring now which the dog had never heard before. "i'm coming, i'm coming!" the dog responded. "where are you?" "karr, karr! don't you see how it falls and falls?" said grayskin. then karr noticed that the pine needles kept dropping and dropping from the trees, like a steady fall of rain. "yes, i see how it falls," he cried, and ran far into the forest in search of the elk. grayskin kept running through the thickets, while karr was about to lose the trail again. "karr, karr!" roared grayskin; "can't you scent that peculiar odour in the forest?" karr stopped and sniffed. he had not thought of it before, but now he remarked that the pines sent forth a much stronger odour than usual. "yes, i catch the scent," he said. he did not stop long enough to find out the cause of it, but hurried on after grayskin. the elk ran ahead with such speed that the dog could not catch up with him. "karr, karr!" he called; "can't you hear the crunching on the pines?" now his tone was so plaintive it would have melted a stone. karr paused to listen. he heard a faint but distinct "tap, tap," on the trees. it sounded like the ticking of a watch. "yes, i hear how it ticks," cried karr, and ran no farther. he understood that the elk did not want him to follow, but to take notice of something that was happening in the forest. karr was standing beneath the drooping branches of a great pine. he looked carefully at it; the needles moved. he went closer and saw a mass of grayish-white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off the needles. every branch was covered with them. the crunch, crunch in the trees came from the working of their busy little jaws. gnawed-off needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor pines there came such a strong odour that the dog suffered from it. "what can be the meaning of this?" wondered karr. "it's too bad about the pretty trees! soon they'll have no beauty left." he walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all was well with them. "there's a pine they haven't touched," he thought. but they had taken possession of it, too. "and here's a birch--no, this also! the game-keeper will not be pleased with this," observed karr. he ran deeper into the thickets, to learn how far the destruction had spread. wherever he went, he heard the same ticking; scented the same odour; saw the same needle rain. there was no need of his pausing to investigate. he understood it all by these signs. the little caterpillars were everywhere. the whole forest was being ravaged by them! all of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where all was still. "here's the end of their domain," thought the dog, as he paused and glanced about. but here it was even worse; for the caterpillars had already done their work, and the trees were needleless. they were like the dead. the only thing that covered them was a network of ragged threads, which the caterpillars had spun to use as roads and bridges. in there, among the dying trees, grayskin stood waiting for karr. he was not alone. with him were four old elk--the most respected in the forest. karr knew them: they were crooked-back, who was a small elk, but had a larger hump than the others; antler-crown, who was the most dignified of the elk; rough-mane, with the thick coat; and an old long-legged one, who, up till the autumn before, when he got a bullet in his thigh, had been terribly hot-tempered and quarrelsome. "what in the world is happening to the forest?" karr asked when he came up to the elk. they stood with lowered heads, far protruding upper lips, and looked puzzled. "no one can tell," answered grayskin. "this insect family used to be the least hurtful of any in the forest, and never before have they done any damage. but these last few years they have been multiplying so fast that now it appears as if the entire forest would be destroyed." "yes, it looks bad," karr agreed, "but i see that the wisest animals in the forest have come together to hold a consultation. perhaps you have already found some remedy?" when the dog said this, crooked-back solemnly raised his heavy head, pricked up his long ears, and spoke: "we have summoned you hither, karr, that we may learn if the humans know of this desolation." "no," said karr, "no human being ever comes thus far into the forest when it's not hunting time. they know nothing of this misfortune." then antler-crown said: "we who have lived long in the forest do not think that we can fight this insect pest all by ourselves." "after this there will be no peace in the forest!" put in rough-mane. "but we can't let the whole liberty forest go to rack and ruin!" protested big-and-strong. "we'll have to consult the humans; there is no alternative." karr understood that the elk had difficulty in expressing what they wished to say, and he tried to help them. "perhaps you want me to let the people know the conditions here?" he suggested. all the old elk nodded their heads. "it's most unfortunate that we are obliged to ask help of human beings, but we have no choice." a moment later karr was on his way home. as he ran ahead, deeply distressed over all that he had heard and seen, a big black water-snake approached them. "well met in the forest!" hissed the water-snake. "well met again!" snarled karr, and rushed by without stopping. the snake turned and tried to catch up to him. "perhaps that creature also, is worried about the forest," thought karr, and waited. immediately the snake began to talk about the great disaster. "there will be an end of peace and quiet in the forest when human beings are called hither," said the snake. "i'm afraid there will," the dog agreed; "but the oldest forest dwellers know what they're about!" he added. "i think i know a better plan," said the snake, "if i can get the reward i wish." "are you not the one whom every one around here calls old helpless?" said the dog, sneeringly. "i'm an old inhabitant of the forest," said the snake, "and i know how to get rid of such plagues." "if you clear the forest of that pest, i feel sure you can have anything you ask for," said karr. the snake did not respond to this until he had crawled under a tree stump, where he was well protected. then he said: "tell grayskin that if he will leave liberty forest forever, and go far north, where no oak tree grows, i will send sickness and death to all the creeping things that gnaw the pines and spruces!" "what's that you say?" asked karr, bristling up. "what harm has grayskin ever done you?" "he has slain the one whom i loved best," the snake declared, "and i want to be avenged." before the snake had finished speaking, karr made a dash for him; but the reptile lay safely hidden under the tree stump. "stay where you are!" karr concluded. "we'll manage to drive out the caterpillars without your help." the big war of the moths the following spring, as karr was dashing through the forest one morning, he heard some one behind him calling: "karr! karr!" he turned and saw an old fox standing outside his lair. "you must tell me if the humans are doing anything for the forest," said the fox. "yes, you may be sure they are!" said karr. "they are working as hard as they can." "they have killed off all my kinsfolk, and they'll be killing me next," protested the fox. "but they shall be pardoned for that if only they save the forest." that year karr never ran into the woods without some animal's asking if the humans could save the forest. it was not easy for the dog to answer; the people themselves were not certain that they could conquer the moths. but considering how feared and hated old kolmården had always been, it was remarkable that every day more than a hundred men went there, to work. they cleared away the underbrush. they felled dead trees, lopped off branches from the live ones so that the caterpillars could not easily crawl from tree to tree; they also dug wide trenches around the ravaged parts and put up lime-washed fences to keep them out of new territory. then they painted rings of lime around the trunks of trees to prevent the caterpillars leaving those they had already stripped. the idea was to force them to remain where they were until they starved to death. the people worked with the forest until far into the spring. they were hopeful, and could hardly wait for the caterpillars to come out from their eggs, feeling certain that they had shut them in so effectually that most of them would die of starvation. but in the early summer the caterpillars came out, more numerous than ever. they were everywhere! they crawled on the country roads, on fences, on the walls of the cabins. they wandered outside the confines of liberty forest to other parts of kolmården. "they won't stop till all our forests are destroyed!" sighed the people, who were in great despair, and could not enter the forest without weeping. karr was so sick of the sight of all these creeping, gnawing things that he could hardly bear to step outside the door. but one day he felt that he must go and find out how grayskin was getting on. he took the shortest cut to the elk's haunts, and hurried along--his nose close to the earth. when he came to the tree stump where he had met helpless the year before, the snake was still there, and called to him: "have you told grayskin what i said to you when last we met?" asked the water-snake. karr only growled and tried to get at him. "if you haven't told him, by all means do so!" insisted the snake. "you must see that the humans know of no cure for this plague." "neither do you!" retorted the dog, and ran on. karr found grayskin, but the elk was so low-spirited that he scarcely greeted the dog. he began at once to talk of the forest. "i don't know what i wouldn't give if this misery were only at an end!" he said. "now i shall tell you that 'tis said you could save the forest." then karr delivered the water-snake's message. "if any one but helpless had promised this, i should immediately go into exile," declared the elk. "but how can a poor water-snake have the power to work such a miracle?" "of course it's only a bluff," said karr. "water-snakes always like to pretend that they know more than other creatures." when karr was ready to go home, grayskin accompanied him part of the way. presently karr heard a thrush, perched on a pine top, cry: "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest! there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" karr thought that he had not heard correctly, but the next moment a hare came darting across the path. when the hare saw them, he stopped, flapped his ears, and screamed: "here comes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" then he ran as fast as he could. "what do they mean by that?" asked karr. "i really don't know," said grayskin. "i think that the small forest animals are displeased with me because i was the one who proposed that we should ask help of human beings. when the underbrush was cut down, all their lairs and hiding places were destroyed." they walked on together a while longer, and karr heard the same cry coming from all directions: "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the forest!" grayskin pretended not to hear it; but karr understood why the elk was so downhearted. "i say, grayskin, what does the water-snake mean by saying you killed the one he loved best?" "how can i tell?" said grayskin. "you know very well that i never kill anything." shortly after that they met the four old elk--crooked-back, antler-crown, rough-mane, and big-and-strong, who were coming along slowly, one after the other. "well met in the forest!" called grayskin. "well met in turn!" answered the elk. "we were just looking for you, grayskin, to consult with you about the forest." "the fact is," began crooked-back, "we have been informed that a crime has been committed here, and that the whole forest is being destroyed because the criminal has not been punished." "what kind of a crime was it?" "some one killed a harmless creature that he couldn't eat. such an act is accounted a crime in liberty forest." "who could have done such a cowardly thing?" wondered grayskin. "they say that an elk did it, and we were just going to ask if you knew who it was." "no," said grayskin, "i have never heard of an elk killing a harmless creature." grayskin parted from the four old elk, and went on with karr. he was silent and walked with lowered head. they happened to pass crawlie, the adder, who lay on his shelf of rock. "there goes grayskin, who has destroyed the whole forest!" hissed crawlie, like all the rest. by that time grayskin's patience was exhausted. he walked up to the snake, and raised a forefoot. "do you think of crushing me as you crushed the old water-snake?" hissed crawlie. "did i kill a water-snake?" asked grayskin, astonished. "the first day you were in the forest you killed the wife of poor old helpless," said crawlie. grayskin turned quickly from the adder, and continued his walk with karr. suddenly he stopped. "karr, it was i who committed that crime! i killed a harmless creature; therefore it is on my account that the forest is being destroyed." "what are you saying?" karr interrupted. "you may tell the water-snake, helpless, that grayskin goes into exile to-night!" "that i shall never tell him!" protested karr. "the far north is a dangerous country for elk." "do you think that i wish to remain here, when i have caused a disaster like this?" protested grayskin. "don't be rash! sleep over it before you do anything!" "it was you who taught me that the elk are one with the forest," said grayskin, and so saying he parted from karr. the dog went home alone; but this talk with grayskin troubled him, and the next morning he returned to the forest to seek him, but grayskin was not to be found, and the dog did not search long for him. he realized that the elk had taken the snake at his word, and had gone into exile. on his walk home karr was too unhappy for words! he could not understand why grayskin should allow that wretch of a water-snake to trick him away. he had never heard of such folly! "what power can that old helpless have?" as karr walked along, his mind full of these thoughts, he happened to see the game-keeper, who stood pointing up at a tree. "what are you looking at?" asked a man who stood beside him. "sickness has come among the caterpillars," observed the game-keeper. karr was astonished, but he was even more angered at the snake's having the power to keep his word. grayskin would have to stay away a long long time, for, of course, that water-snake would never die. at the very height of his grief a thought came to karr which comforted him a little. "perhaps the water-snake won't live so long, after all!" he thought. "surely he cannot always lie protected under a tree root. as soon as he has cleaned out the caterpillars, i know some one who is going to bite his head off!" it was true that an illness had made its appearance among the caterpillars. the first summer it did not spread much. it had only just broken out when it was time for the larvae to turn into pupae. from the latter came millions of moths. they flew around in the trees like a blinding snowstorm, and laid countless numbers of eggs. an even greater destruction was prophesied for the following year. the destruction came not only to the forest, but also to the caterpillars. the sickness spread quickly from forest to forest. the sick caterpillars stopped eating, crawled up to the branches of the trees, and died there. there was great rejoicing among the people when they saw them die, but there was even greater rejoicing among the forest animals. from day to day the dog karr went about with savage glee, thinking of the hour when he might venture to kill helpless. but the caterpillars, meanwhile, had spread over miles of pine woods. not in one summer did the disease reach them all. many lived to become pupas and moths. grayskin sent messages to his friend karr by the birds of passage, to say that he was alive and faring well. but the birds told karr confidentially that on several occasions grayskin had been pursued by poachers, and that only with the greatest difficulty had he escaped. karr lived in a state of continual grief, yearning, and anxiety. yet he had to wait two whole summers more before there was an end of the caterpillars! karr no sooner heard the game-keeper say that the forest was out of danger than he started on a hunt for helpless. but when he was in the thick of the forest he made a frightful discovery: he could not hunt any more, he could not run, he could not track his enemy, and he could not see at all! during the long years of waiting, old age had overtaken karr. he had grown old without having noticed it. he had not the strength even to kill a water-snake. he was not able to save his friend grayskin from his enemy. retribution one afternoon akka from kebnekaise and her flock alighted on the shore of a forest lake. spring was backward--as it always is in the mountain districts. ice covered all the lake save a narrow strip next the land. the geese at once plunged into the water to bathe and hunt for food. in the morning nils holgersson had dropped one of his wooden shoes, so he went down by the elms and birches that grew along the shore, to look for something to bind around his foot. the boy walked quite a distance before he found anything that he could use. he glanced about nervously, for he did not fancy being in the forest. "give me the plains and the lakes!" he thought. "there you can see what you are likely to meet. now, if this were a grove of little birches, it would be well enough, for then the ground would be almost bare; but how people can like these wild, pathless forests is incomprehensible to me. if i owned this land i would chop down every tree." at last he caught sight of a piece of birch bark, and just as he was fitting it to his foot he heard a rustle behind him. he turned quickly. a snake darted from the brush straight toward him! the snake was uncommonly long and thick, but the boy soon saw that it had a white spot on each cheek. "why, it's only a water-snake," he laughed; "it can't harm me." but the next instant the snake gave him a powerful blow on the chest that knocked him down. the boy was on his feet in a second and running away, but the snake was after him! the ground was stony and scrubby; the boy could not proceed very fast; and the snake was close at his heels. then the boy saw a big rock in front of him, and began to scale it. "i do hope the snake can't follow me here!" he thought, but he had no sooner reached the top of the rock than he saw that the snake was following him. quite close to the boy, on a narrow ledge at the top of the rock, lay a round stone as large as a man's head. as the snake came closer, the boy ran behind the stone, and gave it a push. it rolled right down on the snake, drawing it along to the ground, where it landed on its head. "that stone did its work well!" thought the boy with a sigh of relief, as he saw the snake squirm a little, and then lie perfectly still. "i don't think i've been in greater peril on the whole journey," he said. he had hardly recovered from the shock when he heard a rustle above him, and saw a bird circling through the air to light on the ground right beside the snake. the bird was like a crow in size and form, but was dressed in a pretty coat of shiny black feathers. the boy cautiously retreated into a crevice of the rock. his adventure in being kidnapped by crows was still fresh in his memory, and he did not care to show himself when there was no need of it. the bird strode back and forth beside the snake's body, and turned it over with his beak. finally he spread his wings and began to shriek in ear-splitting tones: "it is certainly helpless, the water-snake, that lies dead here!" once more he walked the length of the snake; then he stood in a deep study, and scratched his neck with his foot. "it isn't possible that there can be two such big snakes in the forest," he pondered. "it must surely be helpless!" he was just going to thrust his beak into the snake, but suddenly checked himself. "you mustn't be a numbskull, bataki!" he remarked to himself. "surely you cannot be thinking of eating the snake until you have called karr! he wouldn't believe that helpless was dead unless he could see it with his own eyes." the boy tried to keep quiet, but the bird was so ludicrously solemn, as he stalked back and forth chattering to himself, that he had to laugh. the bird heard him, and, with a flap of his wings, he was up on the rock. the boy rose quickly and walked toward him. "are you not the one who is called bataki, the raven? and are you not a friend of akka from kebnekaise?" asked the boy. the bird regarded him intently; then nodded three times. "surely, you're not the little chap who flies around with the wild geese, and whom they call thumbietot?" "oh, you're not so far out of the way," said the boy. "what luck that i should have run across you! perhaps you can tell me who killed this water-snake?" "the stone which i rolled down on him killed him," replied the boy, and related how the whole thing happened. "that was cleverly done for one who is as tiny as you are!" said the raven. "i have a friend in these parts who will be glad to know that this snake has been killed, and i should like to render you a service in return." "then tell me why you are glad the water-snake is dead," responded the boy. "it's a long story," said the raven; "you wouldn't have the patience to listen to it." but the boy insisted that he had, and then the raven told him the whole story about karr and grayskin and helpless, the water-snake. when he had finished, the boy sat quietly for a moment, looking straight ahead. then he spoke: "i seem to like the forest better since hearing this. i wonder if there is anything left of the old liberty forest." "most of it has been destroyed," said bataki. "the trees look as if they had passed through a fire. they'll have to be cleared away, and it will take many years before the forest will be what it once was." "that snake deserved his death!" declared the boy. "but i wonder if it could be possible that he was so wise he could send sickness to the caterpillars?" "perhaps he knew that they frequently became sick in that way," intimated bataki. "yes, that may be; but all the same, i must say that he was a very wily snake." the boy stopped talking because he saw the raven was not listening to him, but sitting with gaze averted. "hark!" he said. "karr is in the vicinity. won't he be happy when he sees that helpless is dead!" the boy turned his head in the direction of the sound. "he's talking with the wild geese," he said. "oh, you may be sure that he has dragged himself down to the strand to get the latest news about grayskin!" both the boy and the raven jumped to the ground, and hastened down to the shore. all the geese had come out of the lake, and stood talking with an old dog, who was so weak and decrepit that it seemed as if he might drop dead at any moment. "there's karr," said bataki to the boy. "let him hear first what the wild geese have to say to him; later we shall tell him that the water-snake is dead." presently they heard akka talking to karr. "it happened last year while we were making our usual spring trip," remarked the leader-goose. "we started out one morning--yksi, kaksi, and i, and we flew over the great boundary forests between dalecarlia and hälsingland. under us we, saw only thick pine forests. the snow was still deep among the trees, and the creeks were mostly frozen. "suddenly we noticed three poachers down in the forest! they were on skis, had dogs in leash, carried knives in their belts, but had no guns. "as there was a hard crust on the snow, they did not bother to take the winding forest paths, but skied straight ahead. apparently they knew very well where they must go to find what they were seeking. "we wild geese flew on, high up in the air, so that the whole forest under us was visible. when we sighted the poachers we wanted to find out where the game was, so we circled up and down, peering through the trees. then, in a dense thicket, we saw something that looked like big, moss-covered rocks, but couldn't be rocks, for there was no snow on them. "we shot down, suddenly, and lit in the centre of the thicket. the three rocks moved. they were three elk--a bull and two cows--resting in the bleak forest. "when we alighted, the elk bull rose and came toward us. he was the most superb animal we had ever seen. when he saw that it was only some poor wild geese that had awakened him, he lay down again. "'no, old granddaddy, you mustn't go back to sleep!' i cried. 'flee as fast as you can! there are poachers in the forest, and they are bound for this very deer fold.' "'thank you, goose mother!' said the elk. he seemed to be dropping to sleep while he was speaking. 'but surely you must know that we elk are under the protection of the law at this time of the year. those poachers are probably out for fox,' he yawned. "'there are plenty of fox trails in the forest, but the poachers are not looking for them. believe me, old granddaddy! they know that you are lying here, and are coming to attack you. they have no guns with them--only spears and knives--for they dare not fire a shot at this season.' "the elk bull lay there calmly, but the elk cows seemed to feel uneasy. "'it may be as the geese say,' they remarked, beginning to bestir themselves. "'you just lie down!' said the elk bull. 'there are no poachers coming here; of that you may be certain.' "there was nothing more to be done, so we wild geese rose again into the air. but we continued to circle over the place, to see how it would turn out for the elk. "we had hardly reached our regular flying altitude, when we saw the elk bull come out from the thicket. he sniffed the air a little, then walked straight toward the poachers. as he strode along he stepped upon dry twigs that crackled noisily. a big barren marsh lay just beyond him. thither he went and took his stand in the middle, where there was nothing to hide him from view. "there he stood until the poachers emerged from the woods. then he turned and fled in the opposite direction. the poachers let loose the dogs, and they themselves skied after him at full speed. "the elk threw back his head and loped as fast as he could. he kicked up snow until it flew like a blizzard about him. both dogs and men were left far behind. then the elk stopped, as if to await their approach. when they were within sight he dashed ahead again. we understood that he was purposely tempting the hunters away from the place where the cows were. we thought it brave of him to face danger himself, in order that those who were dear to him might be left in safety. none of us wanted to leave the place until we had seen how all this was to end. "thus the chase continued for two hours or more. we wondered that the poachers went to the trouble of pursuing the elk when they were not armed with rifles. they couldn't have thought that they could succeed in tiring out a runner like him! "then we noticed that the elk no longer ran so rapidly. he stepped on the snow more carefully, and every time he lifted his feet, blood could be seen in his tracks. "we understood why the poachers had been so persistent! they had counted on help from the snow. the elk was heavy, and with every step he sank to the bottom of the drift. the hard crust on the snow was scraping his legs. it scraped away the fur, and tore out pieces of flesh, so that he was in torture every time he put his foot down. "the poachers and the dogs, who were so light that the ice crust could hold their weight, pursued him all the while. he ran on and on--his steps becoming more and more uncertain and faltering. he gasped for breath. not only did he suffer intense pain, but he was also exhausted from wading through the deep snowdrifts. "at last he lost all patience. he paused to let poachers and dogs come upon him, and was ready to fight them. as he stood there waiting, he glanced upward. when he saw us wild geese circling above him, he cried out: "'stay here, wild geese, until all is over! and the next time you fly over kolmården, look up karr, and ask him if he doesn't think that his friend grayskin has met with a happy end?'" when akka had gone so far in her story the old dog rose and walked nearer to her. "grayskin led a good life," he said. "he understands me. he knows that i'm a brave dog, and that i shall be glad to hear that he had a happy end. now tell me how--" he raised his tail and threw back his head, as if to give himself a bold and proud bearing--then he collapsed. "karr! karr!" called a man's voice from the forest. the old dog rose obediently. "my master is calling me," he said, "and i must not tarry longer. i just saw him load his gun. now we two are going into the forest for the last time. "many thanks, wild goose! i know everything that i need know to die content!" the wind witch in närke in bygone days there was something in närke the like of which was not to be found elsewhere: it was a witch, named ysätter-kaisa. the name kaisa had been given her because she had a good deal to do with wind and storm--and these wind witches are always so called. the surname was added because she was supposed to have come from ysätter swamp in asker parish. it seemed as though her real abode must have been at asker; but she used also to appear at other places. nowhere in all närke could one be sure of not meeting her. she was no dark, mournful witch, but gay and frolicsome; and what she loved most of all was a gale of wind. as soon as there was wind enough, off she would fly to the närke plain for a good dance. on days when a whirlwind swept the plain, ysätter-kaisa had fun! she would stand right in the wind and spin round, her long hair flying up among the clouds and the long trail of her robe sweeping the ground, like a dust cloud, while the whole plain lay spread out under her, like a ballroom floor. of a morning ysätter-kaisa would sit up in some tall pine at the top of a precipice, and look across the plain. if it happened to be winter and she saw many teams on the roads she hurriedly blew up a blizzard, piling the drifts so high that people could barely get back to their homes by evening. if it chanced to be summer and good harvest weather, ysätter-kaisa would sit quietly until the first hayricks had been loaded, then down she would come with a couple of heavy showers, which put an end to the work for that day. it was only too true that she seldom thought of anything else than raising mischief. the charcoal burners up in the kil mountains hardly dared take a cat-nap, for as soon as she saw an unwatched kiln, she stole up and blew on it until it began to burn in a great flame. if the metal drivers from laxå and svartå were out late of an evening, ysätter-kaisa would veil the roads and the country round about in such dark clouds that both men and horses lost their way and drove the heavy trucks down into swamps and morasses. if, on a summer's day, the dean's wife at glanshammar had spread the tea table in the garden and along would come a gust of wind that lifted the cloth from the table and turned over cups and saucers, they knew who had raised the mischief! if the mayor of örebro's hat blew off, so that he had to run across the whole square after it; if the wash on the line blew away and got covered with dirt, or if the smoke poured into the cabins and seemed unable to find its way out through the chimney, it was easy enough to guess who was out making merry! although ysätter-kaisa was fond of all sorts of tantalizing games, there was nothing really bad about her. one could see that she was hardest on those who were quarrelsome, stingy, or wicked; while honest folk and poor little children she would take under her wing. old people say of her that, once, when asker church was burning, ysätter-kaisa swept through the air, lit amid fire and smoke on the church roof, and averted the disaster. all the same the närke folk were often rather tired of ysätter-kaisa, but she never tired of playing her tricks on them. as she sat on the edge of a cloud and looked down upon närke, which rested so peacefully and comfortably beneath her, she must have thought: "the inhabitants would fare much too well if i were not in existence. they would grow sleepy and dull. there must be some one like myself to rouse them and keep them in good spirits." then she would laugh wildly and, chattering like a magpie, would rush off, dancing and spinning from one end of the plain to the other. when a närke man saw her come dragging her dust trail over the plain, he could not help smiling. provoking and tiresome she certainly was, but she had a merry spirit. it was just as refreshing for the peasants to meet ysätter-kaisa as it was for the plain to be lashed by the windstorm. nowadays 'tis said that ysätter-kaisa is dead and gone, like all other witches, but this one can hardly believe. it is as if some one were to come and tell you that henceforth the air would always be still on the plain, and the wind would never more dance across it with blustering breezes and drenching showers. he who fancies that ysätter-kaisa is dead and gone may as well hear what occurred in närke the year that nils holgersson travelled over that part of the country. then let him tell what he thinks about it. market eve _wednesday, april twenty-seventh_. it was the day before the big cattle fair at örebro; it rained in torrents and people thought: "this is exactly as in ysätter-kaisa's time! at fairs she used to be more prankish than usual. it was quite in her line to arrange a downpour like this on a market eve." as the day wore on, the rain increased, and toward evening came regular cloud-bursts. the roads were like bottomless swamps. the farmers who had started from home with their cattle early in the morning, that they might arrive at a seasonable hour, fared badly. cows and oxen were so tired they could hardly move, and many of the poor beasts dropped down in the middle of the road, to show that they were too exhausted to go any farther. all who lived along the roadside had to open their doors to the market-bound travellers, and harbour them as best they could. farm houses, barns, and sheds were soon crowded to their limit. meanwhile, those who could struggle along toward the inn did so; but when they arrived they wished they had stopped at some cabin along the road. all the cribs in the barn and all the stalls in the stable were already occupied. there was no other choice than to let horses and cattle stand out in the rain. their masters could barely manage to get under cover. the crush and mud and slush in the barn yard were frightful! some of the animals were standing in puddles and could not even lie down. there were thoughtful masters, of course, who procured straw for their animals to lie on, and spread blankets over them; but there were those, also, who sat in the inn, drinking and gambling, entirely forgetful of the dumb creatures which they should have protected. the boy and the wild geese had come to a little wooded island in hjälmar lake that evening. the island was separated from the main land by a narrow and shallow stream, and at low tide one could pass over it dry-shod. it rained just as hard on the island as it did everywhere else. the boy could not sleep for the water that kept dripping down on him. finally he got up and began to walk. he fancied that he felt the rain less when he moved about. he had hardly circled the island, when he heard a splashing in the stream. presently he saw a solitary horse tramping among the trees. never in all his life had he seen such a wreck of a horse! he was broken-winded and stiff-kneed and so thin that every rib could be seen under the hide. he bore neither harness nor saddle--only an old bridle, from which dangled a half-rotted rope-end. obviously he had had no difficulty in breaking loose. the horse walked straight toward the spot where the wild geese were sleeping. the boy was afraid that he would step on them. "where are you going? feel your ground!" shouted the boy. "oh, there you are!" exclaimed the horse. "i've walked miles to meet you!" "have you heard of me?" asked the boy, astonished. "i've got ears, even if i am old! there are many who talk of you nowadays." as he spoke, the horse bent his head that he might see better, and the boy noticed that he had a small head, beautiful eyes, and a soft, sensitive nose. "he must have been a good horse at the start, though he has come to grief in his old age," he thought. "i wish you would come with me and help me with something," pleaded the horse. the boy thought it would be embarrassing to accompany a creature who looked so wretched, and excused himself on account of the bad weather. "you'll be no worse off on my back than you are lying here," said the horse. "but perhaps you don't dare to go with an old tramp of a horse like me." "certainly i dare!" said the boy. "then wake the geese, so that we can arrange with them where they shall come for you to-morrow," said the horse. the boy was soon seated on the animal's back. the old nag trotted along better than he had thought possible. it was a long ride in the rain and darkness before they halted near a large inn, where everything looked terribly uninviting! the wheel tracks were so deep in the road that the boy feared he might drown should he fall down into them. alongside the fence, which enclosed the yard, some thirty or forty horses and cattle were tied, with no protection against the rain, and in the yard were wagons piled with packing cases, where sheep, calves, hogs, and chickens were shut in. the horse walked over to the fence and stationed himself. the boy remained seated upon his back, and, with his good night eyes, plainly saw how badly the animals fared. "how do you happen to be standing out here in the rain?" he asked. "we're on our way to a fair at örebro, but we were obliged to put up here on account of the rain. this is an inn; but so many travellers have already arrived that there's no room for us in the barns." the boy made no reply, but sat quietly looking about him. not many of the animals were asleep, and on all sides he heard complaints and indignant protests. they had reason enough for grumbling, for the weather was even worse than it had been earlier in the day. a freezing wind had begun to blow, and the rain which came beating down on them was turning to snow. it was easy enough to understand what the horse wanted the boy to help him with. "do you see that fine farm yard directly opposite the inn?" remarked the horse. "yes, i see it," answered the boy, "and i can't comprehend why they haven't tried to find shelter for all of you in there. they are already full, perhaps?" "no, there are no strangers in that place," said the horse. "the people who live on that farm are so stingy and selfish that it would be useless for any one to ask them for harbour." "if that's the case, i suppose you'll have to stand where you are." "i was born and raised on that farm," said the horse; "i know that there is a large barn and a big cow shed, with many empty stalls and mangers, and i was wondering if you couldn't manage in some way or other to get us in over there." "i don't think i could venture--" hesitated the boy. but he felt so sorry for the poor beasts that he wanted at least to try. he ran into the strange barn yard and saw at once that all the outhouses were locked and the keys gone. he stood there, puzzled and helpless, when aid came to him from an unexpected source. a gust of wind came sweeping along with terrific force and flung open a shed door right in front of him. the boy was not long in getting back to the horse. "it isn't possible to get into the barn or the cow house," he said, "but there's a big, empty hay shed that they have forgotten to bolt. i can lead you into that." "thank you!" said the horse. "it will seem good to sleep once more on familiar ground. it's the only happiness i can expect in this life." meanwhile, at the flourishing farm opposite the inn, the family sat up much later than usual that evening. the master of the place was a man of thirty-five, tall and dignified, with a handsome but melancholy face. during the day he had been out in the rain and had got wet, like every one else, and at supper he asked his old mother, who was still mistress of the place, to light a fire on the hearth that he might dry his clothes. the mother kindled a feeble blaze--for in that house they were not wasteful with wood--and the master hung his coat on the back of a chair, and placed it before the fire. with one foot on top of the andiron and a hand resting on his knee, he stood gazing into the embers. thus he stood for two whole hours, making no move other than to cast a log on the fire now and then. the mistress removed the supper things and turned down his bed for the night before she went to her own room and seated herself. at intervals she came to the door and looked wonderingly at her son. "it's nothing, mother. i'm only thinking," he said. his thoughts were on something that had occurred shortly before: when he passed the inn a horse dealer had asked him if he would not like to purchase a horse, and had shown him an old nag so weather-beaten that he asked the dealer if he took him for a fool, since he wished to palm off such a played-out beast on him. "oh, no!" said the horse dealer. "i only thought that, inasmuch as the horse once belonged to you, you might wish to give him a comfortable home in his old age; he has need of it." then he looked at the horse and recognized it as one which he himself had raised and broken in; but it did not occur to him to purchase such an old and useless creature on that account. no, indeed! he was not one who squandered his money. all the same, the sight of the horse had awakened many, memories--and it was the memories that kept him awake. that horse had been a fine animal. his father had let him tend it from the start. he had broken it in and had loved it above everything else. his father had complained that he used to feed it too well, and often he had been obliged to steal out and smuggle oats to it. once, when he ventured to talk with his father about letting him buy a broadcloth suit, or having the cart painted, his father stood as if petrified, and he thought the old man would have a stroke. he tried to make his father understand that, when he had a fine horse to drive, he should look presentable himself. the father made no reply, but two days later he took the horse to örebro and sold it. it was cruel of him. but it was plain that his father had feared that this horse might lead him into vanity and extravagance. and now, so long afterward, he had to admit that his father was right. a horse like that surely would have been a temptation. at first he had grieved terribly over his loss. many a time he had gone down to örebro, just to stand on a street corner and see the horse pass by, or to steal into the stable and give him a lump of sugar. he thought: "if i ever get the farm, the first thing i do will be to buy back my horse." now his father was gone and he himself had been master for two years, but he had not made a move toward buying the horse. he had not thought of him for ever so long, until to-night. it was strange that he should have forgotten the beast so entirely! his father had been a very headstrong, domineering man. when his son was grown and the two had worked together, the father had gained absolute power over him. the boy had come to think that everything his father did was right, and, after he became the master, he only tried to do exactly as his father would have done. he knew, of course, that folk said his father was stingy; but it was well to keep a tight hold on one's purse and not throw away money needlessly. the goods one has received should not be wasted. it was better to live on a debt-free place and be called stingy, than to carry heavy mortgages, like other farm owners. he had gone so far in his mind when he was called back by a strange sound. it was as if a shrill, mocking voice were repeating his thoughts: "it's better to keep a firm hold on one's purse and be called stingy, than to be in debt, like other farm owners." it sounded as if some one was trying to make sport of his wisdom and he was about to lose his temper, when he realized that it was all a mistake. the wind was beginning to rage, and he had been standing there getting so sleepy that he mistook the howling of the wind in the chimney for human speech. he glanced up at the wall clock, which just then struck eleven. "it's time that you were in bed," he remarked to himself. then he remembered that he had not yet gone the rounds of the farm yard, as it was his custom to do every night, to make sure that all doors were closed and all lights extinguished. this was something he had never neglected since he became master. he drew on his coat and went out in the storm. he found everything as it should be, save that the door to the empty hay shed had been blown open by the wind. he stepped inside for the key, locked the shed door and put the key into his coat pocket. then he went back to the house, removed his coat, and hung it before the fire. even now he did not retire, but began pacing the floor. the storm without, with its biting wind and snow-blended rain, was terrible, and his old horse was standing in this storm without so much as a blanket to protect him! he should at least have given his old friend a roof over his head, since he had come such a long distance. at the inn across the way the boy heard an old wall clock strike eleven times. just then he was untying the animals to lead them to the shed in the farm yard opposite. it took some time to rouse them and get them into line. when all were ready, they marched in a long procession into the stingy farmer's yard, with the boy as their guide. while the boy had been assembling them, the farmer had gone the rounds of the farm yard and locked the hay shed, so that when the animals came along the door was closed. the boy stood there dismayed. he could not let the creatures stand out there! he must go into the house and find the key. "keep them quiet out here while i go in and fetch the key!" he said to the old horse, and off he ran. on the path right in front of the house he paused to think out how he should get inside. as he stood there he noticed two little wanderers coming down the road, who stopped before the inn. the boy saw at once that they were two little girls, and ran toward them. "come now, britta maja!" said one, "you mustn't cry any more. now we are at the inn. here they will surely take us in." the girl had but just said this when the boy called to her: "no, you mustn't try to get in there. it is simply impossible. but at the farm house opposite there are no guests. go there instead." the little girls heard the words distinctly, though they could not see the one who spoke to them. they did not wonder much at that, however, for the night was as black as pitch. the larger of the girls promptly answered: "we don't care to enter that place, because those who live there are stingy and cruel. it is their fault that we two must go out on the highways and beg." "that may be so," said the boy, "but all the same you should go there. you shall see that it will be well for you." "we can try, but it is doubtful that they will even let us enter," observed the two little girls as they walked up to the house and knocked. the master was standing by the fire thinking of the horse when he heard the knocking. he stepped to the door to see what was up, thinking all the while that he would not let himself be tempted into admitting any wayfarer. as he fumbled the lock, a gust of wind came along, wrenched the door from his hand and swung it open. to close it, he had to step out on the porch, and, when he stepped back into the house, the two little girls were standing within. they were two poor beggar girls, ragged, dirty, and starving--two little tots bent under the burden of their beggar's packs, which were as large as themselves. "who are you that go prowling about at this hour of the night?" said the master gruffly. the two children did not answer immediately, but first removed their packs. then they walked up to the man and stretched forth their tiny hands in greeting. "we are anna and britta maja from the engärd," said the elder, "and we were going to ask for a night's lodging." he did not take the outstretched hands and was just about to drive out the beggar children, when a fresh recollection faced him. engärd--was not that a little cabin where a poor widow with five children had lived? the widow had owed his father a few hundred kroner and in order to get back his money he had sold her cabin. after that the widow, with her three eldest children, went to norrland to seek employment, and the two youngest became a charge on the parish. as he called this to mind he grew bitter. he knew that his father had been severely censured for squeezing out that money, which by right belonged to him. "what are you doing nowadays?" he asked in a cross tone. "didn't the board of charities take charge of you? why do you roam around and beg?" "it's not our fault," replied the larger girl. "the people with whom we are living have sent us out to beg." "well, your packs are filled," the farmer observed, "so you can't complain. now you'd better take out some of the food you have with you and eat your fill, for here you'll get no food, as all the women folk are in bed. later you may lie down in the corner by the hearth, so you won't have to freeze." he waved his hand, as if to ward them off, and his eyes took on a hard look. he was thankful that he had had a father who had been careful of his property. otherwise, he might perhaps have been forced in childhood to run about and beg, as these children now did. no sooner had he thought this out to the end than the shrill, mocking voice he had heard once before that evening repeated it, word for word. he listened, and at once understood that it was nothing--only the wind roaring in the chimney. but the queer thing about it was, when the wind repeated his thoughts, they seemed so strangely stupid and hard and false! the children meanwhile had stretched themselves, side by side, on the floor. they were not quiet, but lay there muttering. "do be still, won't you?" he growled, for he was in such an irritable mood that he could have beaten them. but the mumbling continued, and again he called for silence. "when mother went away," piped a clear little voice, "she made me promise that every night i would say my evening prayer. i must do this, and britta maja too. as soon as we have said 'god who cares for little children--' we'll be quiet." the master sat quite still while the little ones said their prayers, then he rose and began pacing back and forth, back and forth, wringing his hands all the while, as though he had met with some great sorrow. "the horse driven out and wrecked, these two children turned into road beggars--both father's doings! perhaps father did not do right after all?" he thought. he sat down again and buried his head in his hands. suddenly his lips began to quiver and into his eyes came tears, which he hastily wiped away. fresh tears came, and he was just as prompt to brush these away; but it was useless, for more followed. when his mother stepped into the room, he swung his chair quickly and turned his back to her. she must have noticed something unusual, for she stood quietly behind him a long while, as if waiting for him to speak. she realized how difficult it always is for men to talk of the things they feel most deeply. she must help him of course. from her bedroom she had observed all that had taken place in the living room, so that she did not have to ask questions. she walked very softly over to the two sleeping children, lifted them, and bore them to her own bed. then she went back to her son. "lars," she said, as if she did not see that he was weeping, "you had better let me keep these children." "what, mother?" he gasped, trying to smother the sobs. "i have been suffering for years--ever since father took the cabin from their mother, and so have you." "yes, but--" "i want to keep them here and make something of them; they are too good to beg." he could not speak, for now the tears were beyond his control; but he took his old mother's withered hand and patted it. then he jumped up, as if something had frightened him. "what would father have said of this?" "father had his day at ruling," retorted the mother. "now it is your day. as long as father lived we had to obey him. now is the time to show what you are." her son was so astonished that he ceased crying. "but i have just shown what i am!" he returned. "no, you haven't," protested the mother. "you only try to be like him. father experienced hard times, which made him fear poverty. he believed that he had to think of himself first. but you have never had any difficulties that should make you hard. you have more than you need, and it would be unnatural of you not to think of others." when the two little girls entered the house the boy slipped in behind them and secreted himself in a dark corner. he had not been there long before he caught a glimpse of the shed key, which the farmer had thrust into his coat pocket. "when the master of the house drives the children out, i'll take the key and ran," he thought. but the children were not driven out and the boy crouched in the corner, not knowing what he should do next. the mother talked long with her son, and while she was speaking he stopped weeping. gradually his features softened; he looked like another person. all the while he was stroking the wasted old hand. "now we may as well retire," said the old lady when she saw that he was calm again. "no," he said, suddenly rising, "i cannot retire yet. there's a stranger without whom i must shelter to-night!" he said nothing further, but quickly drew on his coat, lit the lantern and went out. there were the same wind and chill without, but as he stepped to the porch he began to sing softly. he wondered if the horse would know him, and if he would be glad to come back to his old stable. as he crossed the house yard he heard a door slam. "that shed door has blown open again," he thought, and went over to close it. a moment later he stood by the shed and was just going to shut the door, when he heard a rustling within. the boy, who had watched his opportunity, had run directly to the shed, where he left the animals, but they were no longer out in the rain: a strong wind had long since thrown open the door and helped them to get a roof over their heads. the patter which the master heard was occasioned by the boy running into the shed. by the light of the lantern the man could see into the shed. the whole floor was covered with sleeping cattle. there was no human being to be seen; the animals were not bound, but were lying, here and there, in the straw. he was enraged at the intrusion and began storming and shrieking to rouse the sleepers and drive them out. but the creatures lay still and would not let themselves be disturbed. the only one that rose was an old horse that came slowly toward him. all of a sudden the man became silent. he recognized the beast by its gait. he raised the lantern, and the horse came over and laid its head on his shoulder. the master patted and stroked it. "my old horsy, my old horsy!" he said. "what have they done to you? yes, dear, i'll buy you back. you'll never again have to leave this place. you shall do whatever you like, horsy mine! those whom you have brought with you may remain here, but you shall come with me to the stable. now i can give you all the oats you are able to eat, without having to smuggle them. and you're not all used up, either! the handsomest horse on the church knoll--that's what you shall be once more! there, there! there, there!" the breaking up of the ice _thursday, april twenty-eighth_. the following day the weather was clear and beautiful. there was a strong west wind; people were glad of that, for it dried up the roads, which had been soaked by the heavy rains of the day before. early in the morning the two småland children, osa, the goose girl, and little mats, were out on the highway leading from sörmland to närke. the road ran alongside the southern shore of hjälmar lake and the children were walking along looking at the ice, which covered the greater part of it. the morning sun darted its clear rays upon the ice, which did not look dark and forbidding, like most spring ice, but sparkled temptingly. as far as they could see, the ice was firm and dry. the rain had run down into cracks and hollows, or been absorbed by the ice itself. the children saw only the sound ice. osa, the goose girl, and little mats were on their way north, and they could not help thinking of all the steps they would be saved if they could cut straight across the lake instead of going around it. they knew, to be sure, that spring ice is treacherous, but this looked perfectly secure. they could see that it was several inches thick near the shore. they saw a path which they might follow, and the opposite shore appeared to be so near that they ought to be able to get there in an hour. "come, let's try!" said little mats. "if we only look before us, so that we don't go down into some hole, we can do it." so they went out on the lake. the ice was not very slippery, but rather easy to walk upon. there was more water on it than they expected to see, and here and there were cracks, where the water purled up. one had to watch out for such places; but that was easy to do in broad daylight, with the sun shining. the children advanced rapidly, and talked only of how sensible they were to have gone out on the ice instead of tramping the slushy road. when they had been walking a while they came to vin island, where an old woman had sighted them from her window. she rushed from her cabin, waved them back, and shouted something which they could not hear. they understood perfectly well that she was warning them not to come any farther; but they thought there was no immediate danger. it would be stupid for them to leave the ice when all was going so well! therefore they went on past vin island and had a stretch of seven miles of ice ahead of them. out there was so much water that the children were obliged to take roundabout ways; but that was sport to them. they vied with each other as to which could find the soundest ice. they were neither tired nor hungry. the whole day was before them, and they laughed at each obstacle they met. now and then they cast a glance ahead at the farther shore. it still appeared far away, although they had been walking a good hour. they were rather surprised that the lake was so broad. "the shore seems to be moving farther away from us," little mats observed. out there the children were not protected against the wind, which was becoming stronger and stronger every minute, and was pressing their clothing so close to their bodies that they could hardly go on. the cold wind was the first disagreeable thing they had met with on the journey. but the amazing part of it was that the wind came sweeping along with a loud roar--as if it brought with it the noise of a large mill or factory, though nothing of the kind was to be found out there on the ice. they had walked to the west of the big island, valen; now they thought they were nearing the north shore. suddenly the wind began to blow more and more, while the loud roaring increased so rapidly that they began to feel uneasy. all at once it occurred to them that the roar was caused by the foaming and rushing of the waves breaking against a shore. even this seemed improbable, since the lake was still covered with ice. at all events, they paused and looked about. they noticed far in the west a white bank which stretched clear across the lake. at first they thought it was a snowbank alongside a road. later they realized it was the foam-capped waves dashing against the ice! they took hold of hands and ran without saying a word. open sea lay beyond in the west, and suddenly the streak of foam appeared to be moving eastward. they wondered if the ice was going to break all over. what was going to happen? they felt now that they were in great danger. all at once it seemed as if the ice under their feet rose--rose and sank, as if some one from below were pushing it. presently they heard a hollow boom, and then there were cracks in the ice all around them. the children could see how they crept along under the ice-covering. the next moment all was still, then the rising and sinking began again. thereupon the cracks began to widen into crevices through which the water bubbled up. by and by the crevices became gaps. soon after that the ice was divided into large floes. "osa," said little mats, "this must be the breaking up of the ice!" "why, so it is, little mats," said osa, "but as yet we can get to land. run for your life!" as a matter of fact, the wind and waves had a good deal of work to do yet to clear the ice from the lake. the hardest part was done when the ice-cake burst into pieces, but all these pieces must be broken and hurled against each other, to be crushed, worn down, and dissolved. there was still a great deal of hard and sound ice left, which formed large, unbroken surfaces. the greatest danger for the children lay in the fact that they had no general view of the ice. they did not see the places where the gaps were so wide that they could not possibly jump over them, nor did they know where to find any floes that would hold them, so they wandered aimlessly back and forth, going farther out on the lake instead of nearer land. at last, confused and terrified, they stood still and wept. then a flock of wild geese in rapid flight came rushing by. they shrieked loudly and sharply; but the strange thing was that above the geese-cackle the little children heard these words: "you must go to the right, the right, the right!" they began at once to follow the advice; but before long they were again standing irresolute, facing another broad gap. again they heard the geese shrieking above them, and again, amid the geese-cackle, they distinguished a few words: "stand where you are! stand where you are!" the children did not say a word to each other, but obeyed and stood still. soon after that the ice-floes floated together, so that they could cross the gap. then they took hold of hands again and ran. they were afraid not only of the peril, but of the mysterious help that had come to them. soon they had to stop again, and immediately the sound of the voice reached them. "straight ahead, straight ahead!" it said. this leading continued for about half an hour; by that time they had reached ljunger point, where they left the ice and waded to shore. they were still terribly frightened, even though they were on firm land. they did not stop to look back at the lake--where the waves were pitching the ice-floes faster and faster--but ran on. when they had gone a short distance along the point, osa paused suddenly. "wait here, little mats," she said; "i have forgotten something." osa, the goose girl, went down to the strand again, where she stopped to rummage in her bag. finally she fished out a little wooden shoe, which she placed on a stone where it could be plainly seen. then she ran to little mats without once looking back. but the instant her back was turned, a big white goose shot down from the sky, like a streak of lightning, snatched the wooden shoe, and flew away with it. thumbietot and the bears the ironworks _thursday, april twenty-eighth_. when the wild geese and thumbietot had helped osa, the goose girl, and little mats across the ice, they flew into westmanland, where they alighted in a grain field to feed and rest. a strong west wind blew almost the entire day on which the wild geese travelled over the mining districts, and as soon as they attempted to direct their course northward they were buffeted toward the east. now, akka thought that smirre fox was at large in the eastern part of the province; therefore she would not fly in that direction, but turned back, time and again, struggling westward with great difficulty. at this rate the wild geese advanced very slowly, and late in the afternoon they were still in the westmanland mining districts. toward evening the wind abated suddenly, and the tired travellers hoped that they would have an interval of easy flight before sundown. then along came a violent gust of wind, which tossed the geese before it, like balls, and the boy, who was sitting comfortably, with no thought of peril, was lifted from the goose's back and hurled into space. little and light as he was, he could not fall straight to the ground in such a wind; so at first he was carried along with it, drifting down slowly and spasmodically, as a leaf falls from a tree. "why, this isn't so bad!" thought the boy as he fell. "i'm tumbling as easily as if i were only a scrap of paper. morten goosey-gander will doubtless hurry along and pick me up." the first thing the boy did when he landed was to tear off his cap and wave it, so that the big white gander should see where he was. "here am i, where are you? here am i, where are you?" he called, and was rather surprised that morten goosey-gander was not already at his side. but the big white gander was not to be seen, nor was the wild goose flock outlined against the sky. it had entirely disappeared. he thought this rather singular, but he was neither worried nor frightened. not for a second did it occur to him that folk like akka and morten goosey-gander would abandon him. the unexpected gust of wind had probably borne them along with it. as soon as they could manage to turn, they would surely come back and fetch him. but what was this? where on earth was he anyway? he had been standing gazing toward the sky for some sign of the geese, but now he happened to glance about him. he had not come down on even ground, but had dropped into a deep, wide mountain cave--or whatever it might be. it was as large as a church, with almost perpendicular walls on all four sides, and with no roof at all. on the ground were some huge rocks, between which moss and lignon-brush and dwarfed birches grew. here and there in the wall were projections, from which swung rickety ladders. at one side there was a dark passage, which apparently led far into the mountain. the boy had not been travelling over the mining districts a whole day for nothing. he comprehended at once that the big cleft had been made by the men who had mined ore in this place. "i must try and climb back to earth again," he thought, "otherwise i fear that my companions won't find me!" he was about to go over to the wall when some one seized him from behind, and he heard a gruff voice growl in his ear: "who are you?" the boy turned quickly, and, in the confusion of the moment, he thought he was facing a huge rock, covered with brownish moss. then he noticed that the rock had broad paws to walk with, a head, two eyes, and a growling mouth. he could not pull himself together to answer, nor did the big beast appear to expect it of him, for it knocked him down, rolled him back and forth with its paws, and nosed him. it seemed just about ready to swallow him, when it changed its mind and called: "brumme and mulle, come here, you cubs, and you shall have something good to eat!" a pair of frowzy cubs, as uncertain on their feet and as woolly as puppies, came tumbling along. "what have you got, mamma bear? may we see, oh, may we see?" shrieked the cubs excitedly. "oho! so i've fallen in with bears," thought the boy to himself. "now smirre fox won't have to trouble himself further to chase after me!" the mother bear pushed the boy along to the cubs. one of them nabbed him quickly and ran off with him; but he did not bite hard. he was playful and wanted to amuse himself awhile with thumbietot before eating him. the other cub was after the first one to snatch the boy for himself, and as he lumbered along he managed to tumble straight down on the head of the one that carried the boy. so the two cubs rolled over each other, biting, clawing, and snarling. during the tussle the boy got loose, ran over to the wall, and started to scale it. then both cubs scurried after him, and, nimbly scaling the cliff, they caught up with him and tossed him down on the moss, like a ball. "now i know how a poor little mousie fares when it falls into the cat's claws," thought the boy. he made several attempts to get away. he ran deep down into the old tunnel and hid behind the rocks and climbed the birches, but the cubs hunted him out, go where he would. the instant they caught him they let him go, so that he could run away again and they should have the fun of recapturing him. at last the boy got so sick and tired of it all that he threw himself down on the ground. "run away," growled the cubs, "or we'll eat you up!" "you'll have to eat me then," said the boy, "for i can't run any more." immediately both cubs rushed over to the mother bear and complained: "mamma bear, oh, mamma bear, he won't play any more." "then you must divide him evenly between you," said mother bear. when the boy heard this he was so scared that he jumped up instantly and began playing again. as it was bedtime, mother bear called to the cubs that they must come now and cuddle up to her and go to sleep. they had been having such a good time that they wished to continue their play next day; so they took the boy between them and laid their paws over him. they did not want him to move without waking them. they went to sleep immediately. the boy thought that after a while he would try to steal away. but never in all his life had he been so tumbled and tossed and hunted and rolled! and he was so tired out that he too fell asleep. by and by father bear came clambering down the mountain wall. the boy was wakened by his tearing away stone and gravel as he swung himself into the old mine. the boy was afraid to move much; but he managed to stretch himself and turn over, so that he could see the big bear. he was a frightfully coarse, huge old beast, with great paws, large, glistening tusks, and wicked little eyes! the boy could not help shuddering as he looked at this old monarch of the forest. "it smells like a human being around here," said father bear the instant he came up to mother bear, and his growl was as the rolling of thunder. "how can you imagine anything so absurd?" said mother bear without disturbing herself. "it has been settled for good and all that we are not to harm mankind any more; but if one of them were to put in an appearance here, where the cubs and i have our quarters, there wouldn't be enough left of him for you to catch even a scent of him!" father bear lay down beside mother bear. "you ought to know me well enough to understand that i don't allow anything dangerous to come near the cubs. talk, instead, of what you have been doing. i haven't seen you for a whole week!" "i've been looking about for a new residence," said father bear. "first i went over to vermland, to learn from our kinsmen at ekshärad how they fared in that country; but i had my trouble for nothing. there wasn't a bear's den left in the whole forest." "i believe the humans want the whole earth to themselves," said mother bear. "even if we leave people and cattle in peace and live solely upon lignon and insects and green things, we cannot remain unmolested in the forest! i wonder where we could move to in order to live in peace?" "we've lived comfortably for many years in this pit," observed father bear. "but i can't be content here now since the big noise-shop has been built right in our neighbourhood. lately i have been taking a look at the land east of dal river, over by garpen mountain. old mine pits are plentiful there, too, and other fine retreats. i thought it looked as if one might be fairly protected against men--" the instant father bear said this he sat up and began to sniff. "it's extraordinary that whenever i speak of human beings i catch that queer scent again," he remarked. "go and see for yourself if you don't believe me!" challenged mother bear. "i should just like to know where a human being could manage to hide down here?" the bear walked all around the cave, and nosed. finally he went back and lay down without a word. "what did i tell you?" said mother bear. "but of course you think that no one but yourself has any nose or ears!" "one can't be too careful, with such neighbours as we have," said father bear gently. then he leaped up with a roar. as luck would have it, one of the cubs had moved a paw over to nils holgersson's face and the poor little wretch could not breathe, but began to sneeze. it was impossible for mother bear to keep father bear back any longer. he pushed the young ones to right and left and caught sight of the boy before he had time to sit up. he would have swallowed him instantly if mother bear had not cast herself between them. "don't touch him! he belongs to the cubs," she said. "they have had such fun with him the whole evening that they couldn't bear to eat him up, but wanted to save him until morning." father bear pushed mother bear aside. "don't meddle with what you don't understand!" he roared. "can't you scent that human odour about him from afar? i shall eat him at once, or he will play us some mean trick." he opened his jaws again; but meanwhile the boy had had time to think, and, quick as a flash, he dug into his knapsack and brought forth some matches--his sole weapon of defence--struck one on his leather breeches, and stuck the burning match into the bear's open mouth. father bear snorted when he smelled the sulphur, and with that the flame went out. the boy was ready with another match, but, curiously enough, father bear did not repeat his attack. "can you light many of those little blue roses?" asked father bear. "i can light enough to put an end to the whole forest," replied the boy, for he thought that in this way he might be able to scare father bear. "oh, that would be no trick for me!" boasted the boy, hoping that this would make the bear respect him. "good!" exclaimed the bear. "you shall render me a service. now i'm very glad that i did not eat you!" father bear carefully took the boy between his tusks and climbed up from the pit. he did this with remarkable ease and agility, considering that he was so big and heavy. as soon as he was up, he speedily made for the woods. it was evident that father bear was created to squeeze through dense forests. the heavy body pushed through the brushwood as a boat does through the water. father bear ran along till he came to a hill at the skirt of the forest, where he could see the big noise-shop. here he lay down and placed the boy in front of him, holding him securely between his forepaws. "now look down at that big noise-shop!" he commanded. the great ironworks, with many tall buildings, stood at the edge of a waterfall. high chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, blasting furnaces were in full blaze, and light shone from all the windows and apertures. within hammers and rolling mills were going with such force that the air rang with their clatter and boom. all around the workshops proper were immense coal sheds, great slag heaps, warehouses, wood piles, and tool sheds. just beyond were long rows of workingmen's homes, pretty villas, schoolhouses, assembly halls, and shops. but there all was quiet and apparently everybody was asleep. the boy did not glance in that direction, but gazed intently at the ironworks. the earth around them was black; the sky above them was like a great fiery dome; the rapids, white with foam, rushed by; while the buildings themselves were sending out light and smoke, fire and sparks. it was the grandest sight the boy had ever seen! "surely you don't mean to say you can set fire to a place like that?" remarked the bear doubtingly. the boy stood wedged between the beast's paws thinking the only thing that might save him would be that the bear should have a high opinion of his capability and power. "it's all the same to me," he answered with a superior air. "big or little, i can burn it down." "then i'll tell you something," said father bear. "my forefathers lived in this region from the time that the forests first sprang up. from them i inherited hunting grounds and pastures, lairs and retreats, and have lived here in peace all my life. in the beginning i wasn't troubled much by the human kind. they dug in the mountains and picked up a little ore down here, by the rapids; they had a forge and a furnace, but the hammers sounded only a few hours during the day, and the furnace was not fired more than two moons at a stretch. it wasn't so bad but that i could stand it; but these last years, since they have built this noise-shop, which keeps up the same racket both day and night, life here has become intolerable. formerly only a manager and a couple of blacksmiths lived here, but now there are so many people that i can never feel safe from them. i thought that i should have to move away, but i have discovered something better!" the boy wondered what father bear had hit upon, but no opportunity was afforded him to ask, as the bear took him between his tusks again and lumbered down the hill. the boy could see nothing, but knew by the increasing noise that they were approaching the rolling mills. father bear was well informed regarding the ironworks. he had prowled around there on many a dark night, had observed what went on within, and had wondered if there would never be any cessation of the work. he had tested the walls with his paws and wished that he were only strong enough to knock down the whole structure with a single blow. he was not easily distinguishable against the dark ground, and when, in addition, he remained in the shadow of the walls, there was not much danger of his being discovered. now he walked fearlessly between the workshops and climbed to the top of a slag heap. there he sat up on his haunches, took the boy between his forepaws and held him up. "try to look into the house!" he commanded. a strong current of air was forced into a big cylinder which was suspended from the ceiling and filled with molten iron. as this current rushed into the mess of iron with an awful roar, showers of sparks of all colours spurted up in bunches, in sprays, in long clusters! they struck against the wall and came splashing down over the whole big room. father bear let the boy watch the gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was over and the flowing and sparkling red steel had been poured into ingot moulds. the boy was completely charmed by the marvellous display and almost forgot that he was imprisoned between a bear's two paws. father bear let him look into the rolling mill. he saw a workman take a short, thick bar of iron at white heat from a furnace opening and place it under a roller. when the iron came out from under the roller, it was flattened and extended. immediately another workman seized it and placed it beneath a heavier roller, which made it still longer and thinner. thus it was passed from roller to roller, squeezed and drawn out until, finally, it curled along the floor, like a long red thread. but while the first bar of iron was being pressed, a second was taken from the furnace and placed under the rollers, and when this was a little along, a third was brought. continuously fresh threads came crawling over the floor, like hissing snakes. the boy was dazzled by the iron. but he found it more splendid to watch the workmen who, dexterously and delicately, seized the glowing snakes with their tongs and forced them under the rollers. it seemed like play for them to handle the hissing iron. "i call that real man's work!" the boy remarked to himself. the bear then let the boy have a peep at the furnace and the forge, and he became more and more astonished as he saw how the blacksmiths handled iron and fire. "those men have no fear of heat and flames," he thought. the workmen were sooty and grimy. he fancied they were some sort of firefolk--that was why they could bend and mould the iron as they wished. he could not believe that they were just ordinary men, since they had such power! "they keep this up day after day, night after night," said father bear, as he dropped wearily down on the ground. "you can understand that one gets rather tired of that kind of thing. i'm mighty glad that at last i can put an end to it!" "indeed!" said the boy. "how will you go about it?" "oh, i thought that you were going to set fire to the buildings!" said father bear. "that would put an end to all this work, and i could remain in my old home." the boy was all of a shiver. so it was for this that father bear had brought him here! "if you will set fire to the noise-works, i'll promise to spare your life," said father bear. "but if you don't do it, i'll make short work of you!" the huge workshops were built of brick, and the boy was thinking to himself that father bear could command as much as he liked, it was impossible to obey him. presently he saw that it might not be impossible after all. just beyond them lay a pile of chips and shavings to which he could easily set fire, and beside it was a wood pile that almost reached the coal shed. the coal shed extended over to the workshops, and if that once caught fire, the flames would soon fly over to the roof of the iron foundry. everything combustible would burn, the walls would fall from the heat, and the machinery would be destroyed. "will you or won't you?" demanded father bear. the boy knew that he ought to answer promptly that he would not, but he also knew that then the bear's paws would squeeze him to death; therefore he replied: "i shall have to think it over." "very well, do so," assented father bear. "let me say to you that iron is the thing that has given men the advantage over us bears, which is another reason for my wishing to put an end to the work here." the boy thought he would use the delay to figure out some plan of escape, but he was so worried he could not direct his thoughts where he would; instead he began to think of the great help that iron had been to mankind. they needed iron for everything. there was iron in the plough that broke up the field, in the axe that felled the tree for building houses, in the scythe that mowed the grain, and in the knife, which could be turned to all sorts of uses. there was iron in the horse's bit, in the lock on the door, in the nails that held furniture together, in the sheathing that covered the roof. the rifle which drove away wild beasts was made of iron, also the pick that had broken up the mine. iron covered the men-of-war he had seen at karlskrona; the locomotives steamed through the country on iron rails; the needle that had stitched his coat was of iron; the shears that clipped the sheep and the kettle that cooked the food. big and little alike--much that was indispensable was made from iron. father bear was perfectly right in saying that it was the iron that had given men their mastery over the bears. "now will you or won't you?" father bear repeated. the boy was startled from his musing. here he stood thinking of matters that were entirely unnecessary, and had not yet found a way to save himself! "you mustn't be so impatient," he said. "this is a serious matter for me, and i've got to have time to consider." "well, then, consider another moment," said father bear. "but let me tell you that it's because of the iron that men have become so much wiser than we bears. for this alone, if for nothing else, i should like to put a stop to the work here." again the boy endeavoured to think out a plan of escape, but his thoughts wandered, willy nilly. they were taken up with the iron. and gradually he began to comprehend how much thinking and calculating men must have done before they discovered how to produce iron from ore, and he seemed to see sooty blacksmiths of old bending over the forge, pondering how they should properly handle it. perhaps it was because they had thought so much about the iron that intelligence had been developed in mankind, until finally they became so advanced that they were able to build great works like these. the fact was that men owed more to the iron than they themselves knew. "well, what say you? will you or won't you?" insisted father bear. the boy shrank back. here he stood thinking needless thoughts, and had no idea as to what he should do to save himself. "it's not such an easy matter to decide as you think," he answered. "you must give me time for reflection." "i can wait for you a little longer," said father bear. "but after that you'll get no more grace. you must know that it's the fault of the iron that the human kind can live here on the property of the bears. and now you understand why i would be rid of the work." the boy meant to use the last moment to think out some way to save himself, but, anxious and distraught as he was, his thoughts wandered again. now he began thinking of all that he had seen when he flew over the mining districts. it was strange that there should be so much life and activity and so much work back there in the wilderness. "just think how poor and desolate this place would be had there been no iron here! "this very foundry gave employment to many, and had gathered around it many homes filled with people, who, in turn, had attracted hither railways and telegraph wires and--" "come, come!" growled the bear. "will you or won't you?" the boy swept his hand across his forehead. no plan of escape had as yet come to his mind, but this much he knew--he did not wish to do any harm to the iron, which was so useful to rich and poor alike, and which gave bread to so many people in this land. "i won't!" he said. father bear squeezed him a little harder, but said nothing. "you'll not get me to destroy the ironworks!" defied the boy. "the iron is so great a blessing that it will never do to harm it." "then of course you don't expect to be allowed to live very long?" said the bear. "no, i don't expect it," returned the boy, looking the bear straight in the eye. father bear gripped him still harder. it hurt so that the boy could not keep the tears back, but he did not cry out or say a word. "very well, then," said father bear, raising his paw very slowly, hoping that the boy would give in at the last moment. but just then the boy heard something click very close to them, and saw the muzzle of a rifle two paces away. both he and father bear had been so engrossed in their own affairs they had not observed that a man had stolen right upon them. "father bear! don't you hear the clicking of a trigger?" cried the boy. "run, or you'll be shot!" father bear grew terribly hurried. however, he allowed himself time enough to pick up the boy and carry him along. as he ran, a couple of shots sounded, and the bullets grazed his ears, but, luckily, he escaped. the boy thought, as he was dangling from the bear's mouth, that never had he been so stupid as he was to-night. if he had only kept still, the bear would have been shot, and he himself would have been freed. but he had become so accustomed to helping the animals that he did it naturally, and as a matter of course. when father bear had run some distance into the woods, he paused and set the boy down on the ground. "thank you, little one!" he said. "i dare say those bullets would have caught me if you hadn't been there. and now i want to do you a service in return. if you should ever meet with another bear, just say to him this--which i shall whisper to you--and he won't touch you." father bear whispered a word or two into the boy's ear and hurried away, for he thought he heard hounds and hunters pursuing him. the boy stood in the forest, free and unharmed, and could hardly understand how it was possible. the wild geese had been flying back and forth the whole evening, peering and calling, but they had been unable to find thumbietot. they searched long after the sun had set, and, finally, when it had grown so dark that they were forced to alight somewhere for the night, they were very downhearted. there was not one among them but thought the boy had been killed by the fall and was lying dead in the forest, where they could not see him. but the next morning, when the sun peeped over the hills and awakened the wild geese, the boy lay sleeping, as usual, in their midst. when he woke and heard them shrieking and cackling their astonishment, he could not help laughing. they were so eager to know what had happened to him that they did not care to go to breakfast until he had told them the whole story. the boy soon narrated his entire adventure with the bears, but after that he seemed reluctant to continue. "how i got back to you perhaps you already know?" he said. "no, we know nothing. we thought you were killed." "that's curious!" remarked the boy. "oh, yes!--when father bear left me i climbed up into a pine and fell asleep. at daybreak i was awakened by an eagle hovering over me. he picked me up with his talons and carried me away. he didn't hurt me, but flew straight here to you and dropped me down among you." "didn't he tell you who he was?" asked the big white gander. "he was gone before i had time even to thank him. i thought that mother akka had sent him after me." "how extraordinary!" exclaimed the white goosey-gander. "but are you certain that it was an eagle?" "i had never before seen an eagle," said the boy, "but he was so big and splendid that i can't give him a lowlier name!" morten goosey-gander turned to the wild geese to hear what they thought of this; but they stood gazing into the air, as though they were thinking of something else. "we must not forget entirely to eat breakfast today," said akka, quickly spreading her wings. the flood the swans _may first to fourth_. there was a terrible storm raging in the district north of lake mälar, which lasted several days. the sky was a dull gray, the wind whistled, and the rain beat. both people and animals knew the spring could not be ushered in with anything short of this; nevertheless they thought it unbearable. after it had been raining for a whole day, the snowdrifts in the pine forests began to melt in earnest, and the spring brooks grew lively. all the pools on the farms, the standing water in the ditches, the water that oozed between the tufts in marshes and swamps--all were in motion and tried to find their way to creeks, that they might be borne along to the sea. the creeks rushed as fast as possible down to the rivers, and the rivers did their utmost to carry the water to lake mälar. all the lakes and rivers in uppland and the mining district quickly threw off their ice covers on one and the same day, so that the creeks filled with ice-floes which rose clear up to their banks. swollen as they were, they emptied into lake mälar, and it was not long before the lake had taken in as much water as it could well hold. down by the outlet was a raging torrent. norrström is a narrow channel, and it could not let out the water quickly enough. besides, there was a strong easterly wind that lashed against the land, obstructing the stream when it tried to carry the fresh water into the east sea. since the rivers kept running to mälaren with more water than it could dispose of, there was nothing for the big lake to do but overflow its banks. it rose very slowly, as if reluctant to injure its beautiful shores; but as they were mostly low and gradually sloping, it was not long before the water had flooded several acres of land, and that was enough to create the greatest alarm. lake mälar is unique in its way, being made up of a succession of narrow fiords, bays, and inlets. in no place does it spread into a storm centre, but seems to have been created only for pleasure trips, yachting tours, and fishing. nowhere does it present barren, desolate, wind-swept shores. it looks as if it never thought that its shores could hold anything but country seats, summer villas, manors, and amusement resorts. but, because it usually presents a very agreeable and friendly appearance, there is all the more havoc whenever it happens to drop its smiling expression in the spring, and show that it can be serious. at that critical time smirre fox happened to come sneaking through a birch grove just north of lake mälar. as usual, he was thinking of thumbietot and the wild geese, and wondering how he should ever find them again. he had lost all track of them. as he stole cautiously along, more discouraged than usual, he caught sight of agar, the carrier-pigeon, who had perched herself on a birch branch. "my, but i'm in luck to run across you, agar!" exclaimed smirre. "maybe you can tell me where akka from kebnekaise and her flock hold forth nowadays?" "it's quite possible that i know where they are," agar hinted, "but i'm not likely to tell you!" "please yourself!" retorted smirre. "nevertheless, you can take a message that i have for them. you probably know the present condition of lake mälar? there's a great overflow down there and all the swans who live in hjälsta bay are about to see their nests, with all their eggs, destroyed. daylight, the swan-king, has heard of the midget who travels with the wild geese and knows a remedy for every ill. he has sent me to ask akka if she will bring thumbietot down to hjälsta bay." "i dare say i can convey your message," agar replied, "but i can't understand how the little boy will be able to help the swans." "nor do i," said smirre, "but he can do almost everything, it seems." "it's surprising to me that daylight should send his messages by a fox," agar remarked. "well, we're not exactly what you'd call good friends," said smirre smoothly, "but in an emergency like this we must help each other. perhaps it would be just as well not to tell akka that you got the message from a fox. between you and me, she's inclined to be a little suspicious." the safest refuge for water-fowl in the whole mälar district is hjälsta bay. it has low shores, shallow water and is also covered with reeds. it is by no means as large as lake tåkern, but nevertheless hjälsta is a good retreat for birds, since it has long been forbidden territory to hunters. it is the home of a great many swans, and the owner of the old castle nearby has prohibited all shooting on the bay, so that they might be unmolested. as soon as akka received word that the swans needed her help, she hastened down to hjälsta bay. she arrived with her flock one evening and saw at a glance that there had been a great disaster. the big swans' nests had been torn away, and the strong wind was driving them down the bay. some had already fallen apart, two or three had capsized, and the eggs lay at the bottom of the lake. when akka alighted on the bay, all the swans living there were gathered near the eastern shore, where they were protected from the wind. although they had suffered much by the flood, they were too proud to let any one see it. "it is useless to cry," they said. "there are plenty of root-fibres and stems here; we can soon build new nests." none had thought of asking a stranger to help them, and the swans had no idea that smirre fox had sent for the wild geese! there were several hundred swans resting on the water. they had placed themselves according to rank and station. the young and inexperienced were farthest out, the old and wise nearer the middle of the group, and right in the centre sat daylight, the swan-king, and snow-white, the swan-queen, who were older than any of the others and regarded the rest of the swans as their children. the geese alighted on the west shore of the bay; but when akka saw where the swans were, she swam toward them at once. she was very much surprised at their having sent for her, but she regarded it as an honour and did not wish to lose a moment in coming to their aid. as akka approached the swans she paused to see if the geese who followed her swam in a straight line, and at even distances apart. "now, swim along quickly!" she ordered. "don't stare at the swans as if you had never before seen anything beautiful, and don't mind what they may say to you!" this was not the first time that akka had called on the aristocratic swans. they had always received her in a manner befitting a great traveller like herself. but still she did not like the idea of swimming in among them. she never felt so gray and insignificant as when she happened upon swans. one or another of them was sure to drop a remark about "common gray-feathers" and "poor folk." but it is always best to take no notice of such things. this time everything passed off uncommonly well. the swans politely made way for the wild geese, who swam forward through a kind of passageway, which formed an avenue bordered by shimmering, white birds. it was a beautiful sight to watch them as they spread their wings, like sails, to appear well before the strangers. they refrained from making comments, which rather surprised akka. evidently daylight had noted their misbehaviour in the past and had told the swans that they must conduct themselves in a proper manner--so thought the leader-goose. but just as the swans were making an effort to observe the rules of etiquette, they caught sight of the goosey-gander, who swam last in the long goose-line. then there was a murmur of disapproval, even of threats, among the swans, and at once there was an end to their good deportment! "what's this?" shrieked one. "do the wild geese intend to dress up in white feathers?" "they needn't think that will make swans of them," cried another. they began shrieking--one louder than another--in their strong, resonant voices. it was impossible to explain that a tame goosey-gander had come with the wild geese. "that must be the goose-king himself coming along," they said tauntingly. "there's no limit to their audacity!" "that's no goose, it's only a tame duck." the big white gander remembered akka's admonition to pay no attention, no matter what he might hear. he kept quiet and swam ahead as fast he could, but it did no good. the swans became more and more impertinent. "what kind of a frog does he carry on his back?" asked one. "they must think we don't see it's a frog because it is dressed like a human being." the swans, who but a moment before had been resting in such perfect order, now swam up and down excitedly. all tried to crowd forward to get a glimpse of the white wild goose. "that white goosey-gander ought to be ashamed to come here and parade before swans!" "he's probably as gray as the rest of them. he has only been in a flour barrel at some farm house!" akka had just come up to daylight and was about to ask him what kind of help he wanted of her, when the swan-king noticed the uproar among the swans. "what do i see? haven't i taught you to be polite to strangers?" he said with a frown. snow-white, the swan-queen, swam out to restore order among her subjects, and again daylight turned to akka. presently snow-white came back, appearing greatly agitated. "can't you keep them quiet?" shouted daylight. "there's a white wild goose over there," answered snow-white. "is it not shameful? i don't wonder they are furious!" "a white wild goose?" scoffed daylight. "that's too ridiculous! there can't be such a thing. you must be mistaken." the crowds around morten goosey-gander grew larger and larger. akka and the other wild geese tried to swim over to him, but were jostled hither and thither and could not get to him. the old swan-king, who was the strongest among them, swam off quickly, pushed all the others aside, and made his way over to the big white gander. but when he saw that there really was a white goose on the water, he was just as indignant as the rest. he hissed with rage, flew straight at morten goosey-gander and tore out a few feathers. "i'll teach you a lesson, wild goose," he shrieked, "so that you'll not come again to the swans, togged out in this way!" "fly, morten goosey-gander! fly, fly!" cried akka, for she knew that otherwise the swans would pull out every feather the goosey-gander had. "fly, fly!" screamed thumbietot, too. but the goosey-gander was so hedged in by the swans that he had not room enough to spread his wings. all around him the swans stretched their long necks, opened their strong bills, and plucked his feathers. morten goosey-gander defended himself as best he could, by striking and biting. the wild geese also began to fight the swans. it was obvious how this would have ended had the geese not received help quite unexpectedly. a red-tail noticed that they were being roughly treated by the swans. instantly he cried out the shrill call that little birds use when they need help to drive off a hawk or a falcon. three calls had barely sounded when all the little birds in the vicinity came shooting down to hjälsta bay, as if on wings of lightning. these delicate little creatures swooped down upon the swans, screeched in their ears, and obstructed their view with the flutter of their tiny wings. they made them dizzy with their fluttering and drove them to distraction with their cries of "shame, shame, swans!" the attack of the small birds lasted but a moment. when they were gone and the swans came to their senses, they saw that the geese had risen and flown over to the other end of the bay. the new watch-dog there was this at least to be said in the swans' favour--when they saw that the wild geese had escaped, they were too proud to chase them. moreover, the geese could stand on a clump of reeds with perfect composure, and sleep. nils holgersson was too hungry to sleep. "it is necessary for me to get something to eat," he said. at that time, when all kinds of things were floating on the water, it was not difficult for a little boy like nils holgersson to find a craft. he did not stop to deliberate, but hopped down on a stump that had drifted in amongst the reeds. then he picked up a little stick and began to pole toward shore. just as he was landing, he heard a splash in the water. he stopped short. first he saw a lady swan asleep in her big nest quite close to him, then he noticed that a fox had taken a few steps into the water and was sneaking up to the swan's nest. "hi, hi, hi! get up, get up!" cried the boy, beating the water with his stick. the lady swan rose, but not so quickly but that the fox could have pounced upon her had he cared to. however, he refrained and instead hurried straight toward the boy. thumbietot saw the fox coming and ran for his life. wide stretches of meadow land spread before him. he saw no tree that he could climb, no hole where he might hide; he just had to keep running. the boy was a good runner, but it stands to reason that he could not race with a fox! not far from the bay there were a number of little cabins, with candle lights shining through the windows. naturally the boy ran in that direction, but he realized that long before he could reach the nearest cabin the fox would catch up to him. once the fox was so close that it looked as if the boy would surely be his prey, but nils quickly sprang aside and turned back toward the bay. by that move the fox lost time, and before he could reach the boy the latter had run up to two men who were on their way home from work. the men were tired and sleepy; they had noticed neither boy nor fox, although both had been running right in front of them. nor did the boy ask help of the men; he was content to walk close beside them. "surely the fox won't venture to come up to the men," he thought. but presently the fox came pattering along. he probably counted on the men taking him for a dog, for he went straight up to them. "whose dog can that be sneaking around here?" queried one. "he looks as though he were ready to bite." the other paused and glanced back. "go along with you!" he said, and gave the fox a kick that sent it to the opposite side of the road. "what are you doing here?" after that the fox kept at a safe distance, but followed all the while. presently the men reached a cabin and entered it. the boy intended to go in with them; but when he got to the stoop he saw a big, shaggy watch-dog rush out from his kennel to greet his master. suddenly the boy changed his mind and remained out in the open. "listen, watch-dog!" whispered the boy as soon as the men had shut the door. "i wonder if you would like to help me catch a fox to-night?" the dog had poor eyesight and had become irritable and cranky from being chained. "what, i catch a fox?" he barked angrily. "who are you that makes fun of me? you just come within my reach and i'll teach you not to fool with me!" "you needn't think that i'm afraid to come near you!" said the boy, running up to the dog. when the dog saw him he was so astonished that he could not speak. "i'm the one they call thumbietot, who travels with the wild geese," said the boy, introducing himself. "haven't you heard of me?" "i believe the sparrows have twittered a little about you," the dog returned. "they say that you have done wonderful things for one of your size." "i've been rather lucky up to the present," admitted the boy. "but now it's all up with me unless you help me! there's a fox at my heels. he's lying in wait for me around the corner." "don't you suppose i can smell him?" retorted the dog. "but we'll soon be rid of him!" with that the dog sprang as far as the chain would allow, barking and growling for ever so long. "now i don't think he will show his face again to-night!" said the dog. "it will take something besides a fine bark to scare that fox!" the boy remarked. "he'll soon be here again, and that is precisely what i wish, for i have set my heart on your catching him." "are you poking fun at me now?" asked the dog. "only come with me into your kennel, and i'll tell you what to do." the boy and the watch-dog crept into the kennel and crouched there, whispering. by and by the fox stuck his nose out from his hiding place. when all was quiet he crept along cautiously. he scented the boy all the way to the kennel, but halted at a safe distance and sat down to think of some way to coax him out. suddenly the watch-dog poked his head out and growled at him: "go away, or i'll catch you!" "i'll sit here as long as i please for all of you!" defied the fox. "go away!" repeated the dog threateningly, "or there will be no more hunting for you after to-night." but the fox only grinned and did not move an inch. "i know how far your chain can reach," he said. "i have warned you twice," said the dog, coming out from his kennel. "now blame yourself!" with that the dog sprang at the fox and caught him without the least effort, for he was loose. the boy had unbuckled his collar. there was a hot struggle, but it was soon over. the dog was the victor. the fox lay on the ground and dared not move. "don't stir or i'll kill you!" snarled the dog. then he took the fox by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the kennel. there the boy was ready with the chain. he placed the dog collar around the neck of the fox, tightening it so that he was securely chained. during all this the fox had to lie still, for he was afraid to move. "now, smirre fox, i hope you'll make a good watch-dog," laughed the boy when he had finished. dunfin the city that floats on the water _friday, may sixth_. no one could be more gentle and kind than the little gray goose dunfin. all the wild geese loved her, and the tame white goosey-gander would have died for her. when dunfin asked for anything not even akka could say no. as soon as dunfin came to lake mälar the landscape looked familiar to her. just beyond the lake lay the sea, with many wooded islands, and there, on a little islet, lived her parents and her brothers and sisters. she begged the wild geese to fly to her home before travelling farther north, that she might let her family see that she was still alive. it would be such a joy to them. akka frankly declared that she thought dunfin's parents and brothers and sisters had shown no great love for her when they abandoned her at öland, but dunfin would not admit that akka was in the right. "what else was there to do, when they saw that i could not fly?" she protested. "surely they couldn't remain at öland on my account!" dunfin began telling the wild geese all about her home in the archipelago, to try to induce them to make the trip. her family lived on a rock island. seen from a distance, there appeared to be nothing but stone there; but when one came closer, there were to be found the choicest goose tidbits in clefts and hollows, and one might search long for better nesting places than those that were hidden in the mountain crevices or among the osier bushes. but the best of all was the old fisherman who lived there. dunfin had heard that in his youth he had been a great shot and had always lain in the offing and hunted birds. but now, in his old age--since his wife had died and the children had gone from home, so that he was alone in the hut--he had begun to care for the birds on his island. he never fired a shot at them, nor would he permit others to do so. he walked around amongst the birds' nests, and when the mother birds were sitting he brought them food. not one was afraid of him. they all loved him. dunfin had been in his hut many times, and he had fed her with bread crumbs. because he was kind to the birds, they flocked to his island in such great numbers that it was becoming overcrowded. if one happened to arrive a little late in the spring, all the nesting places were occupied. that was why dunfin's family had been obliged to leave her. dunfin begged so hard that she finally had her way, although the wild geese felt that they were losing time and really should be going straight north. but a little trip like this to the cliff island would not delay them more than a day. so they started off one morning, after fortifying themselves with a good breakfast, and flew eastward over lake mälar. the boy did not know for certain where they were going; but he noticed that the farther east they flew, the livelier it was on the lake and the more built up were the shores. heavily freighted barges and sloops, boats and fishing smacks were on their way east, and these were met and passed by many pretty white steamers. along the shores ran country roads and railway tracks--all in the same direction. there was some place beyond in the east where all wished to go to in the morning. on one of the islands the boy saw a big, white castle, and to the east of it the shores were dotted with villas. at the start these lay far apart, then they became closer and closer, and, presently, the whole shore was lined with them. they were of every variety--here a castle, there a cottage; then a low manor house appeared, or a mansion, with many small towers. some stood in gardens, but most of them were in the wild woods which bordered the shores. despite their dissimilarity, they had one point of resemblance--they were not plain and sombre-looking, like other buildings, but were gaudily painted in striking greens and blues, reds and white, like children's playhouses. as the boy sat on the goose's back and glanced down at the curious shore mansions, dunfin cried out with delight: "now i know where i am! over there lies the city that floats on the water." the boy looked ahead. at first he saw nothing but some light clouds and mists rolling forward over the water, but soon he caught sight of some tall spires, and then one and another house with many rows of windows. they appeared and disappeared--rolling hither and thither--but not a strip of shore did he see! everything over there appeared to be resting on the water. nearer to the city he saw no more pretty playhouses along the shores--only dingy factories. great heaps of coal and wood were stacked behind tall planks, and alongside black, sooty docks lay bulky freight steamers; but over all was spread a shimmering, transparent mist, which made everything appear so big and strong and wonderful that it was almost beautiful. the wild geese flew past factories and freight steamers and were nearing the cloud-enveloped spires. suddenly all the mists sank to the water, save the thin, fleecy ones that circled above their heads, beautifully tinted in blues and pinks. the other clouds rolled over water and land. they entirely obscured the lower portions of the houses: only the upper stories and the roofs and gables were visible. some of the buildings appeared to be as high as the tower of babel. the boy no doubt knew that they were built upon hills and mountains, but these he did not see--only the houses that seemed to float among the white, drifting clouds. in reality the buildings were dark and dingy, for the sun in the east was not shining on them. the boy knew that he was riding above a large city, for he saw spires and house roofs rising from the clouds in every direction. sometimes an opening was made in the circling mists, and he looked down into a running, tortuous stream; but no land could he see. all this was beautiful to look upon, but he felt quite distraught--as one does when happening upon something one cannot understand. when he had gone beyond the city, he found that the ground was no longer hidden by clouds, but that shores, streams, and islands were again plainly visible. he turned to see the city better, but could not, for now it looked quite enchanted. the mists had taken on colour from the sunshine and were rolling forward in the most brilliant reds, blues, and yellows. the houses were white, as if built of light, and the windows and spires sparkled like fire. all things floated on the water as before. the geese were travelling straight east. they flew over factories and workshops; then over mansions edging the shores. steamboats and tugs swarmed on the water; but now they came from the east and were steaming westward toward the city. the wild geese flew on, but instead of the narrow mälar fiords and the little islands, broader waters and larger islands spread under them. at last the land was left behind and seen no more. they flew still farther out, where they found no more large inhabited islands--only numberless little rock islands were scattered on the water. now the fiords were not crowded by the land. the sea lay before them, vast and limitless. here the wild geese alighted on a cliff island, and as soon as their feet touched the ground the boy turned to dunfin. "what city did we fly over just now?" he asked. "i don't know what human beings have named it," said dunfin. "we gray geese call it the 'city that floats on the water'." the sisters dunfin had two sisters, prettywing and goldeye. they were strong and intelligent birds, but they did not have such a soft and shiny feather dress as dunfin, nor did they have her sweet and gentle disposition. from the time they had been little, yellow goslings, their parents and relatives and even the old fisherman had plainly shown them that they thought more of dunfin than of them. therefore the sisters had always hated her. when the wild geese landed on the cliff island, prettywing and goldeye were feeding on a bit of grass close to the strand, and immediately caught sight of the strangers. "see, sister goldeye, what fine-looking geese have come to our island!" exclaimed prettywing, "i have rarely seen such graceful birds. do you notice that they have a white goosey-gander among them? did you ever set eyes on a handsomer bird? one could almost take him for a swan!" goldeye agreed with her sister that these were certainly very distinguished strangers that had come to the island, but suddenly she broke off and called: "sister prettywing! oh, sister prettywing! don't you see whom they bring with them?" prettywing also caught sight of dunfin and was so astounded that she stood for a long time with her bill wide open, and only hissed. "it can't be possible that it is she! how did she manage to get in with people of that class? why, we left her at öland to freeze and starve." "the worse of it is she will tattle to father and mother that we flew so close to her that we knocked her wing out of joint," said goldeye. "you'll see that it will end in our being driven from the island!" "we have nothing but trouble in store for us, now that that young one has come back!" snapped prettywing. "still i think it would be best for us to appear as pleased as possible over her return. she is so stupid that perhaps she didn't even notice that we gave her a push on purpose." while prettywing and goldeye were talking in this strain, the wild geese had been standing on the strand, pluming their feathers after the flight. now they marched in a long line up the rocky shore to the cleft where dunfin's parents usually stopped. dunfin's parents were good folk. they had lived on the island longer than any one else, and it was their habit to counsel and aid all newcomers. they too had seen the geese approach, but they had not recognized dunfin in the flock. "it is strange to see wild geese land on this island," remarked the goose-master. "it is a fine flock--that one can see by their flight." "but it won't be easy to find pasturage for so many," said the goose-wife, who was gentle and sweet-tempered, like dunfin. when akka came marching with her company, dunfin's parents went out to meet her and welcome her to the island. dunfin flew from her place at the end of the line and lit between her parents. "mother and father, i'm here at last!" she cried joyously. "don't you know dunfin?" at first the old goose-parents could not quite make out what they saw, but when they recognized dunfin they were absurdly happy, of course. while the wild geese and morten goosey-gander and dunfin were chattering excitedly, trying to tell how she had been rescued, prettywing and goldeye came running. they cried "_welcome"_ and pretended to be so happy because dunfin was at home that she was deeply moved. the wild geese fared well on the island and decided not to travel farther until the following morning. after a while the sisters asked dunfin if she would come with them and see the places where they intended to build their nests. she promptly accompanied them, and saw that they had picked out secluded and well protected nesting places. "now where will you settle down, dunfin?" they asked. "i? why i don't intend to remain on the island," she said. "i'm going with the wild geese up to lapland." "what a pity that you must leave us!" said the sisters. "i should have been very glad to remain here with father and mother and you," said dunfin, "had i not promised the big, white--" "what!" shrieked prettywing. "are you to have the handsome goosey-gander? then it is--" but here goldeye gave her a sharp nudge, and she stopped short. the two cruel sisters had much to talk about all the afternoon. they were furious because dunfin had a suitor like the white goosey-gander. they themselves had suitors, but theirs were only common gray geese, and, since they had seen morten goosey-gander, they thought them so homely and low-bred that they did not wish even to look at them. "this will grieve me to death!" whimpered goldeye. "if at least it had been you, sister prettywing, who had captured him!" "i would rather see him dead than to go about here the entire summer thinking of dunfin's capturing a white goosey-gander!" pouted prettywing. however, the sisters continued to appear very friendly toward dunfin, and in the afternoon goldeye took dunfin with her, that she might see the one she thought of marrying. "he's not as attractive as the one you will have," said goldeye. "but to make up for it, one can be certain that he is what he is." "what do you mean, goldeye?" questioned dunfin. at first goldeye would not explain what she had meant, but at last she came out with it. "we have never seen a white goose travel with wild geese," said the sister, "and we wonder if he can be bewitched." "you are very stupid," retorted dunfin indignantly. "he is a tame goose, of course." "he brings with him one who is bewitched," said goldeye, "and, under the circumstances, he too must be bewitched. are you not afraid that he may be a black cormorant?" she was a good talker and succeeded in frightening dunfin thoroughly. "you don't mean what you are saying," pleaded the little gray goose. "you only wish to frighten me!" "i wish what is for your good, dunfin," said goldeye. "i can't imagine anything worse than for you to fly away with a black cormorant! but now i shall tell you something--try to persuade him to eat some of the roots i have gathered here. if he is bewitched, it will be apparent at once. if he is not, he will remain as he is." the boy was sitting amongst the wild geese, listening to akka and the old goose-master, when dunfin came flying up to him. "thumbietot, thumbietot!" she cried. "morten goosey-gander is dying! i have killed him!" "let me get up on your back, dunfin, and take me to him!" away they flew, and akka and the other wild geese followed them. when they got to the goosey-gander, he was lying prostrate on the ground. he could not utter a word--only gasped for breath. "tickle him under the gorge and slap him on the back!" commanded akka. the boy did so and presently the big, white gander coughed up a large, white root, which had stuck in his gorge. "have you been eating of these?" asked akka, pointing to some roots that lay on the ground. "yes," groaned the goosey-gander. "then it was well they stuck in your throat," said akka, "for they are poisonous. had you swallowed them, you certainly should have died." "dunfin bade me eat them," said the goosey-gander. "my sister gave them to me," protested dunfin, and she told everything. "you must beware of those sisters of yours, dunfin!" warned akka, "for they wish you no good, depend upon it!" but dunfin was so constituted that she could not think evil of any one and, a moment later, when prettywing asked her to come and meet her intended, she went with her immediately. "oh, he isn't as handsome as yours," said the sister, "but he's much more courageous and daring!" "how do you know he is?" challenged dunfin. "for some time past there has been weeping and wailing amongst the sea gulls and wild ducks on the island. every morning at daybreak a strange bird of prey comes and carries off one of them." "what kind of a bird is it?" asked dunfin. "we don't know," replied the sister. "one of his kind has never before been seen on the island, and, strange to say, he has never attacked one of us geese. but now my intended has made up his mind to challenge him to-morrow morning, and drive him away." "oh, i hope he'll succeed!" said dunfin. "i hardly think he will," returned the sister. "if my goosey-gander were as big and strong as yours, i should have hope." "do you wish me to ask morten goosey-gander to meet the strange bird?" asked dunfin. "indeed, i do!" exclaimed prettywing excitedly. "you couldn't render me a greater service." the next morning the goosey-gander was up before the sun. he stationed himself on the highest point of the island and peered in all directions. presently he saw a big, dark bird coming from the west. his wings were exceedingly large, and it was easy to tell that he was an eagle. the goosey-gander had not expected a more dangerous adversary than an owl, and how he understood that he could not escape this encounter with his life. but it did not occur to him to avoid a struggle with a bird who was many times stronger than himself. the great bird swooped down on a sea gull and dug his talons into it. before the eagle could spread his wings, morten goosey-gander rushed up to him. "drop that!" he shouted, "and don't come here again or you'll have me to deal with!" "what kind of a lunatic are you?" said the eagle. "it's lucky for you that i never fight with geese, or you would soon be done for!" morten goosey-gander thought the eagle considered himself too good to fight with him and flew at him, incensed, biting him on the throat and beating him with his wings. this, naturally, the eagle would not tolerate and he began to fight, but not with his full strength. the boy lay sleeping in the quarters where akka and the other wild geese slept, when dunfin called: "thumbietot, thumbietot! morten goosey-gander is being torn to pieces by an eagle." "let me get up on your back, dunfin, and take me to him!" said the boy. when they arrived on the scene morten goosey-gander was badly torn, and bleeding, but he was still fighting. the boy could not battle with the eagle; all that he could do was to seek more efficient help. "hurry, dunfin, and call akka and the wild geese!" he cried. the instant he said that, the eagle flew back and stopped fighting. "who's speaking of akka?" he asked. he saw thumbietot and heard the wild geese honking, so he spread his wings. "tell akka i never expected to run across her or any of her flock out here in the sea!" he said, and soared away in a rapid and graceful flight. "that is the self-same eagle who once brought me back to the wild geese," the boy remarked, gazing after the bird in astonishment. the geese had decided to leave the island at dawn, but first they wanted to feed awhile. as they walked about and nibbled, a mountain duck came up to dunfin. "i have a message for you from your sisters," said the duck. "they dare not show themselves among the wild geese, but they asked me to remind you not to leave the island without calling on the old fisherman." "that's so!" exclaimed dunfin, but she was so frightened now that she would not go alone, and asked the goosey-gander and thumbietot to accompany her to the hut. the door was open, so dunfin entered, but the others remained outside. after a moment they heard akka give the signal to start, and called dunfin. a gray goose came out and flew with the wild geese away from the island. they had travelled quite a distance along the archipelago when the boy began to wonder at the goose who accompanied them. dunfin always flew lightly and noiselessly, but this one laboured with heavy and noisy wing-strokes. "we are in the wrong company. it is prettywing that follows us!" the boy had barely spoken when the goose uttered such an ugly and angry shriek that all knew who she was. akka and the others turned to her, but the gray goose did not fly away at once. instead she bumped against the big goosey-gander, snatched thumbietot, and flew off with him in her bill. there was a wild chase over the archipelago. prettywing flew fast, but the wild geese were close behind her, and there was no chance for her to escape. suddenly they saw a puff of smoke rise up from the sea, and heard an explosion. in their excitement they had not noticed that they were directly above a boat in which a lone fisherman was seated. however, none of the geese was hurt; but just there, above the boat, prettywing opened her bill and dropped thumbietot into the sea. stockholm skansen a few years ago, at skansen--the great park just outside of stockholm where they have collected so many wonderful things--there lived a little old man, named clement larsson. he was from hälsingland and had come to skansen with his fiddle to play folk dances and other old melodies. as a performer, he appeared mostly in the evening. during the day it was his business to sit on guard in one of the many pretty peasant cottages which have been moved to skansen from all parts of the country. in the beginning clement thought that he fared better in his old age than he had ever dared dream; but after a time he began to dislike the place terribly, especially while he was on watch duty. it was all very well when visitors came into the cottage to look around, but some days clement would sit for many hours all alone. then he felt so homesick that he feared he would have to give up his place. he was very poor and knew that at home he would become a charge on the parish. therefore he tried to hold out as long as he could, although he felt more unhappy from day to day. one beautiful evening in the beginning of may clement had been granted a few hours' leave of absence. he was on his way down the steep hill leading out of skansen, when he met an island fisherman coming along with his game bag. the fisherman was an active young man who came to skansen with seafowl that he had managed to capture alive. clement had met him before, many times. the fisherman stopped clement to ask if the superintendent at skansen was at home. when clement had replied, he, in turn, asked what choice thing the fisherman had in his bag. "you can see what i have," the fisherman answered, "if in return you will give me an idea as to what i should ask for it." he held open the bag and clement peeped into it once--and again--then quickly drew back a step or two. "good gracious, ashbjörn!" he exclaimed. "how did you catch that one?" he remembered that when he was a child his mother used to talk of the tiny folk who lived under the cabin floor. he was not permitted to cry or to be naughty, lest he provoke these small people. after he was grown he believed his mother had made up these stories about the elves to make him behave himself. but it had been no invention of his mother's, it seemed; for there, in ashbjörn's bag, lay one of the tiny folk. there was a little of the terror natural to childhood left in clement, and he felt a shudder run down his spinal column as he peeped into the bag. ashbjörn saw that he was frightened and began to laugh; but clement took the matter seriously. "tell me, ashbjörn, where you came across him?" he asked. "you may be sure that i wasn't lying in wait for him!" said ashbjörn. "he came to me. i started out early this morning and took my rifle along into the boat. i had just poled away from the shore when i sighted some wild geese coming from the east, shrieking like mad. i sent them a shot, but hit none of them. instead this creature came tumbling down into the water--so close to the boat that i only had to put my hand out and pick him up." "i hope you didn't shoot him, ashbjörn?" "oh, no! he is well and sound; but when he came down, he was a little dazed at first, so i took advantage of that fact to wind the ends of two sail threads around his ankles and wrists, so that he couldn't run away. 'ha! here's something for skansen,' i thought instantly." clement grew strangely troubled as the fisherman talked. all that he had heard about the tiny folk in his childhood--of their vindictiveness toward enemies and their benevolence toward friends--came back to him. it had never gone well with those who had attempted to hold one of them captive. "you should have let him go at once, ashbjörn," said clement. "i came precious near being forced to set him free," returned the fisherman. "you may as well know, clement, that the wild geese followed me all the way home, and they criss-crossed over the island the whole morning, honk-honking as if they wanted him back. not only they, but the entire population--sea gulls, sea swallows, and many others who are not worth a shot of powder, alighted on the island and made an awful racket. when i came out they fluttered about me until i had to turn back. my wife begged me to let him go, but i had made up my mind that he should come here to skansen, so i placed one of the children's dolls in the window, hid the midget in the bottom of my bag, and started away. the birds must have fancied that it was he who stood in the window, for they permitted me to leave without pursuing me." "does it say anything?" asked clement. "yes. at first he tried to call to the birds, but i wouldn't have it and put a gag in his mouth." "oh, ashbjörn!" protested clement. "how can you treat him so! don't you see that he is something supernatural!" "i don't know what he is," said ashbjörn calmly. "let others consider that. i'm satisfied if only i can get a good sum for him. now tell me, clement, what you think the doctor at skansen would give me." there was a long pause before clement replied. he felt very sorry for the poor little chap. he actually imagined that his mother was standing beside him telling him that he must always be kind to the tiny folk. "i have no idea what the doctor up there would care to give you, ashbjörn," he said finally. "but if you will leave him with me, i'll pay you twenty kroner for him." ashbjörn stared at the fiddler in amazement when he heard him name so large a sum. he thought that clement believed the midget had some mysterious power and might be of service for him. he was by no means certain that the doctor would think him such a great find or would offer to pay so high a sum for him; so he accepted clement's proffer. the fiddler poked his purchase into one of his wide pockets, turned back to skansen, and went into a moss-covered hut, where there were neither visitors nor guards. he closed the door after him, took out the midget, who was still bound hand and foot and gagged, and laid him down gently on a bench. "now listen to what i say!" said clement. "i know of course that such as you do not like to be seen of men, but prefer to go about and busy yourselves in your own way. therefore i have decided to give you your liberty--but only on condition that you will remain in this park until i permit you to leave. if you agree to this, nod your head three times." clement gazed at the midget with confident expectation, but the latter did not move a muscle. "you shall not fare badly," continued clement. "i'll see to it that you are fed every day, and you will have so much to do there that the time will not seem long to you. but you mustn't go elsewhere till i give you leave. now we'll agree as to a signal. so long as i set your food out in a white bowl you are to stay. when i set it out in a blue one you may go." clement paused again, expecting the midget to give the sign of approval, but he did not stir. "very well," said clement, "then there's no choice but to show you to the master of this place. then you'll be put in a glass case, and all the people in the big city of stockholm will come and stare at you." this scared the midget, and he promptly gave the signal. "that was right," said clement as he cut the cord that bound the midget's hands. then he hurried toward the door. the boy unloosed the bands around his ankles and tore away the gag before thinking of anything else. when he turned to clement to thank him, he had gone. just outside the door clement met a handsome, noble-looking gentleman, who was on his way to a place close by from which there was a beautiful outlook. clement could not recall having seen the stately old man before, but the latter must surely have noticed clement sometime when he was playing the fiddle, because he stopped and spoke to him. "good day, clement!" he said. "how do you do? you are not ill, are you? i think you have grown a bit thin of late." there was such an expression of kindliness about the old gentleman that clement plucked up courage and told him of his homesickness. "what!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "are you homesick when you are in stockholm? it can't be possible!" he looked almost offended. then he reflected that it was only an ignorant old peasant from hälsingland that he talked with--and so resumed his friendly attitude. "surely you have never heard how the city of stockholm was founded? if you had, you would comprehend that your anxiety to get away is only a foolish fancy. come with me to the bench over yonder and i will tell you something about stockholm." when the old gentleman was seated on the bench he glanced down at the city, which spread in all its glory below him, and he drew a deep breath, as if he wished to drink in all the beauty of the landscape. thereupon he turned to the fiddler. "look, clement!" he said, and as he talked he traced with his cane a little map in the sand in front of them. "here lies uppland, and here, to the south, a point juts out, which is split up by a number of bays. and here we have sörmland with another point, which is just as cut up and points straight north. here, from the west, comes a lake filled with islands: it is lake mälar. from the east comes another body of water, which can barely squeeze in between the islands and islets. it is the east sea. here, clement, where uppland joins sörmland and mälaren joins the east sea, comes a short river, in the centre of which lie four little islets that divide the river into several tributaries--one of which is called norriström but was formerly stocksund. "in the beginning these islets were common wooded islands, such as one finds in plenty on lake mälar even to-day, and for ages they were entirely uninhabited. they were well located between two bodies of water and two bodies of land; but this no one remarked. year after year passed; people settled along lake mälar and in the archipelago, but these river islands attracted no settlers. sometimes it happened that a seafarer put into port at one of them and pitched his tent for the night; but no one remained there long. "one day a fisherman, who lived on liding island, out in salt fiord, steered his boat toward lake mälar, where he had such good luck with his fishing that he forgot to start for home in time. he got no farther than the four islets, and the best he could do was to land on one and wait until later in the night, when there would be bright moonlight. "it was late summer and warm. the fisherman hauled his boat on land, lay down beside it, his head resting upon a stone, and fell asleep. when he awoke the moon had been up a long while. it hung right above him and shone with such splendour that it was like broad daylight. "the man jumped to his feet and was about to push his boat into the water, when he saw a lot of black specks moving out in the stream. a school of seals was heading full speed for the island. when the fisherman saw that they intended to crawl up on land, he bent down for his spear, which he always took with him in the boat. but when he straightened up, he saw no seals. instead, there stood on the strand the most beautiful young maidens, dressed in green, trailing satin robes, with pearl crowns upon their heads. the fisherman understood that these were mermaids who lived on desolate rock islands far out at sea and had assumed seal disguises in order to come up on land and enjoy the moonlight on the green islets. "he laid down the spear very cautiously, and when the young maidens came up on the island to play, he stole behind and surveyed them. he had heard that sea-nymphs were so beautiful and fascinating that no one could see them and not be enchanted by their charms; and he had to admit that this was not too much to say of them. "when he had stood for a while under the shadow of the trees and watched the dance, he went down to the strand, took one of the seal skins lying there, and hid it under a stone. then he went back to his boat, lay down beside it, and pretended to be asleep. "presently he saw the young maidens trip down to the strand to don their seal skins. at first all was play and laughter, which was changed to weeping and wailing when one of the mermaids could not find her seal robe. her companions ran up and down the strand and helped her search for it, but no trace could they find. while they were seeking they noticed that the sky was growing pale and the day was breaking, so they could tarry no longer, and they all swam away, leaving behind the one whose seal skin was missing. she sat on the strand and wept. "the fisherman felt sorry for her, of course, but he forced himself to lie still till daybreak. then he got up, pushed the boat into the water, and stepped into it to make it appear that he saw her by chance after he had lifted the oars. "'who are you?' he called out. 'are you shipwrecked?' "she ran toward him and asked if he had seen her seal skin. the fisherman looked as if he did not know what she was talking about. she sat down again and wept. then he determined to take her with him in the boat. 'come with me to my cottage,' he commanded, 'and my mother will take care of you. you can't stay here on the island, where you have neither food nor shelter!' he talked so convincingly that she was persuaded to step into his boat. "both the fisherman and his mother were very kind to the poor mermaid, and she seemed to be happy with them. she grew more contented every day and helped the older woman with her work, and was exactly like any other island lass--only she was much prettier. one day the fisherman asked her if she would be his wife, and she did not object, but at once said yes. "preparations were made for the wedding. the mermaid dressed as a bride in her green, trailing robe with the shimmering pearl crown she had worn when the fisherman first saw her. there was neither church nor parson on the island at that time, so the bridal party seated themselves in the boats to row up to the first church they should find. "the fisherman had the mermaid and his mother in his boat, and he rowed so well that he was far ahead of all the others. when he had come so far that he could see the islet in the river, where he won his bride, he could not help smiling. "'what are you smiling at?' she asked. "'oh, i'm thinking of that night when i hid your seal skin,' answered the fisherman; for he felt so sure of her that he thought there was no longer any need for him to conceal anything. "'what are you saying?' asked the bride, astonished. 'surely i have never possessed a seal skin!' it appeared she had forgotten everything. "'don't you recollect how you danced with the mermaids?' he asked. "'i don't know what you mean,' said the bride. 'i think that you must have dreamed a strange dream last night.' "if i show you your seal skin, you'll probably believe me!' laughed the fisherman, promptly turning the boat toward the islet. they stepped ashore and he brought the seal skin out from under the stone where he had hidden it. "but the instant the bride set eyes on the seal skin she grasped it and drew it over her head. it snuggled close to her--as if there was life in it--and immediately she threw herself into the stream. "the bridegroom saw her swim away and plunged into the water after her; but he could not catch up to her. when he saw that he couldn't stop her in any other way, in his grief he seized his spear and hurled it. he aimed better than he had intended, for the poor mermaid gave a piercing shriek and disappeared in the depths. "the fisherman stood on the strand waiting for her to appear again. he observed that the water around him began to take on a soft sheen, a beauty that he had never seen before. it shimmered in pink and white, like the colour-play on the inside of sea shells. "as the glittering water lapped the shores, the fisherman thought that they too were transformed. they began to blossom and waft their perfumes. a soft sheen spread over them and they also took on a beauty which they had never possessed before. "he understood how all this had come to pass. for it is thus with mermaids: one who beholds them must needs find them more beautiful than any one else, and the mermaid's blood being mixed with the water that bathed the shores, her beauty was transferred to both. all who saw them must love them and yearn for them. this was their legacy from the mermaid." when the stately old gentleman had got thus far in his narrative he turned to clement and looked at him. clement nodded reverently but made no comment, as he did not wish to cause a break in the story. "now you must bear this in mind, clement," the old gentleman continued, with a roguish glint in his eyes. "from that time on people emigrated to the islands. at first only fishermen and peasants settled there, but others, too, were attracted to them. one day the king and his earl sailed up the stream. they started at once to talk of these islands, having observed they were so situated that every vessel that sailed toward lake mälar had to pass them. the earl suggested that there ought to be a lock put on the channel which could be opened or closed at will, to let in merchant vessels and shut out pirates. "this idea was carried out," said the old gentleman, as he rose and began to trace in the sand again with his cane. "on the largest of these islands the earl erected a fortress with a strong tower, which was called 'kärnan.' and around the island a wall was built. here, at the north and south ends of the wall, they made gates and placed strong towers over them. across the other islands they built bridges; these were likewise equipped with high towers. out in the water, round about, they put a wreath of piles with bars that could open and close, so that no vessel could sail past without permission. "therefore you see, clement, the four islands which had lain so long unnoticed were soon strongly fortified. but this was not all, for the shores and the sound tempted people, and before long they came from all quarters to settle there. they built a church, which has since been called 'storkyrkan.' here it stands, near the castle. and here, within the walls, were the little huts the pioneers built for themselves. they were primitive, but they served their purpose. more was not needed at that time to make the place pass for a city. and the city was named stockholm. "there came a day, clement, when the earl who had begun the work went to his final rest, and stockholm was without a master builder. monks called the gray friars came to the country. stockholm attracted them. they asked permission to erect a monastery there, so the king gave them an island--one of the smaller ones--this one facing lake mälar. there they built, and the place was called gray friars' island. other monks came, called the black friars. they, too, asked for right to build in stockholm, near the south gate. on this, the larger of the islands north of the city, a 'holy ghost house,' or hospital, was built; while on the smaller one thrifty men put up a mill, and along the little islands close by the monks fished. as you know, there is only one island now, for the canal between the two has filled up; but it is still called holy ghost island. "and now, clement, all the little wooded islands were dotted with houses, but still people kept streaming in; for these shores and waters have the power to draw people to them. hither came pious women of the order of saint clara and asked for ground to build upon. for them there was no choice but to settle on the north shore, at norrmalm, as it is called. you may be sure that they were not over pleased with this location, for across norrmalm ran a high ridge, and on that the city had its gallows hill, so that it was a detested spot. nevertheless the poor clares erected their church and their convent on the strand below the ridge. after they were established there they soon found plenty of followers. upon the ridge itself were built a hospital and a church, consecrated to saint goran, and just below the ridge a church was erected to saint jacob. "and even at södermalm, where the mountain rises perpendicularly from the strand, they began to build. there they raised a church to saint mary. "but you must not think that only cloister folk moved to stockholm! there were also many others--principally german tradesmen and artisans. these were more skilled than the swedes, and were well received. they settled within the walls of the city where they pulled down the wretched little cabins that stood there and built high, magnificent stone houses. but space was not plentiful within the walls, therefore they had to build the houses close together, with gables facing the narrow by-lanes. so you see, clement, that stockholm could attract people!" at this point in the narrative another gentleman appeared and walked rapidly down the path toward the man who was talking to clement, but he waved his hand, and the other remained at a distance. the dignified old gentleman still sat on the bench beside the fiddler. "now, clement, you must render me a service," he said. "i have no time to talk more with you, but i will send you a book about stockholm and you must read it from cover to cover. i have, so to speak, laid the foundations of stockholm for you. study the rest out for yourself and learn how the city has thrived and changed. read how the little, narrow, wall-enclosed city on the islands has spread into this great sea of houses below us. read how, on the spot where the dark tower kärnan once stood, the beautiful, light castle below us was erected and how the gray friars' church has been turned into the burial place of the swedish kings; read how islet after islet was built up with factories; how the ridge was lowered and the sound filled in; how the truck gardens at the south and north ends of the city have been converted into beautiful parks or built-up quarters; how the king's private deer park has become the people's favourite pleasure resort. you must make yourself at home here, clement. this city does not belong exclusively to the stockholmers. it belongs to you and to all swedes. "as you read about stockholm, remember that i have spoken the truth, for the city has the power to draw every one to it. first the king moved here, then the nobles built their palaces here, and then one after another was attracted to the place, so that now, as you see, stockholm is not a city unto itself or for nearby districts; it has grown into a city for the whole kingdom. "you know, clement, that there are judicial courts in every parish throughout the land, but in stockholm they have jurisdiction for the whole nation. you know that there are judges in every district court in the country, but at stockholm there is only one court, to which all the others are accountable. you know that there are barracks and troops in every part of the land, but those at stockholm command the whole army. everywhere in the country you will find railroads, but the whole great national system is controlled and managed at stockholm; here you will find the governing boards for the clergy, for teachers, for physicians, for bailiffs and jurors. this is the heart of your country, clement. all the change you have in your pocket is coined here, and the postage stamps you stick on your letters are made here. there is something here for every swede. here no one need feel homesick, for here all swedes are at home. "and when you read of all that has been brought here to stockholm, think too of the latest that the city has attracted to itself: these old-time peasant cottages here at skansen; the old dances; the old costumes and house-furnishings; the musicians and story-tellers. everything good of the old times stockholm has tempted here to skansen to do it honour, that it may, in turn, stand before the people with renewed glory. "but, first and last, remember as you read about stockholm that you are to sit in this place. you must see how the waves sparkle in joyous play and how the shores shimmer with beauty. you will come under the spell of their witchery, clement." the handsome old gentleman had raised his voice, so that it rang out strong and commanding, and his eyes shone. then he rose, and, with a wave of his hand to clement, walked away. clement understood that the one who had been talking to him was a great man, and he bowed to him as low as he could. the next day came a royal lackey with a big red book and a letter for clement, and in the letter it said that the book was from the king. after that the little old man, clement larsson, was lightheaded for several days, and it was impossible to get a sensible word out of him. when a week had gone by, he went to the superintendent and gave in his notice. he simply had to go home. "why must you go home? can't you learn to be content here?" asked the doctor. "oh, i'm contented here," said clement. "that matter troubles me no longer, but i must go home all the same." clement was quite perturbed because the king had said that he should learn all about stockholm and be happy there. but he could not rest until he had told every one at home that the king had said those words to him. he could not renounce the idea of standing on the church knoll at home and telling high and low that the king had been so kind to him, that he had sat beside him on the bench, and had sent him a book, and had taken the time to talk to him--a poor fiddler--for a whole hour, in order to cure him of his homesickness. it was good to relate this to the laplanders and dalecarlian peasant girls at skansen, but what was that compared to being able to tell of it at home? even if clement were to end in the poorhouse, it wouldn't be so hard after this. he was a totally different man from what he had been, and he would be respected and honoured in a very different way. this new yearning took possession of clement. he simply had to go up to the doctor and say that he must go home. gorgo, the eagle in the mountain glen far up among the mountains of lapland there was an old eagle's nest on a ledge which projected from a high cliff. the nest was made of dry twigs of pine and spruce, interlaced one with another until they formed a perfect network. year by year the nest had been repaired and strengthened. it was about two metres wide, and nearly as high as a laplander's hut. the cliff on which the eagle's nest was situated towered above a big glen, which was inhabited in summer by a flock of wild geese, as it was an excellent refuge for them. it was so secluded between cliffs that not many knew of it, even among the laplanders themselves. in the heart of this glen there was a small, round lake in which was an abundance of food for the tiny goslings, and on the tufted lake shores which were covered with osier bushes and dwarfed birches the geese found fine nesting places. in all ages eagles had lived on the mountain, and geese in the glen. every year the former carried off a few of the latter, but they were very careful not to take so many that the wild geese would be afraid to remain in the glen. the geese, in their turn, found the eagles quite useful. they were robbers, to be sure, but they kept other robbers away. two years before nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese the old leader-goose, akka from kebnekaise, was standing at the foot of the mountain slope looking toward the eagle's nest. the eagles were in the habit of starting on their chase soon after sunrise; during the summers that akka had lived in the glen she had watched every morning for their departure to find if they stopped in the glen to hunt, or if they flew beyond it to other hunting grounds. she did not have to wait long before the two eagles left the ledge on the cliff. stately and terror-striking they soared into the air. they directed their course toward the plain, and akka breathed a sigh of relief. the old leader-goose's days of nesting and rearing of young were over, and during the summer she passed the time going from one goose range to another, giving counsel regarding the brooding and care of the young. aside from this she kept an eye out not only for eagles but also for mountain fox and owls and all other enemies who were a menace to the wild geese and their young. about noontime akka began to watch for the eagles again. this she had done every day during all the summers that she had lived in the glen. she could tell at once by their flight if their hunt had been successful, and in that event she felt relieved for the safety of those who belonged to her. but on this particular day she had not seen the eagles return. "i must be getting old and stupid," she thought, when she had waited a time for them. "the eagles have probably been home this long while." in the afternoon she looked toward the cliff again, expecting to see the eagles perched on the rocky ledge where they usually took their afternoon rest; toward evening, when they took their bath in the dale lake, she tried again to get sight of them, but failed. again she bemoaned the fact that she was growing old. she was so accustomed to having the eagles on the mountain above her that she could not imagine the possibility of their not having returned. the following morning akka was awake in good season to watch for the eagles; but she did not see them. on the other hand, she heard in the morning stillness a cry that sounded both angry and plaintive, and it seemed to come from the eagles' nest. "can there possibly be anything amiss with the eagles?" she wondered. she spread her wings quickly, and rose so high that she could perfectly well look down into the nest. there she saw neither of the eagles. there was no one in the nest save a little half-fledged eaglet who was screaming for food. akka sank down toward the eagles' nest, slowly and reluctantly. it was a gruesome place to come to! it was plain what kind of robber folk lived there! in the nest and on the cliff ledge lay bleached bones, bloody feathers, pieces of skin, hares' heads, birds' beaks, and the tufted claws of grouse. the eaglet, who was lying in the midst of this, was repulsive to look upon, with his big, gaping bill, his awkward, down-clad body, and his undeveloped wings where the prospective quills stuck out like thorns. at last akka conquered her repugnance and alighted on the edge of the nest, at the same time glancing about her anxiously in every direction, for each second she expected to see the old eagles coming back. "it is well that some one has come at last," cried the baby eagle. "fetch me some food at once!" "well, well, don't be in such haste," said akka. "tell me first where your father and mother are." "that's what i should like to know myself. they went off yesterday morning and left me a lemming to live upon while they were away. you can believe that was eaten long ago. it's a shame for mother to let me starve in this way!" akka began to think that the eagles had really been shot, and she reasoned that if she were to let the eaglet starve she might perhaps be rid of the whole robber tribe for all time. but it went very much against her not to succour a deserted young one so far as she could. "why do you sit there and stare?" snapped the eaglet. "didn't you hear me say i want food?" akka spread her wings and sank down to the little lake in the glen. a moment later she returned to the eagles' nest with a salmon trout in her bill. the eaglet flew into a temper when she dropped the fish in front of him. "do you think i can eat such stuff?" he shrieked, pushing it aside, and trying to strike akka with his bill. "fetch me a willow grouse or a lemming, do you hear?" akka stretched her head forward, and gave the eaglet a sharp nip in the neck. "let me say to you," remarked the old goose, "that if i'm to procure food for you, you must be satisfied with what i give you. your father and mother are dead, and from them you can get no help; but if you want to lie here and starve to death while you wait for grouse and lemming, i shall not hinder you." when akka had spoken her mind she promptly retired, and did not show her face in the eagles' nest again for some time. but when she did return, the eaglet had eaten the fish, and when she dropped another in front of him he swallowed it at once, although it was plain that he found it very distasteful. akka had imposed upon herself a tedious task. the old eagles never appeared again, and she alone had to procure for the eaglet all the food he needed. she gave him fish and frogs and he did not seem to fare badly on this diet, but grew big and strong. he soon forgot his parents, the eagles, and fancied that akka was his real mother. akka, in turn, loved him as if he had been her own child. she tried to give him a good bringing up, and to cure him of his wildness and overbearing ways. after a fortnight akka observed that the time was approaching for her to moult and put on a new feather dress so as to be ready to fly. for a whole moon she would be unable to carry food to the baby eaglet, and he might starve to death. so akka said to him one day: "gorgo, i can't come to you any more with fish. everything depends now upon your pluck--which means can you dare to venture into the glen, so i can continue to procure food for you? you must choose between starvation and flying down to the glen, but that, too, may cost you your life." without a second's hesitation the eaglet stepped upon the edge of the nest. barely taking the trouble to measure the distance to the bottom, he spread his tiny wings and started away. he rolled over and over in space, but nevertheless made enough use of his wings to reach the ground almost unhurt. down there in the glen gorgo passed the summer in company with the little goslings, and was a good comrade for them. since he regarded himself as a gosling, he tried to live as they lived; when they swam in the lake he followed them until he came near drowning. it was most embarrassing to him that he could not learn to swim, and he went to akka and complained of his inability. "why can't i swim like the others?" he asked. "your claws grew too hooked, and your toes too large while you were up there on the cliff," akka replied. "but you'll make a fine bird all the same." the eaglet's wings soon grew so large that they could carry him; but not until autumn, when the goslings learned to fly, did it dawn upon him that he could use them for flight. there came a proud time for him, for at this sport he was the peer of them all. his companions never stayed up in the air any longer than they had to, but he stayed there nearly the whole day, and practised the art of flying. so far it had not occurred to him that he was of another species than the geese, but he could not help noting a number of things that surprised him, and he questioned akka constantly. "why do grouse and lemming run and hide when they see my shadow on the cliff?" he queried. "they don't show such fear of the other goslings." "your wings grew too big when you were on the cliff," said akka. "it is that which frightens the little wretches. but don't be unhappy because of that. you'll be a fine bird all the same." after the eagle had learned to fly, he taught himself to fish, and to catch frogs. but by and by he began to ponder this also. "how does it happen that i live on fish and frogs?" he asked. "the other goslings don't." "this is due to the fact that i had no other food to give you when you were on the cliff," said akka. "but don't let that make you sad. you'll be a fine bird all the same." when the wild geese began their autumn moving, gorgo flew along with the flock, regarding himself all the while as one of them. the air was filled with birds who were on their way south, and there was great excitement among them when akka appeared with an eagle in her train. the wild goose flock was continually surrounded by swarms of the curious who loudly expressed their astonishment. akka bade them be silent, but it was impossible to stop so many wagging tongues. "why do they call me an eagle?" gorgo asked repeatedly, growing more and more exasperated. "can't they see that i'm a wild goose? i'm no bird-eater who preys upon his kind. how dare they give me such an ugly name?" one day they flew above a barn yard where many chickens walked on a dump heap and picked. "an eagle! an eagle!" shrieked the chickens, and started to run for shelter. but gorgo, who had heard the eagles spoken of as savage criminals, could not control his anger. he snapped his wings together and shot down to the ground, striking his talons into one of the hens. "i'll teach you, i will, that i'm no eagle!" he screamed furiously, and struck with his beak. that instant he heard akka call to him from the air, and rose obediently. the wild goose flew toward him and began to reprimand him. "what are you trying to do?" she cried, beating him with her bill. "was it perhaps your intention to tear that poor hen to pieces?" but when the eagle took his punishment from the wild goose without a protest, there arose from the great bird throng around them a perfect storm of taunts and gibes. the eagle heard this, and turned toward akka with flaming eyes, as though he would have liked to attack her. but he suddenly changed his mind, and with quick wing strokes bounded into the air, soaring so high that no call could reach him; and he sailed around up there as long as the wild geese saw him. two days later he appeared again in the wild goose flock. "i know who i am," he said to akka. "since i am an eagle, i must live as becomes an eagle; but i think that we can be friends all the same. you or any of yours i shall never attack." but akka had set her heart on successfully training an eagle into a mild and harmless bird, and she could not tolerate his wanting to do as he chose. "do you think that i wish to be the friend of a bird-eater?" she asked. "live as i have taught you to live, and you may travel with my flock as heretofore." both were proud and stubborn, and neither of them would yield. it ended in akka's forbidding the eagle to show his face in her neighbourhood, and her anger toward him was so intense that no one dared speak his name in her presence. after that gorgo roamed around the country, alone and shunned, like all great robbers. he was often downhearted, and certainly longed many a time for the days when he thought himself a wild goose, and played with the merry goslings. among the animals he had a great reputation for courage. they used to say of him that he feared no one but his foster-mother, akka. and they could also say of him that he never used violence against a wild goose. in captivity gorgo was only three years old, and had not as yet thought about marrying and procuring a home for himself, when he was captured one day by a hunter, and sold to the skansen zoölogical garden, where there were already two eagles held captive in a cage built of iron bars and steel wires. the cage stood out in the open, and was so large that a couple of trees had easily been moved into it, and quite a large cairn was piled up in there. notwithstanding all this, the birds were unhappy. they sat motionless on the same spot nearly all day. their pretty, dark feather dresses became rough and lustreless, and their eyes were riveted with hopeless longing on the sky without. during the first week of gorgo's captivity he was still awake and full of life, but later a heavy torpor came upon him. he perched himself on one spot, like the other eagles, and stared at vacancy. he no longer knew how the days passed. one morning when gorgo sat in his usual torpor, he heard some one call to him from below. he was so drowsy that he could barely rouse himself enough to lower his glance. "who is calling me?" he asked. "oh, gorgo! don't you know me? it's thumbietot who used to fly around with the wild geese." "is akka also captured?" asked gorgo in the tone of one who is trying to collect his thoughts after a long sleep. "no; akka, the white goosey-gander, and the whole flock are probably safe and sound up in lapland at this season," said the boy. "it's only i who am a prisoner here." as the boy was speaking he noticed that gorgo averted his glance, and began to stare into space again. "golden eagle!" cried the boy; "i have not forgotten that once you carried me back to the wild geese, and that you spared the white goosey-gander's life! tell me if i can be of any help to you!" gorgo scarcely raised his head. "don't disturb me, thumbietot," he yawned. "i'm sitting here dreaming that i am free, and am soaring away up among the clouds. i don't want to be awake." "you must rouse yourself, and see what goes on around you," the boy admonished, "or you will soon look as wretched as the other eagles." "i wish i were as they are! they are so lost in their dreams that nothing more can trouble them," said the eagle. when night came, and all three eagles were asleep, there was a light scraping on the steel wires stretched across the top of the cage. the two listless old captives did not allow themselves to be disturbed by the noise, but gorgo awakened. "who's there? who is moving up on the roof?" he asked. "it's thumbietot, gorgo," answered the boy. "i'm sitting here filing away at the steel wires so that you can escape." the eagle raised his head, and saw in the night light how the boy sat and filed the steel wires at the top of the cage. he felt hopeful for an instant, but soon discouragement got the upper hand. "i'm a big bird, thumbietot," said gorgo; "how can you ever manage to file away enough wires for me to come out? you'd better quit that, and leave me in peace." "oh, go to sleep, and don't bother about me!" said the boy. "i'll not be through to-night nor to-morrow night, but i shall try to free you in time for here you'll become a total wreck." gorgo fell asleep. when he awoke the next morning he saw at a glance that a number of wires had been filed. that day he felt less drowsy than he had done in the past. he spread his wings, and fluttered from branch to branch to get the stiffness out of his joints. one morning early, just as the first streak of sunlight made its appearance, thumbietot awakened the eagle. "try now, gorgo!" he whispered. the eagle looked up. the boy had actually filed off so many wires that now there was a big hole in the wire netting. gorgo flapped his wings and propelled himself upward. twice he missed and fell back into the cage; but finally he succeeded in getting out. with proud wing strokes he soared into the clouds. little thumbietot sat and gazed after him with a mournful expression. he wished that some one would come and give him his freedom too. the boy was domiciled now at skansen. he had become acquainted with all the animals there, and had made many friends among them. he had to admit that there was so much to see and learn there that it was not difficult for him to pass the time. to be sure his thoughts went forth every day to morten goosey-gander and his other comrades, and he yearned for them. "if only i weren't bound by my promise," he thought, "i'd find some bird to take me to them!" it may seem strange that clement larsson had not restored the boy's liberty, but one must remember how excited the little fiddler had been when he left skansen. the morning of his departure he had thought of setting out the midget's food in a blue bowl, but, unluckily, he had been unable to find one. all the skansen folk--lapps, peasant girls, artisans, and gardeners--had come to bid him good-bye, and he had had no time to search for a blue bowl. it was time to start, and at the last moment he had to ask the old laplander to help him. "one of the tiny folk happens to be living here at skansen," said clement, "and every morning i set out a little food for him. will you do me the favour of taking these few coppers and purchasing a blue bowl with them? put a little gruel and milk in it, and to-morrow morning set it out under the steps of bollnäs cottage." the old laplander looked surprised, but there was no time for clement to explain further, as he had to be off to the railway station. the laplander went down to the zoölogical village to purchase the bowl. as he saw no blue one that he thought appropriate, he bought a white one, and this he conscientiously filled and set out every morning. that was why the boy had not been released from his pledge. he knew that clement had gone away, but _he_ was not allowed to leave. that night the boy longed more than ever for his freedom. this was because summer had come now in earnest. during his travels he had suffered much in cold and stormy weather, and when he first came to skansen he had thought that perhaps it was just as well that he had been compelled to break the journey. he would have been frozen to death had he gone to lapland in the month of may. but now it was warm; the earth was green-clad, birches and poplars were clothed in their satiny foliage, and the cherry trees--in fact all the fruit trees--were covered with blossoms. the berry bushes had green berries on their stems; the oaks had carefully unfolded their leaves, and peas, cabbages, and beans were growing in the vegetable garden at skansen. "now it must be warm up in lapland," thought the boy. "i should like to be seated on morten goosey-gander's back on a fine morning like this! it would be great fun to ride around in the warm, still air, and look down at the ground, as it now lies decked with green grass, and embellished with pretty blossoms." he sat musing on this when the eagle suddenly swooped down from the sky, and perched beside the boy, on top of the cage. "i wanted to try my wings to see if they were still good for anything," said gorgo. "you didn't suppose that i meant to leave you here in captivity? get up on my back, and i'll take you to your comrades." "no, that's impossible!" the boy answered. "i have pledged my word that i would stay here till i am liberated." "what sort of nonsense are you talking?" protested gorgo. "in the first place they brought you here against your will; then they forced you to promise that you would remain here. surely you must understand that such a promise one need not keep?" "oh, no, i must keep it," said the boy. "i thank you all the same for your kind intention, but you can't help me." "oh, can't i?" said gorgo. "we'll see about that!" in a twinkling he grasped nils holgersson in his big talons, and rose with him toward the skies, disappearing in a northerly direction. on over gästrikland the precious girdle _wednesday, june fifteenth_. the eagle kept on flying until he was a long distance north of stockholm. then he sank to a wooded hillock where he relaxed his hold on the boy. the instant thumbietot was out of gorgo's clutches he started to run back to the city as fast as he could. the eagle made a long swoop, caught up to the boy, and stopped him with his claw. "do you propose to go back to prison?" he demanded. "that's my affair. i can go where i like, for all of you!" retorted the boy, trying to get away. thereupon the eagle gripped him with his strong talons, and rose in the air. now gorgo circled over the entire province of uppland and did not stop again until he came to the great water-falls at älvkarleby where he alighted on a rock in the middle of the rushing rapids below the roaring falls. again he relaxed his hold on the captive. the boy saw that here there was no chance of escape from the eagle. above them the white scum wall of the water-fall came tumbling down, and round about the river rushed along in a mighty torrent. thumbietot was very indignant to think that in this way he had been forced to become a promise-breaker. he turned his back to the eagle and would not speak to him. now that the bird had set the boy down in a place from which he could not run away, he told him confidentially that he had been brought up by akka from kebnekaise, and that he had quarrelled with his foster-mother. "now, thumbietot, perhaps you understand why i wish to take you back to the wild geese," he said. "i have heard that you are in great favour with akka, and it was my purpose to ask you to make peace between us." as soon as the boy comprehended that the eagle had not carried him off in a spirit of contrariness, he felt kindly toward him. "i should like very much to help you," he returned, "but i am bound by my promise." thereupon he explained to the eagle how he had fallen into captivity and how clement larsson had left skansen without setting him free. nevertheless the eagle would not relinquish his plan. "listen to me, thumbietot," he said. "my wings can carry you wherever you wish to go, and my eyes can search out whatever you wish to find. tell me how the man looks who exacted this promise from you, and i will find him and take you to him. then it is for you to do the rest." thumbietot approved of the proposition. "i can see, gorgo, that you have had a wise bird like akka for a foster-mother," the boy remarked. he gave a graphic description of clement larsson, and added that he had heard at skansen that the little fiddler was from hälsingland. "we'll search for him through the whole of hälsingland--from ljungby to mellansjö; from great mountain to hornland," said the eagle. "to-morrow before sundown you shall have a talk with the man!" "i fear you are promising more than you can perform," doubted the boy. "i should be a mighty poor eagle if i couldn't do that much," said gorgo. so when gorgo and thumbietot left älvkarleby they were good friends, and the boy willingly took his mount for a ride on the eagle's back. thus he had an opportunity to see much of the country. when clutched in the eagle's talons he had seen nothing. perhaps it was just as well, for in the forenoon he had travelled over upsala, österby's big factories, the dannemora mine, and the ancient castle of örbyhus, and he would have been sadly disappointed at not seeing them had he known of their proximity. the eagle bore him speedily over gästrikland. in the southern part of the province there was very little to tempt the eye. but as they flew northward, it began to be interesting. "this country is clad in a spruce skirt and a gray-stone jacket," thought the boy. "but around its waist it wears a girdle which has not its match in value, for it is embroidered with blue lakes and green groves. the great ironworks adorn it like a row of precious stones, and its buckle is a whole city with castles and cathedrals and great clusters of houses." when the travellers arrived in the northern forest region, gorgo alighted on top of a mountain. as the boy dismounted, the eagle said: "there's game in this forest, and i can't forget my late captivity and feel really free until i have gone a-hunting. you won't mind my leaving you for a while?" "no, of course, i won't," the boy assured him. "you may go where you like if only you are back here by sundown," said the eagle, as he flew off. the boy sat on a stone gazing across the bare, rocky ground and the great forests round about. he felt rather lonely. but soon he heard singing in the forest below, and saw something bright moving amongst the trees. presently he saw a blue and yellow banner, and he knew by the songs and the merry chatter that it was being borne at the head of a procession. on it came, up the winding path; he wondered where it and those who followed it were going. he couldn't believe that anybody would come up to such an ugly, desolate waste as the place where he sat. but the banner was nearing the forest border, and behind it marched many happy people for whom it had led the way. suddenly there was life and movement all over the mountain plain; after that there was so much for the boy to see that he didn't have a dull moment. forest day on the mountain's broad back, where gorgo left thumbietot, there had been a forest fire ten years before. since that time the charred trees had been felled and removed, and the great fire-swept area had begun to deck itself with green along the edges, where it skirted the healthy forest. however, the larger part of the top was still barren and appallingly desolate. charred stumps, standing sentinel-like between the rock ledges, bore witness that once there had been a fine forest here; but no fresh roots sprang from the ground. one day in the early summer all the children in the parish had assembled in front of the schoolhouse near the fire-swept mountain. each child carried either a spade or a hoe on its shoulder, and a basket of food in its hand. as soon as all were assembled, they marched in a long procession toward the forest. the banner came first, with the teachers on either side of it; then followed a couple of foresters and a wagon load of pine shrubs and spruce seeds; then the children. the procession did not pause in any of the birch groves near the settlements, but marched on deep into the forest. as it moved along, the foxes stuck their heads out of the lairs in astonishment, and wondered what kind of backwoods people these were. as they marched past old coal pits where charcoal kilns were fired every autumn, the cross-beaks twisted their hooked bills, and asked one another what kind of coalers these might be who were now thronging the forest. finally, the procession reached the big, burnt mountain plain. the rocks had been stripped of the fine twin-flower creepers that once covered them; they had been robbed of the pretty silver moss and the attractive reindeer moss. around the dark water gathered in clefts and hollows there was now no wood-sorrel. the little patches of soil in crevices and between stones were without ferns, without star-flowers, without all the green and red and light and soft and soothing things which usually clothe the forest ground. it was as if a bright light flashed upon the mountain when all the parish children covered it. here again was something sweet and delicate; something fresh and rosy; something young and growing. perhaps these children would bring to the poor abandoned forest a little new life. when the children had rested and eaten their luncheon, they seized hoes and spades and began to work. the foresters showed them what to do. they set out shrub after shrub on every clear spot of earth they could find. as they worked, they talked quite knowingly among themselves of how the little shrubs they were planting would bind the soil so that it could not get away, and of how new soil would form under the trees. by and by seeds would drop, and in a few years they would be picking both strawberries and raspberries where now there were only bare rocks. the little shrubs which they were planting would gradually become tall trees. perhaps big houses and great splendid ships would be built from them! if the children had not come here and planted while there was still a little soil in the clefts, all the earth would have been carried away by wind and water, and the mountain could never more have been clothed in green. "it was well that we came," said the children. "we were just in the nick of time!" they felt very important. while they were working on the mountain, their parents were at home. by and by they began to wonder how the children were getting along. of course it was only a joke about their planting a forest, but it might be amusing to see what they were trying to do. so presently both fathers and mothers were on their way to the forest. when they came to the outlying stock farms they met some of their neighbours. "are you going to the fire-swept mountain?" they asked. "that's where we're bound for." "to have a look at the children?" "yes, to see what they're up to." "it's only play, of course." "it isn't likely that there will be many forest trees planted by the youngsters. we have brought the coffee pot along so that we can have something warm to drink, since we must stay there all day with only lunch-basket provisions." so the parents of the children went on up the mountain. at first they thought only of how pretty it looked to see all the rosy-cheeked little children scattered over the gray hills. later, they observed how the children were working--how some were setting out shrubs, while others were digging furrows and sowing seeds. others again were pulling up heather to prevent its choking the young trees. they saw that the children took the work seriously and were so intent upon what they were doing that they scarcely had time to glance up. the fathers and mothers stood for a moment and looked on; then they too began to pull up heather--just for the fun of it. the children were the instructors, for they were already trained, and had to show their elders what to do. thus it happened that all the grown-ups who had come to watch the children took part in the work. then, of course, it became greater fun than before. by and by the children had even more help. other implements were needed, so a couple of long-legged boys were sent down to the village for spades and hoes. as they ran past the cabins, the stay-at-homes came out and asked: "what's wrong? has there been an accident?" "no, indeed! but the whole parish is up on the fire-swept mountain planting a forest." "if the whole parish is there, we can't stay at home!" so party after party of peasants went crowding to the top of the burnt mountain. they stood a moment and looked on. the temptation to join the workers was irresistible. "it's a pleasure to sow one's own acres in the spring, and to think of the grain that will spring up from the earth, but this work is even more alluring," they thought. not only slender blades would come from that sowing, but mighty trees with tall trunks and sturdy branches. it meant giving birth not merely to a summer's grain, but to many years' growths. it meant the awakening hum of insects, the song of the thrush, the play of grouse and all kinds of life on the desolate mountain. moreover, it was like raising a memorial for coming generations. they could have left a bare, treeless height as a heritage. instead they were to leave a glorious forest. coming generations would know their forefathers had been a good and wise folk and they would remember them with reverence and gratitude. a day in hälsingland a large green leaf _thursday, june sixteenth_. the following day the boy travelled over hälsingland. it spread beneath him with new, pale-green shoots on the pine trees, new birch leaves in the groves, new green grass in the meadows, and sprouting grain in the fields. it was a mountainous country, but directly through it ran a broad, light valley from either side of which branched other valleys--some short and narrow, some broad and long. "this land resembles a leaf," thought the boy, "for it's as green as a leaf, and the valleys subdivide it in about the same way as the veins of a leaf are foliated." the branch valleys, like the main one, were filled with lakes, rivers, farms, and villages. they snuggled, light and smiling, between the dark mountains until they were gradually squeezed together by the hills. there they were so narrow that they could not hold more than a little brook. on the high land between the valleys there were pine forests which had no even ground to grow upon. there were mountains standing all about, and the forest covered the whole, like a woolly hide stretched over a bony body. it was a picturesque country to look down upon, and the boy saw a good deal of it, because the eagle was trying to find the old fiddler, clement larsson, and flew from ravine to ravine looking for him. a little later in the morning there was life and movement on every farm. the doors of the cattle sheds were thrown wide open and the cows were let out. they were prettily coloured, small, supple and sprightly, and so sure-footed that they made the most comic leaps and bounds. after them came the calves and sheep, and it was plainly to be seen that they, too, were in the best of spirits. it grew livelier every moment in the farm yards. a couple of young girls with knapsacks on their backs walked among the cattle; a boy with a long switch kept the sheep together, and a little dog ran in and out among the cows, barking at the ones that tried to gore him. the farmer hitched a horse to a cart loaded with tubs of butter, boxes of cheese, and all kinds of eatables. the people laughed and chattered. they and the beasts were alike merry--as if looking forward to a day of real pleasure. a moment later all were on their way to the forest. one of the girls walked in the lead and coaxed the cattle with pretty, musical calls. the animals followed in a long line. the shepherd boy and the sheep-dog ran hither and thither, to see that no creature turned from the right course; and last came the farmer and his hired man. they walked beside the cart to prevent its being upset, for the road they followed was a narrow, stony forest path. it may have been the custom for all the peasants in hälsingland to send their cattle into the forests on the same day--or perhaps it only happened so that year; at any rate the boy saw how processions of happy people and cattle wandered out from every valley and every farm and rushed into the lonely forest, filling it with life. from the depths of the dense woods the boy heard the shepherd maidens' songs and the tinkle of the cow bells. many of the processions had long and difficult roads to travel; and the boy saw how they tramped through marshes, how they had to take roundabout ways to get past windfalls, and how, time and again, the carts bumped against stones and turned over with all their contents. but the people met all the obstacles with jokes and laughter. in the afternoon they came to a cleared space where cattle sheds and a couple of rude cabins had been built. the cows mooed with delight as they tramped on the luscious green grass in the yards between the cabins, and at once began grazing. the peasants, with merry chatter and banter, carried water and wood and all that had been brought in the carts into the larger cabin. presently smoke rose from the chimney and then the dairymaids, the shepherd boy, and the men squatted upon a flat rock and ate their supper. gorgo, the eagle, was certain that he should find clement larsson among those who were off for the forest. whenever he saw a stock farm procession, he sank down and scrutinized it with his sharp eyes; but hour after hour passed without his finding the one he sought. after much circling around, toward evening they came to a stony and desolate tract east of the great main valley. there the boy saw another outlying stock farm under him. the people and the cattle had arrived. the men were splitting wood, and the dairymaids were milking the cows. "look there!" said gorgo. "i think we've got him." he sank, and, to his great astonishment, the boy saw that the eagle was right. there indeed stood little clement larsson chopping wood. gorgo alighted on a pine tree in the thick woods a little away from the house. "i have fulfilled my obligation," said the eagle, with a proud toss of his head. "now you must try and have a word with the man. i'll perch here at the top of the thick pine and wait for you." the animals' new year's eve the day's work was done at the forest ranches, supper was over, and the peasants sat about and chatted. it was a long time since they had been in the forest of a summer's night, and they seemed reluctant to go to bed and sleep. it was as light as day, and the dairymaids were busy with their needle-work. ever and anon they raised their heads, looked toward the forest and smiled. "now we are here again!" they said. the town, with its unrest, faded from their minds, and the forest, with its peaceful stillness, enfolded them. when at home they had wondered how they should ever be able to endure the loneliness of the woods; but once there, they felt that they were having their best time. many of the young girls and young men from neighbouring ranches had come to call upon them, so that there were quite a lot of folk seated on the grass before the cabins, but they did not find it easy to start conversation. the men were going home the next day, so the dairymaids gave them little commissions and bade them take greetings to their friends in the village. this was nearly all that had been said. suddenly the eldest of the dairy girls looked up from her work and said laughingly: "there's no need of our sitting here so silent to-night, for we have two story-tellers with us. one is clement larsson, who sits beside me, and the other is bernhard from sunnasjö, who stands back there gazing toward black's ridge. i think that we should ask each of them to tell us a story. to the one who entertains us the better i shall give the muffler i am knitting." this proposal won hearty applause. the two competitors offered lame excuses, naturally, but were quickly persuaded. clement asked bernhard to begin, and he did not object. he knew little of clement larsson, but assumed that he would come out with some story about ghosts and trolls. as he knew that people liked to listen to such things, he thought it best to choose something of the same sort. "some centuries ago," he began, "a dean here in delsbo township was riding through the dense forest on a new year's eve. he was on horseback, dressed in fur coat and cap. on the pommel of his saddle hung a satchel in which he kept the communion service, the prayer-book, and the clerical robe. he had been summoned on a parochial errand to a remote forest settlement, where he had talked with a sick person until late in the evening. now he was on his way home, but feared that he should not get back to the rectory until after midnight. "as he had to sit in the saddle when he should have been at home in his bed, he was glad it was not a rough night. the weather was mild, the air still and the skies overcast. behind the clouds hung a full round moon which gave some light, although it was out of sight. but for that faint light it would have been impossible for him to distinguish paths from fields, for that was a snowless winter, and all things had the same grayish-brown colour. "the horse the dean rode was one he prized very highly. he was strong and sturdy, and quite as wise as a human being. he could find his way home from any place in the township. the dean had observed this on several occasions, and he relied upon it with such a sense of security that he never troubled himself to think where he was going when he rode that horse. so he came along now in the gray night, through the bewildering forest, with the reins dangling and his thoughts far away. "he was thinking of the sermon he had to preach on the morrow, and of much else besides, and it was a long time before it occurred to him to notice how far along he was on his homeward way. when he did glance up, he saw that the forest was as dense about him as at the beginning, and he was somewhat surprised, for he had ridden so long that he should have come to the inhabited portion of the township. "delsbo was about the same then as now. the church and parsonage and all the large farms and villages were at the northern end of the township, while at the southern part there were only forests and mountains. the dean saw that he was still in the unpopulated district and knew that he was in the southern part and must ride to the north to get home. there were no stars, nor was there a moon to guide him; but he was a man who had the four cardinal points in his head. he had the positive feeling that he was travelling southward, or possibly eastward. "he intended to turn the horse at once, but hesitated. the animal had never strayed, and it did not seem likely that he would do so now. it was more likely that the dean was mistaken. he had been far away in thought and had not looked at the road. so he let the horse continue in the same direction, and again lost himself in his reverie. "suddenly a big branch struck him and almost swept him off the horse. then he realized that he must find out where he was. "he glanced down and saw that he was riding over a soft marsh, where there was no beaten path. the horse trotted along at a brisk pace and showed no uncertainty. again the dean was positive that he was going in the wrong direction, and now he did not hesitate to interfere. he seized the reins and turned the horse about, guiding him back to the roadway. no sooner was he there than he turned again and made straight for the woods. "the dean was certain that he was going wrong, but because the beast was so persistent he thought that probably he was trying to find a better road, and let him go along. "the horse did very well, although he had no path to follow. if a precipice obstructed his way, he climbed it as nimbly as a goat, and later, when they had to descend, he bunched his hoofs and slid down the rocky inclines. "'may he only find his way home before church hour!' thought the dean. 'i wonder how the delsbo folk would take it if i were not at my church on time?' "he did not have to brood over this long, for soon he came to a place that was familiar to him. it was a little creek where he had fished the summer before. now he saw it was as he had feared--he was in the depths of the forest, and the horse was plodding along in a south-easterly direction. he seemed determined to carry the dean as far from church and rectory as he could. "the clergyman dismounted. he could not let the horse carry him into the wilderness. he must go home. and, since the animal persisted in going in the wrong direction, he decided to walk and lead him until they came to more familiar roads. the dean wound the reins around his arm and began to walk. it was not an easy matter to tramp through the forest in a heavy fur coat; but the dean was strong and hardy and had little fear of overexertion. "the horse, meanwhile, caused him fresh anxiety. he would not follow but planted his hoofs firmly on the ground. "at last the dean was angry. he had never beaten that horse, nor did he wish to do so now. instead, he threw down the reins and walked away. "'we may as well part company here, since you want to go your own way,' he said. "he had not taken more than two steps before the horse came after him, took a cautious grip on his coat sleeve and stopped him. the dean turned and looked the horse straight in the eyes, as if to search out why he behaved so strangely. "afterward the dean could not quite understand how this was possible, but it is certain that, dark as it was, he plainly saw the horse's face and read it like that of a human being. he realized that the animal was in a terrible state of apprehension and fear. he gave his master a look that was both imploring and reproachful. "'i have served you day after day and done your bidding,' he seemed to say. 'will you not follow me this one night?' "the dean was touched by the appeal in the animal's eyes. it was clear that the horse needed his help to-night, in one way or another. being a man through and through, the dean promptly determined to follow him. without further delay he sprang into the saddle. 'go on!' he said. 'i will not desert you since you want me. no one shall say of the dean in delsbo that he refused to accompany any creature who was in trouble.' "he let the horse go as he wished and thought only of keeping his seat. it proved to be a hazardous and troublesome journey--uphill most of the way. the forest was so thick that he could not see two feet ahead, but it appeared to him that they were ascending a high mountain. the horse climbed perilous steeps. had the dean been guiding, he should not have thought of riding over such ground. "'surely you don't intend to go up to black's ridge, do you?' laughed the dean, who knew that was one of the highest peaks in hälsingland. "during the ride he discovered that he and the horse were not the only ones who were out that night. he heard stones roll down and branches crackle, as if animals were breaking their way through the forest. he remembered that wolves were plentiful in that section and wondered if the horse wished to lead him to an encounter with wild beasts. "they mounted up and up, and the higher they went the more scattered were the trees. at last they rode on almost bare highland, where the dean could look in every direction. he gazed out over immeasurable tracts of land, which went up and down in mountains and valleys covered with sombre forests. it was so dark that he had difficulty in seeing any orderly arrangement; but presently he could make out where he was. "'why of course it's black's ridge that i've come to!' he remarked to himself. 'it can't be any other mountain, for there, in the west, i see jarv island, and to the east the sea glitters around ag island. toward the north also i see something shiny. it must be dellen. in the depths below me i see white smoke from nian falls. yes, i'm up on black's ridge. what an adventure!' "when they were at the summit the horse stopped behind a thick pine, as if to hide. the dean bent forward and pushed aside the branches, that he might have an unobstructed view. "the mountain's bald plate confronted him. it was not empty and desolate, as he had anticipated. in the middle of the open space was an immense boulder around which many wild beasts had gathered. apparently they were holding a conclave of some sort. "near to the big rock he saw bears, so firmly and heavily built that they seemed like fur-clad blocks of stone. they were lying down and their little eyes blinked impatiently; it was obvious that they had come from their winter sleep to attend court, and that they could hardly keep awake. behind them, in tight rows, were hundreds of wolves. they were not sleepy, for wolves are more alert in winter than in summer. they sat upon their haunches, like dogs, whipping the ground with their tails and panting--their tongues lolling far out of their jaws. behind the wolves the lynx skulked, stiff-legged and clumsy, like misshapen cats. they were loath to be among the other beasts, and hissed and spat when one came near them. the row back of the lynx was occupied by the wolverines, with dog faces and bear coats. they were not happy on the ground, and they stamped their pads impatiently, longing to get into the trees. behind them, covering the entire space to the forest border, leaped the foxes, the weasels, and the martens. these were small and perfectly formed, but they looked even more savage and bloodthirsty than the larger beasts. "all this the dean plainly saw, for the whole place was illuminated. upon the huge rock at the centre was the wood-nymph, who held in her hand a pine torch which burned in a big red flame. the nymph was as tall as the tallest tree in the forest. she wore a spruce-brush mantle and had spruce-cone hair. she stood very still, her face turned toward the forest. she was watching and listening. "the dean saw everything as plain as plain could be, but his astonishment was so great that he tried to combat it, and would not believe the evidence of his own eyes. "'such things cannot possibly happen!' he thought. 'i have ridden much too long in the bleak forest. this is only an optical illusion.' "nevertheless he gave the closest attention to the spectacle, and wondered what was about to be done. "he hadn't long to wait before he caught the sound of a familiar bell, coming from the depths of the forest, and the next moment he heard footfalls and crackling of branches--as when many animals break through the forest. "a big herd of cattle was climbing the mountain. they came through the forest in the order in which they had marched to the mountain ranches. first came the bell cow followed by the bull, then the other cows and the calves. the sheep, closely herded, followed. after them came the goats, and last were the horses and colts. the sheep-dog trotted along beside the sheep; but neither shepherd nor shepherdess attended them. "the dean thought it heart-rending to see the tame animals coming straight toward the wild beasts. he would gladly have blocked their way and called 'halt!' but he understood that it was not within human power to stop the march of the cattle on this night; therefore he made no move. "the domestic animals were in a state of torment over that which they had to face. if it happened to be the bell cow's turn, she advanced with drooping head and faltering step. the goats had no desire either to play or to butt. the horses tried to bear up bravely, but their bodies were all of a quiver with fright. the most pathetic of all was the sheep-dog. he kept his tail between his legs and crawled on the ground. "the bell cow led the procession all the way up to the wood-nymph, who stood on the boulder at the top of the mountain. the cow walked around the rock and then turned toward the forest without any of the wild beasts touching her. in the same way all the cattle walked unmolested past the wild beasts. "as the creatures filed past, the dean saw the wood-nymph lower her pine torch over one and another of them. "every time this occurred the beasts of prey broke into loud, exultant roars--particularly when it was lowered over a cow or some other large creature. the animal that saw the torch turning toward it uttered a piercing shriek, as if it had received a knife thrust in its flesh, while the entire herd to which it belonged bellowed their lamentations. "then the dean began to comprehend the meaning of what he saw. surely he had heard that the animals in delsbo assembled on black's ridge every new year's eve, that the wood-nymph might mark out which among the tame beasts would that year be prey for the wild beasts. the dean pitied the poor creatures that were at the mercy of savage beasts, when in reality they should have no master but man. "the leading herd had only just left when another bell tinkled, and the cattle from another farm tramped to the mountain top. these came in the same order as the first and marched past the wood-nymph, who stood there, stern and solemn, indicating animal after animal for death. "herd upon herd followed, without a break in the line of procession. some were so small that they included only one cow and a few sheep; others consisted of only a pair of goats. it was apparent that these were from very humble homes, but they too were compelled to pass in review. "the dean thought of the delsbo farmers, who had so much love for their beasts. 'did they but know of it, surely they would not allow a repetition of this!' he thought. 'they would risk their own lives rather than let their cattle wander amongst bears and wolves, to be doomed by the wood-nymph!' "the last herd to appear was the one from the rectory farm. the dean heard the sound of the familiar bell a long way off. the horse, too, must have heard it, for he began to shake in every limb, and was bathed in sweat. "'so it is your turn now to pass before the wood-nymph to receive your sentence,' the dean said to the horse. 'don't be afraid! now i know why you brought me here, and i shall not leave you.' "the fine cattle from the parsonage farm emerged from the forest and marched to the wood-nymph and the wild beasts. last in the line was the horse that had brought his master to black's ridge. the dean did not leave the saddle, but let the animal take him to the wood-nymph. "he had neither knife nor gun for his defence, but he had taken out the prayer-book and sat pressing it to his heart as he exposed himself to battle against evil. "at first it appeared as if none had observed him. the dean's cattle filed past the wood-nymph in the same order as the others had done. she did not wave the torch toward any of these, but as soon as the intelligent horse stepped forward, she made a movement to mark him for death. "instantly the dean held up the prayer-book, and the torchlight fell upon the cross on its cover. the wood-nymph uttered a loud, shrill cry and let the torch drop from her hand. "immediately the flame was extinguished. in the sudden transition from light to darkness the dean saw nothing, nor did he hear anything. about him reigned the profound stillness of a wilderness in winter. "then the dark clouds parted, and through the opening stepped the full round moon to shed its light upon the ground. the dean saw that he and the horse were alone on the summit of black's ridge. not one of the many wild beasts was there. the ground had not been trampled by the herds that had passed over it; but the dean himself sat with his prayer-book before him, while the horse under him stood trembling and foaming. "by the time the dean reached home he no longer knew whether or not it had been a dream, a vision, or reality--this that he had seen; but he took it as a warning to him to remember the poor creatures who were at the mercy of wild beasts. he preached so powerfully to the delsbo peasants that in his day all the wolves and bears were exterminated from that section of the country, although they may have returned since his time." here bernhard ended his story. he received praise from all sides and it seemed to be a foregone conclusion that he would get the prize. the majority thought it almost a pity that clement had to compete with him. but clement, undaunted, began: "one day, while i was living at skansen, just outside of stockholm, and longing for home--" then he told about the tiny midget he had ransomed so that he would not have to be confined in a cage, to be stared at by all the people. he told, also, that no sooner had he performed this act of mercy than he was rewarded for it. he talked and talked, and the astonishment of his hearers grew greater and greater; but when he came to the royal lackey and the beautiful book, all the dairymaids dropped their needle-work and sat staring at clement in open-eyed wonder at his marvellous experiences. as soon as clement had finished, the eldest of the dairymaids announced that he should have the muffler. "bernhard related only things that happened to another, but clement has himself been the hero of a true story, which i consider far more important." in this all concurred. they regarded clement with very different eyes after hearing that he had talked with the king, and the little fiddler was afraid to show how proud he felt. but at the very height of his elation some one asked him what had become of the midget. "i had no time to set out the blue bowl for him myself," said clement, "so i asked the old laplander to do it. what has become of him since then i don't know." no sooner had he spoken than a little pine cone came along and struck him on the nose. it did not drop from a tree, and none of the peasants had thrown it. it was simply impossible to tell whence it had come. "aha, clement!" winked the dairymaid, "it appears as if the tiny folk were listening to us. you should not have left it to another to set out that blue bowl!" in medelpad _friday, june seventeenth_. the boy and the eagle were out bright and early the next morning. gorgo hoped that he would get far up into west bothnia that day. as luck would have it, he heard the boy remark to himself that in a country like the one through which they were now travelling it must be impossible for people to live. the land which spread below them was southern medelpad. when the eagle heard the boy's remark, he replied: "up here they have forests for fields." the boy thought of the contrast between the light, golden-rye fields with their delicate blades that spring up in one summer, and the dark spruce forest with its solid trees which took many years to ripen for harvest. "one who has to get his livelihood from such a field must have a deal of patience!" he observed. nothing more was said until they came to a place where the forest had been cleared, and the ground was covered with stumps and lopped-off branches. as they flew over this ground, the eagle heard the boy mutter to himself that it was a mighty ugly and poverty-stricken place. "this field was cleared last winter," said the eagle. the boy thought of the harvesters at home, who rode on their reaping machines on fine summer mornings, and in a short time mowed a large field. but the forest field was harvested in winter. the lumbermen went out in the wilderness when the snow was deep, and the cold most severe. it was tedious work to fell even one tree, and to hew down a forest such as this they must have been out in the open many weeks. "they have to be hardy men to mow a field of this kind," he said. when the eagle had taken two more wing strokes, they sighted a log cabin at the edge of the clearing. it had no windows and only two loose boards for a door. the roof had been covered with bark and twigs, but now it was gaping, and the boy could see that inside the cabin there were only a few big stones to serve as a fireplace, and two board benches. when they were above the cabin the eagle suspected that the boy was wondering who could have lived in such a wretched hut as that. "the reapers who mowed the forest field lived there," the eagle said. the boy remembered how the reapers in his home had returned from their day's work, cheerful and happy, and how the best his mother had in the larder was always spread for them; while here, after the arduous work of the day, they must rest on hard benches in a cabin that was worse than an outhouse. and what they had to eat he could not imagine. "i wonder if there are any harvest festivals for these labourers?" he questioned. a little farther on they saw below them a wretchedly bad road winding through the forest. it was narrow and zigzag, hilly and stony, and cut up by brooks in many places. as they flew over it the eagle knew that the boy was wondering what was carted over a road like that. "over this road the harvest was conveyed to the stack," the eagle said. the boy recalled what fun they had at home when the harvest wagons drawn by two sturdy horses, carried the grain from the field. the man who drove sat proudly on top of the load; the horses danced and pricked up their ears, while the village children, who were allowed to climb upon the sheaves, sat there laughing and shrieking, half-pleased, half-frightened. but here the great logs were drawn up and down steep hills; here the poor horses must be worked to their limit, and the driver must often be in peril. "i'm afraid there has been very little cheer along this road," the boy observed. the eagle flew on with powerful wing strokes, and soon they came to a river bank covered with logs, chips, and bark. the eagle perceived that the boy wondered why it looked so littered up down there. "here the harvest has been stacked," the eagle told him. the boy thought of how the grain stacks in his part of the country were piled up close to the farms, as if they were their greatest ornaments, while here the harvest was borne to a desolate river strand, and left there. "i wonder if any one out in this wilderness counts his stacks, and compares them with his neighbour's?" he said. a little later they came to ljungen, a river which glides through a broad valley. immediately everything was so changed that they might well think they had come to another country. the dark spruce forest had stopped on the inclines above the valley, and the slopes were clad in light-stemmed birches and aspens. the valley was so broad that in many places the river widened into lakes. along the shores lay a large flourishing town. as they soared above the valley the eagle realized that the boy was wondering if the fields and meadows here could provide a livelihood for so many people. "here live the reapers who mow the forest fields," the eagle said. the boy was thinking of the lowly cabins and the hedged-in farms down in skåne when he exclaimed: "why, here the peasants live in real manors. it looks as if it might be worth one's while to work in the forest!" the eagle had intended to travel straight north, but when he had flown out over the river he understood that the boy wondered who handled the timber after it was stacked on the river bank. the boy recollected how careful they had been at home never to let a grain be wasted, while here were great rafts of logs floating down the river, uncared for. he could not believe that more than half of the logs ever reached their destination. many were floating in midstream, and for them all went smoothly; others moved close to the shore, bumping against points of land, and some were left behind in the still waters of the creeks. on the lakes there were so many logs that they covered the entire surface of the water. these appeared to be lodged for an indefinite period. at the bridges they stuck; in the falls they were bunched, then they were pyramided and broken in two; afterward, in the rapids, they were blocked by the stones and massed into great heaps. "i wonder how long it takes for the logs to get to the mill?" said the boy. the eagle continued his slow flight down river ljungen. over many places he paused in the air on outspread wings, that the boy might see how this kind of harvest work was done. presently they came to a place where the loggers were at work. the eagle marked that the boy wondered what they were doing. "they are the ones who take care of all the belated harvest," the eagle said. the boy remembered the perfect ease with which his people at home had driven their grain to the mill. here the men ran alongside the shores with long boat-hooks, and with toil and effort urged the logs along. they waded out in the river and were soaked from top to toe. they jumped from stone to stone far out into the rapids, and they tramped on the rolling log heaps as calmly as though they were on flat ground. they were daring and resolute men. "as i watch this, i'm reminded of the iron-moulders in the mining districts, who juggle with fire as if it were perfectly harmless," remarked the boy. "these loggers play with water as if they were its masters. they seem to have subjugated it so that it dare not harm them." gradually they neared the mouth of the river, and bothnia bay was beyond them. gorgo flew no farther straight ahead, but went northward along the coast. before they had travelled very far they saw a lumber camp as large as a small city. while the eagle circled back and forth above it, he heard the boy remark that this place looked interesting. "here you have the great lumber camp called svartvik," the eagle said. the boy thought of the mill at home, which stood peacefully embedded in foliage, and moved its wings very slowly. this mill, where they grind the forest harvest, stood on the water. the mill pond was crowded with logs. one by one the helpers seized them with their cant-hooks, crowded them into the chutes and hurried them along to the whirling saws. what happened to the logs inside, the boy could not see, but he heard loud buzzing and roaring, and from the other end of the house small cars ran out, loaded with white planks. the cars ran on shining tracks down to the lumber yard, where the planks were piled in rows, forming streets--like blocks of houses in a city. in one place they were building new piles; in another they were pulling down old ones. these were carried aboard two large vessels which lay waiting for cargo. the place was alive with workmen, and in the woods, back of the yard, they had their homes. "they'll soon manage to saw up all the forests in medelpad the way they work here," said the boy. the eagle moved his wings just a little, and carried the boy above another large camp, very much like the first, with the mill, yard, wharf, and the homes of the workmen. "this is called kukikenborg," the eagle said. he flapped his wings slowly, flew past two big lumber camps, and approached a large city. when the eagle heard the boy ask the name of it, he cried; "this is sundsvall, the manor of the lumber districts." the boy remembered the cities of skåne, which looked so old and gray and solemn; while here in the bleak north the city of sundsvall faced a beautiful bay, and looked young and happy and beaming. there was something odd about the city when one saw it from above, for in the middle stood a cluster of tall stone structures which looked so imposing that their match was hardly to be found in stockholm. around the stone buildings there was a large open space, then came a wreath of frame houses which looked pretty and cosy in their little gardens; but they seemed to be conscious of the fact that they were very much poorer than the stone houses, and dared not venture into their neighbourhood. "this must be both a wealthy and powerful city," remarked the boy. "can it be possible that the poor forest soil is the source of all this?" the eagle flapped his wings again, and went over to aln island, which lies opposite sundsvall. the boy was greatly surprised to see all the sawmills that decked the shores. on aln island they stood, one next another, and on the mainland opposite were mill upon mill, lumber yard upon lumber yard. he counted forty, at least, but believed there were many more. "how wonderful it all looks from up here!" he marvelled. "so much life and activity i have not seen in any place save this on the whole trip. it is a great country that we have! wherever i go, there is always something new for people to live upon." a morning in ångermanland the bread _saturday, june eighteenth_. next morning, when the eagle had flown some distance into ångermanland, he remarked that to-day he was the one who was hungry, and must find something to eat! he set the boy down in an enormous pine on a high mountain ridge, and away he flew. the boy found a comfortable seat in a cleft branch from which he could look down over ångermanland. it was a glorious morning! the sunshine gilded the treetops; a soft breeze played in the pine needles; the sweetest fragrance was wafted through the forest; a beautiful landscape spread before him; and the boy himself was happy and care-free. he felt that no one could be better off. he had a perfect outlook in every direction. the country west of him was all peaks and table-land, and the farther away they were, the higher and wilder they looked. to the east there were also many peaks, but these sank lower and lower toward the sea, where the land became perfectly flat. everywhere he saw shining rivers and brooks which were having a troublesome journey with rapids and falls so long as they ran between mountains, but spread out clear and broad as they neared the shore of the coast. bothnia bay was dotted with islands and notched with points, but farther out was open, blue water, like a summer sky. when the boy had had enough of the landscape he unloosed his knapsack, took out a morsel of fine white bread, and began to eat. "i don't think i've ever tasted such good bread," said he. "and how much i have left! there's enough to last me for a couple of days." as he munched he thought of how he had come by the bread. "it must be because i got it in such a nice way that it tastes so good to me," he said. the golden eagle had left medelpad the evening before. he had hardly crossed the border into ångermanland when the boy caught a glimpse of a fertile valley and a river, which surpassed anything of the kind he had seen before. as the boy glanced down at the rich valley, he complained of feeling hungry. he had had no food for two whole days, he said, and now he was famished. gorgo did not wish to have it said that the boy had fared worse in his company than when he travelled with the wild geese, so he slackened his speed. "why haven't you spoken of this before?" he asked. "you shall have all the food you want. there's no need of your starving when you have an eagle for a travelling companion." just then the eagle sighted a farmer who was sowing a field near the river strand. the man carried the seeds in a basket suspended from his neck, and each time that it was emptied he refilled it from a seed sack which stood at the end of the furrow. the eagle reasoned it out that the sack must be filled with the best food that the boy could wish for, so he darted toward it. but before the bird could get there a terrible clamour arose about him. sparrows, crows, and swallows came rushing up with wild shrieks, thinking that the eagle meant to swoop down upon some bird. "away, away, robber! away, away, bird-killer!" they cried. they made such a racket that it attracted the farmer, who came running, so that gorgo had to flee, and the boy got no seed. the small birds behaved in the most extraordinary manner. not only did they force the eagle to flee, they pursued him a long distance down the valley, and everywhere the people heard their cries. women came out and clapped their hands so that it sounded like a volley of musketry, and the men rushed out with rifles. the same thing was repeated every time the eagle swept toward the ground. the boy abandoned the hope that the eagle could procure any food for him. it had never occurred to him before that gorgo was so much hated. he almost pitied him. in a little while they came to a homestead where the housewife had just been baking. she had set a platter of sugared buns in the back yard to cool and was standing beside it, watching, so that the cat and dog should not steal the buns. the eagle circled down to the yard, but dared not alight right under the eyes of the peasant woman. he flew up and down, irresolute; twice he came down as far as the chimney, then rose again. the peasant woman noticed the eagle. she raised her head and followed him with her glance. "how peculiarly he acts!" she remarked. "i believe he wants one of my buns." she was a beautiful woman, tall and fair, with a cheery, open countenance. laughing heartily, she took a bun from the platter, and held it above her head. "if you want it, come and take it!" she challenged. while the eagle did not understand her language, he knew at once that she was offering him the bun. with lightning speed, he swooped to the bread, snatched it, and flew toward the heights. when the boy saw the eagle snatch the bread he wept for joy--not because he would escape suffering hunger for a few days, but because he was touched by the peasant woman's sharing her bread with a savage bird of prey. where he now sat on the pine branch he could recall at will the tall, fair woman as she stood in the yard and held up the bread. she must have known that the large bird was a golden eagle--a plunderer, who was usually welcomed with loud shots; doubtless she had also seen the queer changeling he bore on his back. but she had not thought of what they were. as soon as she understood that they were hungry, she shared her good bread with them. "if i ever become human again," thought the boy, "i shall look up the pretty woman who lives near the great river, and thank her for her kindness to us." the forest fire while the boy was still at his breakfast he smelled a faint odour of smoke coming from the north. he turned and saw a tiny spiral, white as a mist, rise from a forest ridge--not from the one nearest him, but from the one beyond it. it looked strange to see smoke in the wild forest, but it might be that a mountain stock farm lay over yonder, and the women were boiling their morning coffee. it was remarkable the way that smoke increased and spread! it could not come from a ranch, but perhaps there were charcoal kilns in the forest. the smoke increased every moment. now it curled over the whole mountain top. it was not possible that so much smoke could come from a charcoal kiln. there must be a conflagration of some sort, for many birds flew over to the nearest ridge. hawks, grouse, and other birds, who were so small that it was impossible to recognize them at such a distance, fled from the fire. the tiny white spiral of smoke grew to a thick white cloud which rolled over the edge of the ridge and sank toward the valley. sparks and flakes of soot shot up from the clouds, and here and there one could see a red flame in the smoke. a big fire was raging over there, but what was burning? surely there was no large farm hidden in the forest. the source of such a fire must be more than a farm. now the smoke came not only from the ridge, but from the valley below it, which the boy could not see, because the next ridge obstructed his view. great clouds of smoke ascended; the forest itself was burning! it was difficult for him to grasp the idea that the fresh, green pines could burn. if it really were the forest that was burning, perhaps the fire might spread all the way over to him. it seemed improbable; but he wished the eagle would soon return. it would be best to be away from this. the mere smell of the smoke which he drew in with every breath was a torture. all at once he heard a terrible crackling and sputtering. it came from the ridge nearest him. there, on the highest point, stood a tall pine like the one in which he sat. a moment before it had been a gorgeous red in the morning light. now all the needles flashed, and the pine caught fire. never before had it looked so beautiful! but this was the last time it could exhibit any beauty, for the pine was the first tree on the ridge to burn. it was impossible to tell how the flames had reached it. had the fire flown on red wings, or crawled along the ground like a snake? it was not easy to say, but there it was at all events. the great pine burned like a birch stem. ah, look! now smoke curled up in many places on the ridge. the forest fire was both bird and snake. it could fly in the air over wide stretches, or steal along the ground. the whole ridge was ablaze! there was a hasty flight of birds that circled up through the smoke like big flakes of soot. they flew across the valley and came to the ridge where the boy sat. a horned owl perched beside him, and on a branch just above him a hen hawk alighted. these would have been dangerous neighbours at any other time, but now they did not even glance in his direction--only stared at the fire. probably they could not make out what was wrong with the forest. a marten ran up the pine to the tip of a branch, and looked at the burning heights. close beside the marten sat a squirrel, but they did not appear to notice each other. now the fire came rushing down the slope, hissing and roaring like a tornado. through the smoke one could see the flames dart from tree to tree. before a branch caught fire it was first enveloped in a thin veil of smoke, then all the needles grew red at one time, and it began to crackle and blaze. in the glen below ran a little brook, bordered by elms and small birches. it appeared as if the flames would halt there. leafy trees are not so ready to take fire as fir trees. the fire did pause as if before a gate that could stop it. it glowed and crackled and tried to leap across the brook to the pine woods on the other side, but could not reach them. for a short time the fire was thus restrained, then it shot a long flame over to the large, dry pine that stood on the slope, and this was soon ablaze. the fire had crossed the brook! the heat was so intense that every tree on the mountain was ready to burn. with the roar and rush of the maddest storm and the wildest torrent the forest fire flew over to the ridge. then the hawk and the owl rose and the marten dashed down the tree. in a few seconds more the fire would reach the top of the pine, and the boy, too, would have to be moving. it was not easy to slide down the long, straight pine trunk. he took as firm a hold of it as he could, and slid in long stretches between the knotty branches; finally he tumbled headlong to the ground. he had no time to find out if he was hurt--only to hurry away. the fire raced down the pine like a raging tempest; the ground under his feet was hot and smouldering. on either side of him ran a lynx and an adder, and right beside the snake fluttered a mother grouse who was hurrying along with her little downy chicks. when the refugees descended the mountain to the glen they met people fighting the fire. they had been there for some time, but the boy had been gazing so intently in the direction of the fire that he had not noticed them before. in this glen there was a brook, bordered by a row of leaf trees, and back of these trees the people worked. they felled the fir trees nearest the elms, dipped water from the brook and poured it over the ground, washing away heather and myrtle to prevent the fire from stealing up to the birch brush. they, too, thought only of the fire which was now rushing toward them. the fleeing animals ran in and out among the men's feet, without attracting attention. no one struck at the adder or tried to catch the mother grouse as she ran back and forth with her little peeping birdlings. they did not even bother about thumbietot. in their hands they held great, charred pine branches which had dropped into the brook, and it appeared as if they intended to challenge the fire with these weapons. there were not many men, and it was strange to see them stand there, ready to fight, when all other living creatures were fleeing. as the fire came roaring and rushing down the slope with its intolerable heat and suffocating smoke, ready to hurl itself over brook and leaf-tree wall in order to reach the opposite shore without having to pause, the people drew back at first as if unable to withstand it; but they did not flee far before they turned back. the conflagration raged with savage force, sparks poured like a rain of fire over the leaf trees, and long tongues of flame shot hissingly out from the smoke, as if the forest on the other side were sucking them in. but the leaf-tree wall was an obstruction behind which the men worked. when the ground began to smoulder they brought water in their vessels and dampened it. when a tree became wreathed in smoke they felled it at once, threw it down and put out the flames. where the fire crept along the heather, they beat it with the wet pine branches and smothered it. the smoke was so dense that it enveloped everything. one could not possibly see how the battle was going, but it was easy enough to understand that it was a hard fight, and that several times the fire came near penetrating farther. but think! after a while the loud roar of the flames decreased, and the smoke cleared. by that time the leaf trees had lost all their foliage, the ground under them was charred, the faces of the men were blackened by smoke and dripping with sweat; but the forest fire was conquered. it had ceased to flame up. soft white smoke crept along the ground, and from it peeped out a lot of black stumps. this was all there was left of the beautiful forest! the boy scrambled up on a rock, so that he might see how the fire had been quenched. but now that the forest was saved, his peril began. the owl and the hawk simultaneously turned their eyes toward him. just then he heard a familiar voice calling to him. gorgo, the golden eagle, came sweeping through the forest, and soon the boy was soaring among the clouds--rescued from every peril. westbottom and lapland the five scouts once, at skansen, the boy had sat under the steps at bollnäs cottage and had overheard clement larsson and the old laplander talk about norrland. both agreed that it was the most beautiful part of sweden. clement thought that the southern part was the best, while the laplander favoured the northern part. as they argued, it became plain that clement had never been farther north than härnösand. the laplander laughed at him for speaking with such assurance of places that he had never seen. "i think i shall have to tell you a story, clement, to give you some idea of lapland, since you have not seen it," volunteered the laplander. "it shall not be said of me that i refuse to listen to a story," retorted clement, and the old laplander began: "it once happened that the birds who lived down in sweden, south of the great saméland, thought that they were overcrowded there and suggested moving northward. "they came together to consider the matter. the young and eager birds wished to start at once, but the older and wiser ones passed a resolution to send scouts to explore the new country. "'let each of the five great bird families send out a scout,' said the old and wise birds, 'to learn if there is room for us all up there--food and hiding places.' "five intelligent and capable birds were immediately appointed by the five great bird families. "the forest birds selected a grouse, the field birds a lark, the sea birds a gull, the fresh-water birds a loon, and the cliff birds a snow sparrow. "when the five chosen ones were ready to start, the grouse, who was the largest and most commanding, said: "'there are great stretches of land ahead. if we travel together, it will be long before we cover all the territory that we must explore. if, on the other hand, we travel singly--each one exploring his special portion of the country--the whole business can be accomplished in a few days.' "the other scouts thought the suggestion a good one, and agreed to act upon it. "it was decided that the grouse should explore the midlands. the lark was to travel to the eastward, the sea gull still farther east, where the land bordered on the sea, while the loon should fly over the territory west of the midlands, and the snow sparrow to the extreme west. "in accordance with this plan, the five birds flew over the whole northland. then they turned back and told the assembly of birds what they had discovered. "the gull, who had travelled along the sea-coast, spoke first. "'the north is a fine country,' he said. 'the sounds are full of fish, and there are points and islands without number. most of these are uninhabited, and the birds will find plenty of room there. the humans do a little fishing and sailing in the sounds, but not enough to disturb the birds. if the sea birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "when the gull had finished, the lark, who had explored the land back from the coast, spoke: "'i don't know what the gull means by his islands and points,' said the lark. i have travelled only over great fields and flowery meadows. i have never before seen a country crossed by some large streams. their shores are dotted with homesteads, and at the mouth of the rivers are cities; but for the most part the country is very desolate. if the field birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "after the lark came the grouse, who had flown over the midlands. "'i know neither what the lark means with his meadows nor the gull with his islands and points,' said he. 'i have seen only pine forests on this whole trip. there are also many rushing streams and great stretches of moss-grown swamp land; but all that is not river or swamp is forest. if the forest birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "after the grouse came the loon, who had explored the borderland to the west. "i don't know what the grouse means by his forests, nor do i know where the eyes of the lark and the gull could have been,' remarked the loon. there's hardly any land up there--only big lakes. between beautiful shores glisten clear, blue mountain lakes, which pour into roaring water-falls. if the fresh-water birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "the last speaker was the snow sparrow, who had flown along the western boundary. "'i don't know what the loon means by his lakes, nor do i know what countries the grouse, the lark, and the gull can have seen,' he said. 'i found one vast mountainous region up north. i didn't run across any fields or any pine forests, but peak after peak and highlands. i have seen ice fields and snow and mountain brooks, with water as white as milk. no farmers nor cattle nor homesteads have i seen, but only lapps and reindeer and huts met my eyes. if the cliff birds follow my advice, they will move north immediately.' "when the five scouts had presented their reports to the assembly, they began to call one another liars, and were ready to fly at each other to prove the truth of their arguments. "but the old and wise birds who had sent them out, listened to their accounts with joy, and calmed their fighting propensities. "'you mustn't quarrel among yourselves,' they said. 'we understand from your reports that up north there are large mountain tracts, a big lake region, great forest lands, a wide plain, and a big group of islands. this is more than we have expected--more than many a mighty kingdom can boast within its borders.'" the moving landscape _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. he had arrived! he would meet morten goosey-gander and akka and all the other comrades in a few moments. hurrah! the meeting all was still in the glen. the sun had not yet stepped above the cliffs, and nils holgersson knew that it was too early in the morning for the geese to be awake. the boy walked along leisurely and searched for his friends. before he had gone very far, he paused with a smile, for he saw such a pretty sight. a wild goose was sleeping in a neat little nest, and beside her stood her goosey-gander. he too, slept, but it was obvious that he had stationed himself thus near her that he might be on hand in the possible event of danger. the boy went on without disturbing them and peeped into the willow brush that covered the ground. it was not long before he spied another goose couple. these were strangers, not of his flock, but he was so happy that he began to hum--just because he had come across wild geese. he peeped into another bit of brushwood. there at last he saw two that were familiar. it was certainly neljä that was nesting there, and the goosey-gander who stood beside her was surely kolme. why, of course! the boy had a good mind to awaken them, but he let them sleep on, and walked away. in the next brush he saw viisi and kuusi, and not far from them he found yksi and kaksi. all four were asleep, and the boy passed by without disturbing them. as he approached the next brush, he thought he saw something white shimmering among the bushes, and the heart of him thumped with joy. yes, it was as he expected. in there sat the dainty dunfin on an egg-filled nest. beside her stood her white goosey-gander. although he slept, it was easy to see how proud he was to watch over his wife up here among the lapland mountains. the boy did not care to waken the goosey-gander, so he walked on. he had to seek a long time before he came across any more wild geese. finally, he saw on a little hillock something that resembled a small, gray moss tuft, and he knew that there was akka from kebnekaise. she stood, wide awake, looking about as if she were keeping watch over the whole glen. "good morning, mother akka!" said the boy. "please don't waken the other geese yet awhile, for i wish to speak with you in private." the old leader-goose came rushing down the hill and up to the boy. first she seized hold of him and shook him, then she stroked him with her bill before she shook him again. but she did not say a word, since he asked her not to waken the others. thumbietot kissed old mother akka on both cheeks, then he told her how he had been carried off to skansen and held captive there. "now i must tell you that smirre fox, short of an ear, sat imprisoned in the foxes' cage at skansen," said the boy. "although he was very mean to us, i couldn't help feeling sorry for him. there were many other foxes in the cage; and they seemed quite contented there, but smirre sat all the while looking dejected, longing for liberty. "i made many good friends at skansen, and i learned one day from the lapp dog that a man had come to skansen to buy foxes. he was from some island far out in the ocean. all the foxes had been exterminated there, and the rats were about to get the better of the inhabitants, so they wished the foxes back again. "as soon as i learned of this, i went to smirre's cage and said to him: "'to-morrow some men are coming here to get a pair of foxes. don't hide, smirre, but keep well in the foreground and see to it that you are chosen. then you'll be free again.' "he followed my suggestion, and now he is running at large on the island. what say you to this, mother akka? if you had been in my place, would you not have done likewise?" "you have acted in a way that makes me wish i had done that myself," said the leader-goose proudly. "it's a relief to know that you approve," said the boy. "now there is one thing more i wish to ask you about: "one day i happened to see gorgo, the eagle--the one that fought with morten goosey-gander--a prisoner at skansen. he was in the eagles' cage and looked pitifully forlorn. i was thinking of filing down the wire roof over him and letting him out, but i also thought of his being a dangerous robber and bird-eater, and wondered if i should be doing right in letting loose such a plunderer, and if it were not better, perhaps, to let him stay where he was. what say you, mother akka? was it right to think thus?" "no, it was not right!" retorted akka. "say what you will about the eagles, they are proud birds and greater lovers of freedom than all others. it is not right to keep them in captivity. do you know what i would suggest? this: that, as soon as you are well rested, we two make the trip together to the big bird prison, and liberate gorgo." "that is just the word i was expecting from you, mother akka," returned the boy eagerly. "there are those who say that you no longer have any love in your heart for the one you reared so tenderly, because he lives as eagles must live. but i know now that it isn't true. and now i want to see if morten goosey-gander is awake. "meanwhile, if you wish to say a 'thank you' to the one who brought me here to you, i think you'll find him up there on the cliff ledge, where once you found a helpless eaglet." osa, the goose girl, and little mats the year that nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese everybody was talking about two little children, a boy and a girl, who tramped through the country. they were from sunnerbo township, in småland, and had once lived with their parents and four brothers and sisters in a little cabin on the heath. while the two children, osa and mats, were still small, a poor, homeless woman came to their cabin one night and begged for shelter. although the place could hardly hold the family, she was taken in and the mother spread a bed for her on the floor. in the night she coughed so hard that the children fancied the house shook. by morning she was too ill to continue her wanderings. the children's father and mother were as kind to her as could be. they gave up their bed to her and slept on the floor, while the father went to the doctor and brought her medicine. the first few days the sick woman behaved like a savage; she demanded constant attention and never uttered a word of thanks. later she became more subdued and finally begged to be carried out to the heath and left there to die. when her hosts would not hear of this, she told them that the last few years she had roamed about with a band of gipsies. she herself was not of gipsy blood, but was the daughter of a well-to-do farmer. she had run away from home and gone with the nomads. she believed that a gipsy woman who was angry at her had brought this sickness upon her. nor was that all: the gipsy woman had also cursed her, saying that all who took her under their roof or were kind to her should suffer a like fate. she believed this, and therefore begged them to cast her out of the house and never to see her again. she did not want to bring misfortune down upon such good people. but the peasants refused to do her bidding. it was quite possible that they were alarmed, but they were not the kind of folk who could turn out a poor, sick person. soon after that she died, and then along came the misfortunes. before, there had never been anything but happiness in that cabin. its inmates were poor, yet not so very poor. the father was a maker of weavers' combs, and mother and children helped him with the work. father made the frames, mother and the older children did the binding, while the smaller ones planed the teeth and cut them out. they worked from morning until night, but the time passed pleasantly, especially when father talked of the days when he travelled about in foreign lands and sold weavers' combs. father was so jolly that sometimes mother and the children would laugh until their sides ached at his funny quips and jokes. the weeks following the death of the poor vagabond woman lingered in the minds of the children like a horrible nightmare. they knew not if the time had been long or short, but they remembered that they were always having funerals at home. one after another they lost their brothers and sisters. at last it was very still and sad in the cabin. the mother kept up some measure of courage, but the father was not a bit like himself. he could no longer work nor jest, but sat from morning till night, his head buried in his hands, and only brooded. once--that was after the third burial--the father had broken out into wild talk, which frightened the children. he said that he could not understand why such misfortunes should come upon them. they had done a kindly thing in helping the sick woman. could it be true, then, that the evil in this world was more powerful than the good? the mother tried to reason with him, but she was unable to soothe him. a few days later the eldest was stricken. she had always been the father's favourite, so when he realized that she, too, must go, he fled from all the misery. the mother never said anything, but she thought it was best for him to be away, as she feared that he might lose his reason. he had brooded too long over this one idea: that god had allowed a wicked person to bring about so much evil. after the father went away they became very poor. for awhile he sent them money, but afterward things must have gone badly with him, for no more came. the day of the eldest daughter's burial the mother closed the cabin and left home with the two remaining children, osa and mats. she went down to skåne to work in the beet fields, and found a place at the jordberga sugar refinery. she was a good worker and had a cheerful and generous nature. everybody liked her. many were astonished because she could be so calm after all that she had passed through, but the mother was very strong and patient. when any one spoke to her of her two sturdy children, she only said: "i shall soon lose them also," without a quaver in her voice or a tear in her eye. she had accustomed herself to expect nothing else. but it did not turn out as she feared. instead, the sickness came upon herself. she had gone to skane in the beginning of summer; before autumn she was gone, and the children were left alone. while their mother was ill she had often said to the children they must remember that she never regretted having let the sick woman stop with them. it was not hard to die when one had done right, she said, for then one could go with a clear conscience. before the mother passed away, she tried to make some provision for her children. she asked the people with whom she lived to let them remain in the room which she had occupied. if the children only had a shelter they would not become a burden to any one. she knew that they could take care of themselves. osa and mats were allowed to keep the room on condition that they would tend the geese, as it was always hard to find children willing to do that work. it turned out as the mother expected: they did maintain themselves. the girl made candy, and the boy carved wooden toys, which they sold at the farm houses. they had a talent for trading and soon began buying eggs and butter from the farmers, which they sold to the workers at the sugar refinery. osa was the older, and, by the time she was thirteen, she was as responsible as a grown woman. she was quiet and serious, while mats was lively and talkative. his sister used to say to him that he could outcackle the geese. when the children had been at jordberga for two years, there was a lecture given one evening at the schoolhouse. evidently it was meant for grown-ups, but the two småland children were in the audience. they did not regard themselves as children, and few persons thought of them as such. the lecturer talked about the dread disease called the white plague, which every year carried off so many people in sweden. he spoke very plainly and the children understood every word. after the lecture they waited outside the schoolhouse. when the lecturer came out they took hold of hands and walked gravely up to him, asking if they might speak to him. the stranger must have wondered at the two rosy, baby-faced children standing there talking with an earnestness more in keeping with people thrice their age; but he listened graciously to them. they related what had happened in their home, and asked the lecturer if he thought their mother and their sisters and brothers had died of the sickness he had described. "very likely," he answered. "it could hardly have been any other disease." if only the mother and father had known what the children learned that evening, they might have protected themselves. if they had burned the clothing of the vagabond woman; if they had scoured and aired the cabin and had not used the old bedding, all whom the children mourned might have been living yet. the lecturer said he could not say positively, but he believed that none of their dear ones would have been sick had they understood how to guard against the infection. osa and mats waited awhile before putting the next question, for that was the most important of all. it was not true then that the gipsy woman had sent the sickness because they had befriended the one with whom she was angry. it was not something special that had stricken only them. the lecturer assured them that no person had the power to bring sickness upon another in that way. thereupon the children thanked him and went to their room. they talked until late that night. the next day they gave notice that they could not tend geese another year, but must go elsewhere. where were they going? why, to try to find their father. they must tell him that their mother and the other children had died of a common ailment and not something special brought upon them by an angry person. they were very glad that they had found out about this. now it was their duty to tell their father of it, for probably he was still trying to solve the mystery. osa and mats set out for their old home on the heath. when they arrived they were shocked to find the little cabin in flames. they went to the parsonage and there they learned that a railroad workman had seen their father at malmberget, far up in lapland. he had been working in a mine and possibly was still there. when the clergyman heard that the children wanted to go in search of their father he brought forth a map and showed them how far it was to malmberget and tried to dissuade them from making the journey, but the children insisted that they must find their father. he had left home believing something that was not true. they must find him and tell him that it was all a mistake. they did not want to spend their little savings buying railway tickets, therefore they decided to go all the way on foot, which they never regretted, as it proved to be a remarkably beautiful journey. before they were out of småland, they stopped at a farm house to buy food. the housewife was a kind, motherly soul who took an interest in the children. she asked them who they were and where they came from, and they told her their story. "dear, dear! dear, dear!" she interpolated time and again when they were speaking. later she petted the children and stuffed them with all kinds of goodies, for which she would not accept a penny. when they rose to thank her and go, the woman asked them to stop at her brother's farm in the next township. of course the children were delighted. "give him my greetings and tell him what has happened to you," said the peasant woman. this the children did and were well treated. from every farm after that it was always: "if you happen to go in such and such a direction, stop there or there and tell them what has happened to you." in every farm house to which they were sent there was always a consumptive. so osa and mats went through the country unconsciously teaching the people how to combat that dreadful disease. long, long ago, when the black plague was ravaging the country, 'twas said that a boy and a girl were seen wandering from house to house. the boy carried a rake, and if he stopped and raked in front of a house, it meant that there many should die, but not all; for the rake has coarse teeth and does not take everything with it. the girl carried a broom, and if she came along and swept before a door, it meant that all who lived within must die; for the broom is an implement that makes a clean sweep. it seems quite remarkable that in our time two children should wander through the land because of a cruel sickness. but these children did not frighten people with the rake and the broom. they said rather: "we will not content ourselves with merely raking the yard and sweeping the floors, we will use mop and brush, water and soap. we will keep clean inside and outside of the door and we ourselves will be clean in both mind and body. in this way we will conquer the sickness." one day, while still in lapland, akka took the boy to malmberget, where they discovered little mats lying unconscious at the mouth of the pit. he and osa had arrived there a short time before. that morning he had been roaming about, hoping to come across his father. he had ventured too near the shaft and been hurt by flying rocks after the setting off of a blast. thumbietot ran to the edge of the shaft and called down to the miners that a little boy was injured. immediately a number of labourers came rushing up to little mats. two of them carried him to the hut where he and osa were staying. they did all they could to save him, but it was too late. thumbietot felt so sorry for poor osa. he wanted to help and comfort her; but he knew that if he were to go to her now, he would only frighten her--such as he was! the night after the burial of little mats, osa straightway shut herself in her hut. she sat alone recalling, one after another, things her brother had said and done. there was so much to think about that she did not go straight to bed, but sat up most of the night. the more she thought of her brother the more she realized how hard it would be to live without him. at last she dropped her head on the table and wept. "what shall i do now that little mats is gone?" she sobbed. it was far along toward morning and osa, spent by the strain of her hard day, finally fell asleep. she dreamed that little mats softly opened the door and stepped into the room. "osa, you must go and find father," he said. "how can i when i don't even know where he is?" she replied in her dream. "don't worry about that," returned little mats in his usual, cheery way. "i'll send some one to help you." just as osa, the goose girl, dreamed that little mats had said this, there was a knock at the door. it was a real knock--not something she heard in the dream, but she was so held by the dream that she could not tell the real from the unreal. as she went on to open the door, she thought: "this must be the person little mats promised to send me." she was right, for it was thumbietot come to talk to her about her father. when he saw that she was not afraid of him, he told her in a few words where her father was and how to reach him. while he was speaking, osa, the goose girl, gradually regained consciousness; when he had finished she was wide awake. then she was so terrified at the thought of talking with an elf that she could not say thank you or anything else, but quickly shut the door. as she did that she thought she saw an expression of pain flash across the elf's face, but she could not help what she did, for she was beside herself with fright. she crept into bed as quickly as she could and drew the covers over her head. although she was afraid of the elf, she had a feeling that he meant well by her. so the next day she made haste to do as he had told her. with the laplanders one afternoon in july it rained frightfully up around lake luossajaure. the laplanders, who lived mostly in the open during the summer, had crawled under the tent and were squatting round the fire drinking coffee. the new settlers on the east shore of the lake worked diligently to have their homes in readiness before the severe arctic winter set in. they wondered at the laplanders, who had lived in the far north for centuries without even thinking that better protection was needed against cold and storm than thin tent covering. the laplanders, on the other hand, wondered at the new settlers giving themselves so much needless, hard work, when nothing more was necessary to live comfortably than a few reindeer and a tent. they only had to drive the poles into the ground and spread the covers over them, and their abodes were ready. they did not have to trouble themselves about decorating or furnishing. the principal thing was to scatter some spruce twigs on the floor, spread a few skins, and hang the big kettle, in which they cooked their reindeer meat, on a chain suspended from the top of the tent poles. while the laplanders were chatting over their coffee cups, a row boat coming from the kiruna side pulled ashore at the lapps' quarters. a workman and a young girl, between thirteen and fourteen, stepped from the boat. the girl was osa. the lapp dogs bounded down to them, barking loudly, and a native poked his head out of the tent opening to see what was going on. he was glad when he saw the workman, for he was a friend of the laplanders--a kindly and sociable man, who could speak their native tongue. the lapp called to him to crawl under the tent. "you're just in time, söderberg!" he said. "the coffee pot is on the fire. no one can do any work in this rain, so come in and tell us the news." the workman went in, and, with much ado and amid a great deal of laughter and joking, places were made for söderberg and osa, though the tent was already crowded to the limit with natives. osa understood none of the conversation. she sat dumb and looked in wonderment at the kettle and coffee pot; at the fire and smoke; at the lapp men and lapp women; at the children and dogs; the walls and floor; the coffee cups and tobacco pipes; the multi-coloured costumes and crude implements. all this was new to her. suddenly she lowered her glance, conscious that every one in the tent was looking at her. söderberg must have said something about her, for now both lapp men and lapp women took the short pipes from their mouths and stared at her in open-eyed wonder and awe. the laplander at her side patted her shoulder and nodded, saying in swedish, "bra, bra!" (good, good!) a lapp woman filled a cup to the brim with coffee and passed it under difficulties, while a lapp boy, who was about her own age, wriggled and crawled between the squatters over to her. osa felt that söderberg was telling the laplanders that she had just buried her little brother, mats. she wished he would find out about her father instead. the elf had said that he lived with the lapps, who camped west of lake luossajaure, and she had begged leave to ride up on a sand truck to seek him, as no regular passenger trains came so far. both labourers and foremen had assisted her as best they could. an engineer had sent söderberg across the lake with her, as he spoke lappish. she had hoped to meet her father as soon as she arrived. her glance wandered anxiously from face to face, but she saw only natives. her father was not there. she noticed that the lapps and the swede, söderberg, grew more and more earnest as they talked among themselves. the lapps shook their heads and tapped their foreheads, as if they were speaking of some one that was not quite right in his mind. she became so uneasy that she could no longer endure the suspense and asked söderberg what the laplanders knew of her father. "they say he has gone fishing," said the workman. "they're not sure that he can get back to the camp to-night; but as soon as the weather clears, one of them will go in search of him." thereupon he turned to the lapps and went on talking to them. he did not wish to give osa an opportunity to question him further about jon esserson. the next morning ola serka himself, who was the most distinguished man among the lapps, had said that he would find osa's father, but he appeared to be in no haste and sat huddled outside the tent, thinking of jon esserson and wondering how best to tell him of his daughter's arrival. it would require diplomacy in order that jon esserson might not become alarmed and flee. he was an odd sort of man who was afraid of children. he used to say that the sight of them made him so melancholy that he could not endure it. while ola serka deliberated, osa, the goose girl, and aslak, the young lapp boy who had stared so hard at her the night before, sat on the ground in front of the tent and chatted. aslak had been to school and could speak swedish. he was telling osa about the life of the "saméfolk," assuring her that they fared better than other people. osa thought that they lived wretchedly, and told him so. "you don't know what you are talking about!" said aslak curtly. "only stop with us a week and you shall see that we are the happiest people on earth." "if i were to stop here a whole week, i should be choked by all the smoke in the tent," osa retorted. "don't say that!" protested the boy. "you know nothing of us. let me tell you something which will make you understand that the longer you stay with us the more contented you will become." thereupon aslak began to tell osa how a sickness called "the black plague" once raged throughout the land. he was not certain as to whether it had swept through the real "saméland," where they now were, but in jämtland it had raged so brutally that among the saméfolk, who lived in the forests and mountains there, all had died except a boy of fifteen. among the swedes, who lived in the valleys, none was left but a girl, who was also fifteen years old. the boy and girl separately tramped the desolate country all winter in search of other human beings. finally, toward spring, the two met. aslak continued: "the swedish girl begged the lapp boy to accompany her southward, where she could meet people of her own race. she did not wish to tarry longer in jämtland, where there were only vacant homesteads. i'll take you wherever you wish to go,' said the boy, 'but not before winter. it's spring now, and my reindeer go westward toward the mountains. you know that we who are of the saméfolk must go where our reindeer take us.' the swedish girl was the daughter of wealthy parents. she was used to living under a roof, sleeping in a bed, and eating at a table. she had always despised the poor mountaineers and thought that those who lived under the open sky were most unfortunate; but she was afraid to return to her home, where there were none but the dead. 'at least let me go with you to the mountains,' she said to the boy, 'so that i sha'n't have to tramp about here all alone and never hear the sound of a human voice.' "the boy willingly assented, so the girl went with the reindeer to the mountains. "the herd yearned for the good pastures there, and every day tramped long distances to feed on the moss. there was not time to pitch tents. the children had to lie on the snowy ground and sleep when the reindeer stopped to graze. the girl often sighed and complained of being so tired that she must turn back to the valley. nevertheless she went along to avoid being left without human companionship. "when they reached the highlands the boy pitched a tent for the girl on a pretty hill that sloped toward a mountain brook. "in the evening he lassoed and milked the reindeer, and gave the girl milk to drink. he brought forth dried reindeer meat and reindeer cheese, which his people had stowed away on the heights when they were there the summer before. "still the girl grumbled all the while, and was never satisfied. she would eat neither reindeer meat nor reindeer cheese, nor would she drink reindeer milk. she could not accustom herself to squatting in the tent or to lying on the ground with only a reindeer skin and some spruce twigs for a bed. "the son of the mountains laughed at her woes and continued to treat her kindly. "after a few days, the girl went up to the boy when he was milking and asked if she might help him. she next undertook to make the fire under the kettle, in which the reindeer meat was to be cooked, then to carry water and to make cheese. so the time passed pleasantly. the weather was mild and food was easily procured. together they set snares for game, fished for salmon-trout in the rapids and picked cloud-berries in the swamp. "when the summer was gone, they moved farther down the mountains, where pine and leaf forests meet. there they pitched their tent. they had to work hard every day, but fared better, for food was even more plentiful than in the summer because of the game. "when the snow came and the lakes began to freeze, they drew farther east toward the dense pine forests. "as soon as the tent was up, the winter's work began. the boy taught the girl to make twine from reindeer sinews, to treat skins, to make shoes and clothing of hides, to make combs and tools of reindeer horn, to travel on skis, and to drive a sledge drawn by reindeer. "when they had lived through the dark winter and the sun began to shine all day and most of the night, the boy said to the girl that now he would accompany her southward, so that she might meet some of her own race. "then the girl looked at him astonished. "'why do you want to send me away?' she asked. 'do you long to be alone with your reindeer?' "'i thought that you were the one that longed to get away?' said the boy. "'i have lived the life of the saméfolk almost a year now,' replied the girl. i can't return to my people and live the shut-in life after having wandered freely on mountains and in forests. don't drive me away, but let me stay here. your way of living is better than ours.' "the girl stayed with the boy for the rest of her life, and never again did she long for the valleys. and you, osa, if you were to stay with us only a month, you could never again part from us." with these words, aslak, the lapp boy, finished his story. just then his father, ola serka, took the pipe from his mouth and rose. old ola understood more swedish than he was willing to have any one know, and he had overheard his son's remarks. while he was listening, it had suddenly flashed on him how he should handle this delicate matter of telling jon esserson that his daughter had come in search of him. ola serka went down to lake luossajaure and had walked a short distance along the strand, when he happened upon a man who sat on a rock fishing. the fisherman was gray-haired and bent. his eyes blinked wearily and there was something slack and helpless about him. he looked like a man who had tried to carry a burden too heavy for him, or to solve a problem too difficult for him, who had become broken and despondent over his failure. "you must have had luck with your fishing, jon, since you've been at it all night?" said the mountaineer in lappish, as he approached. the fisherman gave a start, then glanced up. the bait on his hook was gone and not a fish lay on the strand beside him. he hastened to rebait the hook and throw out the line. in the meantime the mountaineer squatted on the grass beside him. "there's a matter that i wanted to talk over with you," said ola. "you know that i had a little daughter who died last winter, and we have always missed her in the tent." "yes, i know," said the fisherman abruptly, a cloud passing over his face--as though he disliked being reminded of a dead child. "it's not worth while to spend one's life grieving," said the laplander. "i suppose it isn't." "now i'm thinking of adopting another child. don't you think it would be a good idea?" "that depends on the child, ola." "i will tell you what i know of the girl," said ola. then he told the fisherman that around midsummer-time, two strange children--a boy and a girl--had come to the mines to look for their father, but as their father was away, they had stayed to await his return. while there, the boy had been killed by a blast of rock. thereupon ola gave a beautiful description of how brave the little girl had been, and of how she had won the admiration and sympathy of everyone. "is that the girl you want to take into your tent?" asked the fisherman. "yes," returned the lapp. "when we heard her story we were all deeply touched and said among ourselves that so good a sister would also make a good daughter, and we hoped that she would come to us." the fisherman sat quietly thinking a moment. it was plain that he continued the conversation only to please his friend, the lapp. "i presume the girl is one of your race?" "no," said ola, "she doesn't belong to the saméfolk." "perhaps she's the daughter of some new settler and is accustomed to the life here?" "no, she's from the far south," replied ola, as if this was of small importance. the fisherman grew more interested. "then i don't believe that you can take her," he said. "it's doubtful if she could stand living in a tent in winter, since she was not brought up that way." "she will find kind parents and kind brothers and sisters in the tent," insisted ola serka. "it's worse to be alone than to freeze." the fisherman became more and more zealous to prevent the adoption. it seemed as if he could not bear the thought of a child of swedish parents being taken in by laplanders. "you said just now that she had a father in the mine." "he's dead," said the lapp abruptly. "i suppose you have thoroughly investigated this matter, ola?" "what's the use of going to all that trouble?" disdained the lapp. "i ought to know! would the girl and her brother have been obliged to roam about the country if they had a father living? would two children have been forced to care for themselves if they had a father? the girl herself thinks he's alive, but i say that he must be dead." the man with the tired eyes turned to ola. "what is the girl's name, ola?" he asked. the mountaineer thought awhile, then said: "i can't remember it. i must ask her." "ask her! is she already here?" "she's down at the camp." "what, ola! have you taken her in before knowing her father's wishes?" "what do i care for her father! if he isn't dead, he's probably the kind of man who cares nothing for his child. he may be glad to have another take her in hand." the fisherman threw down his rod and rose with an alertness in his movements that bespoke new life. "i don't think her father can be like other folk," continued the mountaineer. "i dare say he is a man who is haunted by gloomy forebodings and therefore can not work steadily. what kind of a father would that be for the girl?" while ola was talking the fisherman started up the strand. "where are you going?" queried the lapp. "i'm going to have a look at your foster-daughter, ola." "good!" said the lapp. "come along and meet her. i think you'll say that she will be a good daughter to me." the swede rushed on so rapidly that the laplander could hardly keep pace with him. after a moment ola said to his companion: "now i recall that her name is osa--this girl i'm adopting." the other man only kept hurrying along and old ola serka was so well pleased that he wanted to laugh aloud. when they came in sight of the tents, ola said a few words more. "she came here to us saméfolk to find her father and not to become my foster-child. but if she doesn't find him, i shall be glad to keep her in my tent." the fisherman hastened all the faster. "i might have known that he would be alarmed when i threatened to take his daughter into the lapps' quarters," laughed ola to himself. when the man from kiruna, who had brought osa to the tent, turned back later in the day, he had two people with him in the boat, who sat close together, holding hands--as if they never again wanted to part. they were jon esserson and his daughter. both were unlike what they had been a few hours earlier. the father looked less bent and weary and his eyes were clear and good, as if at last he had found the answer to that which had troubled him so long. osa, the goose girl, did not glance longingly about, for she had found some one to care for her, and now she could be a child again. homeward bound! the first travelling day _saturday, october first_. the boy sat on the goosey-gander's back and rode up amongst the clouds. some thirty geese, in regular order, flew rapidly southward. there was a rustling of feathers and the many wings beat the air so noisily that one could scarcely hear one's own voice. akka from kebnekaise flew in the lead; after her came yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi, morten goosey-gander and dunfin. the six goslings which had accompanied the flock the autumn before had now left to look after themselves. instead, the old geese were taking with them twenty-two goslings that had grown up in the glen that summer. eleven flew to the right, eleven to the left; and they did their best to fly at even distances, like the big birds. the poor youngsters had never before been on a long trip and at first they had difficulty in keeping up with the rapid flight. "akka from kebnekaise! akka from kebnekaise!" they cried in plaintive tones. "what's the matter?" said the leader-goose sharply. "our wings are tired of moving, our wings are tired of moving!" wailed the young ones. "the longer you keep it up, the better it will go," answered the leader-goose, without slackening her speed. and she was quite right, for when the goslings had flown two hours longer, they complained no more of being tired. but in the mountain glen they had been in the habit of eating all day long, and very soon they began to feel hungry. "akka, akka, akka from kebnekaise!" wailed the goslings pitifully. "what's the trouble now?" asked the leader-goose. "we're so hungry, we can't fly any more!" whimpered the goslings. "we're so hungry, we can't fly any more!" "wild geese must learn to eat air and drink wind," said the leader-goose, and kept right on flying. it actually seemed as if the young ones were learning to live on wind and air, for when they had flown a little longer, they said nothing more about being hungry. the goose flock was still in the mountain regions, and the old geese called out the names of all the peaks as they flew past, so that the youngsters might learn them. when they had been calling out a while: "this is porsotjokko, this is särjaktjokko, this is sulitelma," and so on, the goslings became impatient again. "akka, akka, akka!" they shrieked in heart-rending tones. "what's wrong?" said the leader-goose. "we haven't room in our heads for any more of those awful names!" shrieked the goslings. "the more you put into your heads the more you can get into them," retorted the leader-goose, and continued to call out the queer names. the boy sat thinking that it was about time the wild geese betook themselves southward, for so much snow had fallen that the ground was white as far as the eye could see. there was no use denying that it had been rather disagreeable in the glen toward the last. rain and fog had succeeded each other without any relief, and even if it did clear up once in a while, immediately frost set in. berries and mushrooms, upon which the boy had subsisted during the summer, were either frozen or decayed. finally he had been compelled to eat raw fish, which was something he disliked. the days had grown short and the long evenings and late mornings were rather tiresome for one who could not sleep the whole time that the sun was away. now, at last, the goslings' wings had grown, so that the geese could start for the south. the boy was so happy that he laughed and sang as he rode on the goose's back. it was not only on account of the darkness and cold that he longed to get away from lapland; there were other reasons too. the first weeks of his sojourn there the boy had not been the least bit homesick. he thought he had never before seen such a glorious country. the only worry he had had was to keep the mosquitoes from eating him up. the boy had seen very little of the goosey-gander, because the big, white gander thought only of his dunfin and was unwilling to leave her for a moment. on the other hand, thumbietot had stuck to akka and gorgo, the eagle, and the three of them had passed many happy hours together. the two birds had taken him with them on long trips. he had stood on snow-capped mount kebnekaise, had looked down at the glaciers and visited many high cliffs seldom tramped by human feet. akka had shown him deep-hidden mountain dales and had let him peep into caves where mother wolves brought up their young. he had also made the acquaintance of the tame reindeer that grazed in herds along the shores of the beautiful torne lake, and he had been down to the great falls and brought greetings to the bears that lived thereabouts from their friends and relatives in westmanland. ever since he had seen osa, the goose girl, he longed for the day when he might go home with morten goosey-gander and be a normal human being once more. he wanted to be himself again, so that osa would not be afraid to talk to him and would not shut the door in his face. yes, indeed, he was glad that at last they were speeding southward. he waved his cap and cheered when he saw the first pine forest. in the same manner he greeted the first gray cabin, the first goat, the first cat, and the first chicken. they were continually meeting birds of passage, flying now in greater flocks than in the spring. "where are you bound for, wild geese?" called the passing birds. "where are you bound for?" "we, like yourselves, are going abroad," answered the geese. "those goslings of yours aren't ready to fly," screamed the others. "they'll never cross the sea with those puny wings!" laplander and reindeer were also leaving the mountains. when the wild geese sighted the reindeer, they circled down and called out: "thanks for your company this summer!" "a pleasant journey to you and a welcome back!" returned the reindeer. but when the bears saw the wild geese, they pointed them out to the cubs and growled: "just look at those geese; they are so afraid of a little cold they don't dare to stay at home in winter." but the old geese were ready with a retort and cried to their goslings: "look at those beasts that stay at home and sleep half the year rather than go to the trouble of travelling south!" down in the pine forest the young grouse sat huddled together and gazed longingly after the big bird flocks which, amid joy and merriment, proceeded southward. "when will our turn come?" they asked the mother grouse. "you will have to stay at home with mamma and papa," she said. legends from härjedalen _tuesday, october fourth_. the boy had had three days' travel in the rain and mist and longed for some sheltered nook, where he might rest awhile. at last the geese alighted to feed and ease their wings a bit. to his great relief the boy saw an observation tower on a hill close by, and dragged himself to it. when he had climbed to the top of the tower he found a party of tourists there, so he quickly crawled into a dark corner and was soon sound asleep. when the boy awoke, he began to feel uneasy because the tourists lingered so long in the tower telling stories. he thought they would never go. morten goosey-gander could not come for him while they were there and he knew, of course, that the wild geese were in a hurry to continue the journey. in the middle of a story he thought he heard honking and the beating of wings, as if the geese were flying away, but he did not dare to venture over to the balustrade to find out if it was so. at last, when the tourists were gone, and the boy could crawl from his hiding place, he saw no wild geese, and no morten goosey-gander came to fetch him. he called, "here am i, where are you?" as loud as he could, but his travelling companions did not appear. not for a second did he think they had deserted him; but he feared that they had met with some mishap and was wondering what he should do to find them, when bataki, the raven, lit beside him. the boy never dreamed that he should greet bataki with such a glad welcome as he now gave him. "dear bataki," he burst forth. "how fortunate that you are here! maybe you know what has become of morten goosey-gander and the wild geese?" "i've just come with a greeting from them," replied the raven. "akka saw a hunter prowling about on the mountain and therefore dared not stay to wait for you, but has gone on ahead. get up on my back and you shall soon be with your friends." the boy quickly seated himself on the raven's back and bataki would soon have caught up with the geese had he not been hindered by a fog. it was as if the morning sun had awakened it to life. little light veils of mist rose suddenly from the lake, from fields, and from the forest. they thickened and spread with marvellous rapidity, and soon the entire ground was hidden from sight by white, rolling mists. bataki flew along above the fog in clear air and sparkling sunshine, but the wild geese must have circled down among the damp clouds, for it was impossible to sight them. the boy and the raven called and shrieked, but got no response. "well, this is a stroke of ill luck!" said bataki finally. "but we know that they are travelling toward the south, and of course i'll find them as soon as the mist clears." the boy was distressed at the thought of being parted from morten goosey-gander just now, when the geese were on the wing, and the big white one might meet with all sorts of mishaps. after thumbietot had been sitting worrying for two hours or more, he remarked to himself that, thus far, there had been no mishap, and it was not worth while to lose heart. just then he heard a rooster crowing down on the ground, and instantly he bent forward on the raven's back and called out: "what's the name of the country i'm travelling over?" "it's called härjedalen, härjedalen, härjedalen," crowed the rooster. "how does it look down there where you are?" the boy asked. "cliffs in the west, woods in the east, broad valleys across the whole country," replied the rooster. "thank you," cried the boy. "you give a clear account of it." when they had travelled a little farther, he heard a crow cawing down in the mist. "what kind of people live in this country?" shouted the boy. "good, thrifty peasants," answered the crow. "good, thrifty peasants." "what do they do?" asked the boy. "what do they do?" "they raise cattle and fell forests," cawed the crow. "thanks," replied the boy. "you answer well." a bit farther on he heard a human voice yodeling and singing down in the mist. "is there any large city in this part of the country?" the boy asked. "what--what--who is it that calls?" cried the human voice. "is there any large city in this region?" the boy repeated. "i want to know who it is that calls," shouted the human voice. "i might have known that i could get no information when i asked a human being a civil question," the boy retorted. it was not long before the mist went away as suddenly as it had come. then the boy saw a beautiful landscape, with high cliffs as in jämtland, but there were no large, flourishing settlements on the mountain slopes. the villages lay far apart, and the farms were small. bataki followed the stream southward till they came within sight of a village. there he alighted in a stubble field and let the boy dismount. "in the summer grain grew on this ground," said bataki. "look around and see if you can't find something eatable." the boy acted upon the suggestion and before long he found a blade of wheat. as he picked out the grains and ate them, bataki talked to him. "do you see that mountain towering directly south of us?" he asked. "yes, of course, i see it," said the boy. "it is called sonfjället," continued the raven; "you can imagine that wolves were plentiful there once upon a time." "it must have been an ideal place for wolves," said the boy. "the people who lived here in the valley were frequently attacked by them," remarked the raven. "perhaps you remember a good wolf story you could tell me?" said the boy. "i've been told that a long, long time ago the wolves from sonfjället are supposed to have waylaid a man who had gone out to peddle his wares," began bataki. "he was from hede, a village a few miles down the valley. it was winter time and the wolves made for him as he was driving over the ice on lake ljusna. there were about nine or ten, and the man from hede had a poor old horse, so there was very little hope of his escaping. "when the man heard the wolves howl and saw how many there were after him, he lost his head, and it did not occur to him that he ought to dump his casks and jugs out of the sledge, to lighten the load. he only whipped up the horse and made the best speed he could, but he soon observed that the wolves were gaining on him. the shores were desolate and he was fourteen miles from the nearest farm. he thought that his final hour had come, and was paralyzed with fear. "while he sat there, terrified, he saw something move in the brush, which had been set in the ice to mark out the road; and when he discovered who it was that walked there, his fear grew more and more intense. "wild beasts were not coming toward him, but a poor old woman, named finn-malin, who was in the habit of roaming about on highways and byways. she was a hunchback, and slightly lame, so he recognized her at a distance. "the old woman was walking straight toward the wolves. the sledge had hidden them from her view, and the man comprehended at once that, if he were to drive on without warning her, she would walk right into the jaws of the wild beasts, and while they were rending her, he would have time enough to get away. "the old woman walked slowly, bent over a cane. it was plain that she was doomed if he did not help her, but even if he were to stop and take her into the sledge, it was by no means certain that she would be safe. more than likely the wolves would catch up with them, and he and she and the horse would all be killed. he wondered if it were not better to sacrifice one life in order that two might be spared--this flashed upon him the minute he saw the old woman. he had also time to think how it would be with him afterward--if perchance he might not regret that he had not succoured her; or if people should some day learn of the meeting and that he had not tried to help her. it was a terrible temptation. "'i would rather not have seen her,' he said to himself. "just then the wolves howled savagely. the horse reared, plunged forward, and dashed past the old beggar woman. she, too, had heard the howling of the wolves, and, as the man from hede drove by, he saw that the old woman knew what awaited her. she stood motionless, her mouth open for a cry, her arms stretched out for help. but she neither cried nor tried to throw herself into the sledge. something seemed to have turned her to stone. 'it was i,' thought the man. 'i must have looked like a demon as i passed.' "he tried to feel satisfied, now that he was certain of escape; but at that very moment his heart reproached him. never before had he done a dastardly thing, and he felt now that his whole life was blasted. "'let come what may,' he said, and reined in the horse, 'i cannot leave her alone with the wolves!' "it was with great difficulty that he got the horse to turn, but in the end he managed it and promptly drove back to her. "'be quick and get into the sledge,' he said gruffly; for he was mad with himself for not leaving the old woman to her fate. "'you might stay at home once in awhile, you old hag!' he growled. 'now both my horse and i will come to grief on your account.' "the old woman did not say a word, but the man from hede was in no mood to spare her. "'the horse has already tramped thirty-five miles to-day, and the load hasn't lightened any since you got up on it!' he grumbled, 'so that you must understand he'll soon be exhausted.' "the sledge runners crunched on the ice, but for all that he heard how the wolves panted, and knew that the beasts were almost upon him. "'it's all up with us!' he said. 'much good it was, either to you or to me, this attempt to save you, finn-malin!' "up to this point the old woman had been silent--like one who is accustomed to take abuse--but now she said a few words. "'i can't understand why you don't throw out your wares and lighten the load. you can come back again to-morrow and gather them up.' "the man realized that this was sound advice and was surprised that he had not thought of it before. he tossed the reins to the old woman, loosed the ropes that bound the casks, and pitched them out. the wolves were right upon them, but now they stopped to examine that which was thrown on the ice, and the travellers again had the start of them. "'if this does not help you,' said the old woman, 'you understand, of course, that i will give myself up to the wolves voluntarily, that you may escape.' "while she was speaking the man was trying to push a heavy brewer's vat from the long sledge. as he tugged at this he paused, as if he could not quite make up his mind to throw it out; but, in reality, his mind was taken up with something altogether different. "'surely a man and a horse who have no infirmities need not let a feeble old woman be devoured by wolves for their sakes!' he thought. 'there must be some other way of salvation. why, of course, there is! it's only my stupidity that hinders me from finding the way.' "again he started to push the vat, then paused once more and burst out laughing. "the old woman was alarmed and wondered if he had gone mad, but the man from hede was laughing at himself because he had been so stupid all the while. it was the simplest thing in the world to save all three of them. he could not imagine why he had not thought of it before. "'listen to what i say to you, malin!' he said. 'it was splendid of you to be willing to throw yourself to the wolves. but you won't have to do that because i know how we can all three be helped without endangering the life of any. remember, whatever i may do, you are to sit still and drive down to linsäll. there you must waken the townspeople and tell them that i'm alone out here on the ice, surrounded by wolves, and ask them to come and help me.' "the man waited until the wolves were almost upon the sledge. then he rolled out the big brewer's vat, jumped down, and crawled in under it. "it was a huge vat, large enough to hold a whole christmas brew. the wolves pounced upon it and bit at the hoops, but the vat was too heavy for them to move. they could not get at the man inside. "he knew that he was safe and laughed at the wolves. after a bit he was serious again. "'for the future, when i get into a tight place, i shall remember this vat, and i shall bear in mind that i need never wrong either myself or others, for there is always a third way out of a difficulty if only one can hit upon it.'" with this bataki closed his narrative. the boy noticed that the raven never spoke unless there was some special meaning back of his words, and the longer he listened to him, the more thoughtful he became. "i wonder why you told me that story?" remarked the boy. "i just happened to think of it as i stood here, gazing up at sonfjället," replied the raven. now they had travelled farther down lake ljusna and in an hour or so they came to kolsätt, close to the border of hälsingland. here the raven alighted near a little hut that had no windows--only a shutter. from the chimney rose sparks and smoke, and from within the sound of heavy hammering was heard. "whenever i see this smithy," observed the raven, "i'm reminded that, in former times, there were such skilled blacksmiths here in härjedalen, more especially in this village--that they couldn't be matched in the whole country." "perhaps you also remember a story about them?" said the boy. "yes," returned bataki, "i remember one about a smith from härjedalen who once invited two other master blacksmiths--one from dalecarlia and one from vermland--to compete with him at nail-making. the challenge was accepted and the three blacksmiths met here at kolsätt. the dalecarlian began. he forged a dozen nails, so even and smooth and sharp that they couldn't be improved upon. after him came the vermlander. he, too, forged a dozen nails, which were quite perfect and, moreover, he finished them in half the time that it took the dalecarlian. when the judges saw this they said to the härjedal smith that it wouldn't be worth while for him to try, since he could not forge better than the dalecarlian or faster than the vermlander. "'i sha'n't give up! there must be still another way of excelling,' insisted the härjedal smith. "he placed the iron on the anvil without heating it at the forge; he simply hammered it hot and forged nail after nail, without the use of either anvil or bellows. none of the judges had ever seen a blacksmith wield a hammer more masterfully, and the härjedal smith was proclaimed the best in the land." with these remarks bataki subsided, and the boy grew even more thoughtful. "i wonder what your purpose was in telling me that?" he queried. "the story dropped into my mind when i saw the old smithy again," said bataki in an offhand manner. the two travellers rose again into the air and the raven carried the boy southward till they came to lillhärdal parish, where he alighted on a leafy mound at the top of a ridge. "i wonder if you know upon what mound you are standing?" said bataki. the boy had to confess that he did not know. "this is a grave," said bataki. "beneath this mound lies the first settler in härjedalen." "perhaps you have a story to tell of him too?" said the boy. "i haven't heard much about him, but i think he was a norwegian. he had served with a norwegian king, got into his bad graces, and had to flee the country. "later he went over to the swedish king, who lived at upsala, and took service with him. but, after a time, he asked for the hand of the king's sister in marriage, and when the king wouldn't give him such a high-born bride, he eloped with her. by that time he had managed to get himself into such disfavour that it wasn't safe for him to live either in norway or sweden, and he did not wish to move to a foreign country. 'but there must still be a course open to me,' he thought. with his servants and treasures, he journeyed through dalecarlia until he arrived in the desolate forests beyond the outskirts of the province. there he settled, built houses and broke up land. thus, you see, he was the first man to settle in this part of the country." as the boy listened to the last story, he looked very serious. "i wonder what your object is in telling me all this?" he repeated. bataki twisted and turned and screwed up his eyes, and it was some time before he answered the boy. "since we are here alone," he said finally, "i shall take this opportunity to question you regarding a certain matter. "have you ever tried to ascertain upon what terms the elf who transformed you was to restore you to a normal human being?" "the only stipulation i've heard anything about was that i should take the white goosey-gander up to lapland and bring him back to skåne, safe and sound." "i thought as much," said bataki; "for when last we met, you talked confidently of there being nothing more contemptible than deceiving a friend who trusts one. you'd better ask akka about the terms. you know, i dare say, that she was at your home and talked with the elf." "akka hasn't told me of this," said the boy wonderingly. "she must have thought that it was best for you not to know just what the elf _did_ say. naturally she would rather help you than morten goosey-gander." "it is singular, bataki, that you always have a way of making me feel unhappy and anxious," said the boy. "i dare say it might seem so," continued the raven, "but this time i believe that you will be grateful to me for telling you that the elf's words were to this effect: you were to become a normal human being again if you would bring back morten goosey-gander that your mother might lay him on the block and chop his head off." the boy leaped up. "that's only one of your base fabrications," he cried indignantly. "you can ask akka yourself," said bataki. "i see her coming up there with her whole flock. and don't forget what i have told you to-day. there is usually a way out of all difficulties, if only one can find it. i shall be interested to see what success you have." vermland and dalsland _wednesday, october fifth_. to-day the boy took advantage of the rest hour, when akka was feeding apart from the other wild geese, to ask her if that which bataki had related was true, and akka could not deny it. the boy made the leader-goose promise that she would not divulge the secret to morten goosey-gander. the big white gander was so brave and generous that he might do something rash were he to learn of the elf's stipulations. later the boy sat on the goose-back, glum and silent, and hung his head. he heard the wild geese call out to the goslings that now they were in dalarne, they could see städjan in the north, and that now they were flying over österdal river to horrmund lake and were coming to vesterdal river. but the boy did not care even to glance at all this. "i shall probably travel around with wild geese the rest of my life," he remarked to himself, "and i am likely to see more of this land than i wish." he was quite as indifferent when the wild geese called out to him that now they had arrived in vermland and that the stream they were following southward was klarälven. "i've seen so many rivers already," thought the boy, "why bother to look at one more?" even had he been more eager for sight-seeing, there was not very much to be seen, for northern vermland is nothing but vast, monotonous forest tracts, through which klarälven winds--narrow and rich in rapids. here and there one can see a charcoal kiln, a forest clearing, or a few low, chimneyless huts, occupied by finns. but the forest as a whole is so extensive one might fancy it was far up in lapland. a little homestead _thursday, october sixth_. the wild geese followed klarälven as far as the big iron foundries at monk fors. then they proceeded westward to fryksdalen. before they got to lake fryken it began to grow dusky, and they lit in a little wet morass on a wooded hill. the morass was certainly a good night quarter for the wild geese, but the boy thought it dismal and rough, and wished for a better sleeping place. while he was still high in the air, he had noticed that below the ridge lay a number of farms, and with great haste he proceeded to seek them out. they were farther away than he had fancied and several times he was tempted to turn back. presently the woods became less dense, and he came to a road skirting the edge of the forest. from it branched a pretty birch-bordered lane, which led down to a farm, and immediately he hastened toward it. first the boy entered a farm yard as large as a city marketplace and enclosed by a long row of red houses. as he crossed the yard, he saw another farm where the dwelling-house faced a gravel path and a wide lawn. back of the house there was a garden thick with foliage. the dwelling itself was small and humble, but the garden was edged by a row of exceedingly tall mountain-ash trees, so close together that they formed a real wall around it. it appeared to the boy as if he were coming into a great, high-vaulted chamber, with the lovely blue sky for a ceiling. the mountain-ash were thick with clusters of red berries, the grass plots were still green, of course, but that night there was a full moon, and as the bright moonlight fell upon the grass it looked as white as silver. no human being was in sight and the boy could wander freely wherever he wished. when he was in the garden he saw something which almost put him in good humour. he had climbed a mountain-ash to eat berries, but before he could reach a cluster he caught sight of a barberry bush, which was also full of berries. he slid along the ash branch and clambered up into the barberry bush, but he was no sooner there than he discovered a currant bush, on which still hung long red clusters. next he saw that the garden was full of gooseberries and raspberries and dog-rose bushes; that there were cabbages and turnips in the vegetable beds and berries on every bush, seeds on the herbs and grain-filled ears on every blade. and there on the path--no, of course he could not mistake it--was a big red apple which shone in the moonlight. the boy sat down at the side of the path, with the big red apple in front of him, and began cutting little pieces from it with his sheath knife. "it wouldn't be such a serious matter to be an elf all one's life if it were always as easy to get good food as it is here," he thought. he sat and mused as he ate, wondering finally if it would not be as well for him to remain here and let the wild geese travel south without him. "i don't know for the life of me how i can ever explain to morten goosey-gander that i cannot go home," thought he. "it would be better were i to leave him altogether. i could gather provisions enough for the winter, as well as the squirrels do, and if i were to live in a dark corner of the stable or the cow shed, i shouldn't freeze to death." just as he was thinking this, he heard a light rustle over his head, and a second later something which resembled a birch stump stood on the ground beside him. the stump twisted and turned, and two bright dots on top of it glowed like coals of fire. it looked like some enchantment. however, the boy soon remarked that the stump had a hooked beak and big feather wreaths around its glowing eyes. then he knew that this was no enchantment. "it is a real pleasure to meet a living creature," remarked the boy. "perhaps you will be good enough to tell me the name of this place, mrs. brown owl, and what sort of folk live here." that evening, as on all other evenings, the owl had perched on a rung of the big ladder propped against the roof, from which she had looked down toward the gravel walks and grass plots, watching for rats. very much to her surprise, not a single grayskin had appeared. she saw instead something that looked like a human being, but much, much smaller, moving about in the garden. "that's the one who is scaring away the rats!" thought the owl. "what in the world can it be? it's not a squirrel, nor a kitten, nor a weasel," she observed. "i suppose that a bird who has lived on an old place like this as long as i have ought to know about everything in the world; but this is beyond my comprehension," she concluded. she had been staring at the object that moved on the gravel path until her eyes burned. finally curiosity got the better of her and she flew down to the ground to have a closer view of the stranger. when the boy began to speak, the owl bent forward and looked him up and down. "he has neither claws nor horns," she remarked to herself, "yet who knows but he may have a poisonous fang or some even more dangerous weapon. i must try to find out what he passes for before i venture to touch him." "the place is called mårbacka," said the owl, "and gentlefolk lived here once upon a time. but you, yourself, who are you?" "i think of moving in here," volunteered the boy without answering the owl's question. "would it be possible, do you think?" "oh, yes--but it's not much of a place now compared to what it was once," said the owl. "you can weather it here i dare say. it all depends upon what you expect to live on. do you intend to take up the rat chase?" "oh, by no means!" declared the boy. "there is more fear of the rats eating me than that i shall do them any harm." "it can't be that he is as harmless as he says," thought the brown owl. "all the same i believe i'll make an attempt...." she rose into the air, and in a second her claws were fastened in nils holgersson's shoulder and she was trying to hack at his eyes. the boy shielded both eyes with one hand and tried to free himself with the other, at the same time calling with all his might for help. he realized that he was in deadly peril and thought that this time, surely, it was all over with him! now i must tell you of a strange coincidence: the very year that nils holgersson travelled with the wild geese there was a woman who thought of writing a book about sweden, which would be suitable for children to read in the schools. she had thought of this from christmas time until the following autumn; but not a line of the book had she written. at last she became so tired of the whole thing that she said to herself: "you are not fitted for such work. sit down and compose stories and legends, as usual, and let another write this book, which has got to be serious and instructive, and in which there must not be one untruthful word." it was as good as settled that she would abandon the idea. but she thought, very naturally, it would have been agreeable to write something beautiful about sweden, and it was hard for her to relinquish her work. finally, it occurred to her that maybe it was because she lived in a city, with only gray streets and house walls around her, that she could make no headway with the writing. perhaps if she were to go into the country, where she could see woods and fields, that it might go better. she was from vermland, and it was perfectly clear to her that she wished to begin the book with that province. first of all she would write about the place where she had grown up. it was a little homestead, far removed from the great world, where many old-time habits and customs were retained. she thought that it would be entertaining for children to hear of the manifold duties which had succeeded one another the year around. she wanted to tell them how they celebrated christmas and new year and easter and midsummer day in her home; what kind of house furnishings they had; what the kitchen and larder were like, and how the cow shed, stable, lodge, and bath house had looked. but when she was to write about it the pen would not move. why this was she could not in the least understand; nevertheless it was so. true, she remembered it all just as distinctly as if she were still living in the midst of it. she argued with herself that since she was going into the country anyway, perhaps she ought to make a little trip to the old homestead that she might see it again before writing about it. she had not been there in many years and did not think it half bad to have a reason for the journey. in fact she had always longed to be there, no matter in what part of the world she happened to be. she had seen many places that were more pretentious and prettier. but nowhere could she find such comfort and protection as in the home of her childhood. it was not such an easy matter for her to go home as one might think, for the estate had been sold to people she did not know. she felt, to be sure, that they would receive her well, but she did not care to go to the old place to sit and talk with strangers, for she wanted to recall how it had been in times gone by. that was why she planned it so as to arrive there late in the evening, when the day's work was done and the people were indoors. she had never imagined that it would be so wonderful to come home! as she sat in the cart and drove toward the old homestead she fancied that she was growing younger and younger every minute, and that soon she would no longer be an oldish person with hair that was turning gray, but a little girl in short skirts with a long flaxen braid. as she recognized each farm along the road, she could not picture anything else than that everything at home would be as in bygone days. her father and mother and brothers and sisters would be standing on the porch to welcome her; the old housekeeper would run to the kitchen window to see who was coming, and nero and freja and another dog or two would come bounding and jumping up on her. the nearer she approached the place the happier she felt. it was autumn, which meant a busy time with a round of duties. it must have been all these varying duties which prevented home from ever being monotonous. all along the way the farmers were digging potatoes, and probably they would be doing likewise at her home. that meant that they must begin immediately to grate potatoes and make potato flour. the autumn had been a mild one; she wondered if everything in the garden had already been stored. the cabbages were still out, but perhaps the hops had been picked, and all the apples. it would be well if they were not having house cleaning at home. autumn fair time was drawing nigh, everywhere the cleaning and scouring had to be done before the fair opened. that was regarded as a great event--more especially by the servants. it was a pleasure to go into the kitchen on market eve and see the newly scoured floor strewn with juniper twigs, the whitewashed walls and the shining copper utensils which were suspended from the ceiling. even after the fair festivities were over there would not be much of a breathing spell, for then came the work on the flax. during dog days the flax had been spread out on a meadow to mould. now it was laid in the old bath house, where the stove was lighted to dry it out. when it was dry enough to handle all the women in the neighbourhood were called together. they sat outside the bath house and picked the flax to pieces. then they beat it with swingles, to separate the fine white fibres from the dry stems. as they worked, the women grew gray with dust; their hair and clothing were covered with flax seed, but they did not seem to mind it. all day the swingles pounded, and the chatter went on, so that when one went near the old bath house it sounded as if a blustering storm had broken loose there. after the work with the flax, came the big hard-tack baking, the sheep shearing, and the servants' moving time. in november there were busy slaughter days, with salting of meats, sausage making, baking of blood pudding, and candle steeping. the seamstress who used to make up their homespun dresses had to come at this time, of course, and those were always two pleasant weeks--when the women folk sat together and busied themselves with sewing. the cobbler, who made shoes for the entire household, sat working at the same time in the men-servants' quarters, and one never tired of watching him as he cut the leather and soled and heeled the shoes and put eyelets in the shoestring holes. but the greatest rush came around christmas time. lucia day--when the housemaid went about dressed in white, with candles in her hair, and served coffee to everybody at five in the morning--came as a sort of reminder that for the next two weeks they could not count on much sleep. for now they must brew the christmas ale, steep the christmas fish in lye, and do their christmas baking and christmas scouring. she was in the middle of the baking, with pans of christmas buns and cooky platters all around her, when the driver drew in the reins at the end of the lane as she had requested. she started like one suddenly awakened from a sound sleep. it was dismal for her who had just dreamed herself surrounded by all her people to be sitting alone in the late evening. as she stepped from the wagon and started to walk up the long lane that she might come unobserved to her old home, she felt so keenly the contrast between then and now that she would have preferred to turn back. "of what use is it to come here?" she sighed. "it can't be the same as in the old days!" on the other hand she felt that since she had travelled such a long distance, she would see the place at all events, so continued to walk on, although she was more depressed with every step that she took. she had heard that it was very much changed; and it certainly was! but she did not observe this now in the evening. she thought, rather, that everything was quite the same. there was the pond, which in her youth had been full of carp and where no one dared fish, because it was father's wish that the carp should be left in peace. over there were the men-servants' quarters, the larder and barn, with the farm yard bell over one gable and the weather-vane over the other. the house yard was like a circular room, with no outlook in any direction, as it had been in her father's time--for he had not the heart to cut down as much as a bush. she lingered in the shadow under the big mountain-ash at the entrance to the farm, and stood looking about her. as she stood there a strange thing happened; a flock of doves came and lit beside her. she could hardly believe that they were real birds, for doves are not in the habit of moving about after sundown. it must have been the beautiful moonlight that had awakened these. they must have thought it was dawn and flown from their dove-cotes, only to become confused, hardly knowing where they were. when they saw a human being they flew over to her, as if she would set them right. there had been many flocks of doves at the manor when her parents lived there, for the doves were among the creatures which her father had taken under his special care. if one ever mentioned the killing of a dove, it put him in a bad humour. she was pleased that the pretty birds had come to meet her in the old home. who could tell but the doves had flown out in the night to show her they had not forgotten that once upon a time they had a good home there. perhaps her father had sent his birds with a greeting to her, so that she would not feel so sad and lonely when she came to her former home. as she thought of this, there welled up within her such an intense longing for the old times that her eyes filled with tears. life had been beautiful in this place. they had had weeks of work broken by many holiday festivities. they had toiled hard all day, but at evening they had gathered around the lamp and read tegner and runeberg, "_fru"_ lenngren and "_mamsell"_ bremer. they had cultivated grain, but also roses and jasmine. they had spun flax, but had sung folk-songs as they spun. they had worked hard at their history and grammar, but they had also played theatre and written verses. they had stood at the kitchen stove and prepared food, but had learned, also, to play the flute and guitar, the violin and piano. they had planted cabbages and turnips, peas and beans in one garden, but they had another full of apples and pears and all kinds of berries. they had lived by themselves, and this was why so many stories and legends were stowed away in their memories. they had worn homespun clothes, but they had also been able to lead care-free and independent lives. "nowhere else in the world do they know how to get so much out of life as they did at one of these little homesteads in my childhood!" she thought. "there was just enough work and just enough play, and every day there was a joy. how i should love to come back here again! now that i have seen the place, it is hard to leave it." then she turned to the flock of doves and said to them--laughing at herself all the while: "won't you fly to father and tell him that i long to come home? i have wandered long enough in strange places. ask him if he can't arrange it so that i may soon turn back to my childhood's home." the moment she had said this the flock of doves rose and flew away. she tried to follow them with her eyes, but they vanished instantly. it was as if the whole white company had dissolved in the shimmering air. the doves had only just gone when she heard a couple of piercing cries from the garden, and as she hastened thither she saw a singular sight. there stood a tiny midget, no taller than a hand's breadth, struggling with a brown owl. at first she was so astonished that she could not move. but when the midget cried more and more pitifully, she stepped up quickly and parted the fighters. the owl swung herself into a tree, but the midget stood on the gravel path, without attempting either to hide or to run away. "thanks for your help," he said. "but it was very stupid of you to let the owl escape. i can't get away from here, because she is sitting up in the tree watching me." "it was thoughtless of me to let her go. but to make amends, can't i accompany you to your home?" asked she who wrote stories, somewhat surprised to think that in this unexpected fashion she had got into conversation with one of the tiny folk. still she was not so much surprised after all. it was as if all the while she had been awaiting some extraordinary experience, while she walked in the moonlight outside her old home. "the fact is, i had thought of stopping here over night," said the midget. "if you will only show me a safe sleeping place, i shall not be obliged to return to the forest before daybreak." "must i show you a place to sleep? are you not at home here?" "i understand that you take me for one of the tiny folk," said the midget, "but i'm a human being, like yourself, although i have been transformed by an elf." "that is the most remarkable thing i have ever heard! wouldn't you like to tell me how you happened to get into such a plight?" the boy did not mind telling her of his adventures, and, as the narrative proceeded, she who listened to him grew more and more astonished and happy. "what luck to run across one who has travelled all over sweden on the back of a goose!" thought she. "just this which he is relating i shall write down in my book. now i need worry no more over that matter. it was well that i came home. to think that i should find such help as soon as i came to the old place!" instantly another thought flashed into her mind. she had sent word to her father by the doves that she longed for home, and almost immediately she had received help in the matter she had pondered so long. might not this be the father's answer to her prayer? the treasure on the island on their way to the sea _friday, october seventh_. from the very start of the autumn trip the wild geese had flown straight south; but when they left fryksdalen they veered in another direction, travelling over western vermland and dalsland, toward bohuslän. that was a jolly trip! the goslings were now so used to flying that they complained no more of fatigue, and the boy was fast recovering his good humour. he was glad that he had talked with a human being. he felt encouraged when she said to him that if he were to continue doing good to all whom he met, as heretofore, it could not end badly for him. she was not able to tell him how to get back his natural form, but she had given him a little hope and assurance, which inspired the boy to think out a way to prevent the big white gander from going home. "do you know, morten goosey-gander, that it will be rather monotonous for us to stay at home all winter after having been on a trip like this," he said, as they were flying far up in the air. "i'm sitting here thinking that we ought to go abroad with the geese." "surely you are not in earnest!" said the goosey-gander. since he had proved to the wild geese his ability to travel with them all the way to lapland, he was perfectly satisfied to get back to the goose pen in holger nilsson's cow shed. the boy sat silently a while and gazed down on vermland, where the birch woods, leafy groves, and gardens were clad in red and yellow autumn colours. "i don't think i've ever seen the earth beneath us as lovely as it is to-day!" he finally remarked. "the lakes are like blue satin bands. don't you think it would be a pity to settle down in west vemminghög and never see any more of the world?" "i thought you wanted to go home to your mother and father and show them what a splendid boy you had become?" said the goosey-gander. all summer he had been dreaming of what a proud moment it would be for him when he should alight in the house yard before holger nilsson's cabin and show dunfin and the six goslings to the geese and chickens, the cows and the cat, and to mother holger nilsson herself, so that he was not very happy over the boy's proposal. "now, morten goosey-gander, don't you think yourself that it would be hard never to see anything more that is beautiful!" said the boy. "i would rather see the fat grain fields of söderslätt than these lean hills," answered the goosey-gander. "but you must know very well that if you really wish to continue the trip, i can't be parted from you." "that is just the answer i had expected from you," said the boy, and his voice betrayed that he was relieved of a great anxiety. later, when they travelled over bohuslän, the boy observed that the mountain stretches were more continuous, the valleys were more like little ravines blasted in the rock foundation, while the long lakes at their base were as black as if they had come from the underworld. this, too, was a glorious country, and as the boy saw it, with now a strip of sun, now a shadow, he thought that there was something strange and wild about it. he knew not why, but the idea came to him that once upon a time there were many strong and brave heroes in these mystical regions who had passed through many dangerous and daring adventures. the old passion of wanting to share in all sorts of wonderful adventures awoke in him. "i might possibly miss not being in danger of my life at least once every day or two," he thought. "anyhow it's best to be content with things as they are." he did not speak of this idea to the big white gander, because the geese were now flying over bohuslän with all the speed they could muster, and the goosey-gander was puffing so hard that he would not have had the strength to reply. the sun was far down on the horizon, and disappeared every now and then behind a hill; still the geese kept forging ahead. finally, in the west, they saw a shining strip of light, which grew broader and broader with every wing stroke. soon the sea spread before them, milk white with a shimmer of rose red and sky blue, and when they had circled past the coast cliffs they saw the sun again, as it hung over the sea, big and red and ready to plunge into the waves. as the boy gazed at the broad, endless sea and the red evening sun, which had such a kindly glow that he dared to look straight at it, he felt a sense of peace and calm penetrate his soul. "it's not worth while to be sad, nils holgersson," said the sun. "this is a beautiful world to live in both for big and little. it is also good to be free and happy, and to have a great dome of open sky above you." the gift of the wild geese the geese stood sleeping on a little rock islet just beyond fjällbacka. when it drew on toward midnight, and the moon hung high in the heavens, old akka shook the sleepiness out of her eyes. after that she walked around and awakened yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi, and, last of all, she gave thumbietot a nudge with her bill that startled him. "what is it, mother akka?" he asked, springing up in alarm. "nothing serious," assured the leader-goose. "it's just this: we seven who have been long together want to fly a short distance out to sea to-night, and we wondered if you would care to come with us." the boy knew that akka would not have proposed this move had there not been something important on foot, so he promptly seated himself on her back. the flight was straight west. the wild geese first flew over a belt of large and small islands near the coast, then over a broad expanse of open sea, till they reached the large cluster known as the väder islands. all of them were low and rocky, and in the moonlight one could see that they were rather large. akka looked at one of the smallest islands and alighted there. it consisted of a round, gray stone hill, with a wide cleft across it, into which the sea had cast fine, white sea sand and a few shells. as the boy slid from the goose's back he noticed something quite close to him that looked like a jagged stone. but almost at once he saw that it was a big vulture which had chosen the rock island for a night harbour. before the boy had time to wonder at the geese recklessly alighting so near a dangerous enemy, the bird flew up to them and the boy recognized gorgo, the eagle. evidently akka and gorgo had arranged the meeting, for neither of them was taken by surprise. "this was good of you, gorgo," said akka. "i didn't expect that you would be at the meeting place ahead of us. have you been here long?" "i came early in the evening," replied gorgo. "but i fear that the only praise i deserve is for keeping my appointment with you. i've not been very successful in carrying out the orders you gave me." "i'm sure, gorgo, that you have done more than you care to admit," assured akka. "but before you relate your experiences on the trip, i shall ask thumbietot to help me find something which is supposed to be buried on this island." the boy stood gazing admiringly at two beautiful shells, but when akka spoke his name, he glanced up. "you must have wondered, thumbietot, why we turned out of our course to fly here to the west sea," said akka. "to be frank, i did think it strange," answered the boy. "but i knew, of course, that you always have some good reason for whatever you do." "you have a good opinion of me," returned akka, "but i almost fear you will lose it now, for it's very probable that we have made this journey in vain. "many years ago it happened that two of the other old geese and myself encountered frightful storms during a spring flight and were wind-driven to this island. when we discovered that there was only open sea before us, we feared we should be swept so far out that we should never find our way back to land, so we lay down on the waves between these bare cliffs, where the storm compelled us to remain for several days. "we suffered terribly from hunger; once we ventured up to the cleft on this island in search of food. we couldn't find a green blade, but we saw a number of securely tied bags half buried in the sand. we hoped to find grain in the bags and pulled and tugged at them till we tore the cloth. however, no grain poured out, but shining gold pieces. for such things we wild geese had no use, so we left them where they were. we haven't thought of the find in all these years; but this autumn something has come up to make us wish for gold. "we do not know that the treasure is still here, but we have travelled all this way to ask you to look into the matter." with a shell in either hand the boy jumped down into the cleft and began to scoop up the sand. he found no bags, but when he had made a deep hole he heard the clink of metal and saw that he had come upon a gold piece. then he dug with his fingers and felt many coins in the sand. so he hurried back to akka. "the bags have rotted and fallen apart," he exclaimed, "and the money lies scattered all through the sand." "that's well!" said akka. "now fill in the hole and smooth it over so no one will notice the sand has been disturbed." the boy did as he was told, but when he came up from the cleft he was astonished to see that the wild geese were lined up, with akka in the lead, and were marching toward him with great solemnity. the geese paused in front of him, and all bowed their heads many times, looking so grave that he had to doff his cap and make an obeisance to them. "the fact is," said akka, "we old geese have been thinking that if thumbietot had been in the service of human beings and had done as much for them as he has for us they would not let him go without rewarding him well." "i haven't helped you; it is you who have taken good care of me," returned the boy. "we think also," continued akka, "that when a human being has attended us on a whole journey he shouldn't be allowed to leave us as poor as when he came." "i know that what i have learned this year with you is worth more to me than gold or lands," said the boy. "since these gold coins have been lying unclaimed in the cleft all these years, i think that you ought to have them," declared the wild goose. "i thought you said something about needing this money yourselves," reminded the boy. "we do need it, so as to be able to give you such recompense as will make your mother and father think you have been working as a goose boy with worthy people." the boy turned half round and cast a glance toward the sea, then faced about and looked straight into akka's bright eyes. "i think it strange, mother akka, that you turn me away from your service like this and pay me off before i have given you notice," he said. "as long as we wild geese remain in sweden, i trust that you will stay with us," said akka. "i only wanted to show you where the treasure was while we could get to it without going too far out of our course." "all the same it looks as if you wished to be rid of me before i want to go," argued thumbietot. "after all the good times we have had together, i think you ought to let me go abroad with you." when the boy said this, akka and the other wild geese stretched their long necks straight up and stood a moment, with bills half open, drinking in air. "that is something i haven't thought about," said akka, when she recovered herself. "before you decide to come with us, we had better hear what gorgo has to say. you may as well know that when we left lapland the agreement between gorgo and myself was that he should travel to your home down in skåne to try to make better terms for you with the elf." "that is true," affirmed gorgo, "but as i have already told you, luck was against me. i soon hunted up holger nilsson's croft and after circling up and down over the place a couple of hours, i caught sight of the elf, skulking along between the sheds. "immediately i swooped down upon him and flew off with him to a meadow where we could talk together without interruption. "i told him that i had been sent by akka from kebnekaise to ask if he couldn't give nils holgersson easier terms. "'i only wish i could!' he answered, 'for i have heard that he has conducted himself well on the trip; but it is not in my power to do so.' "then i was wrathy and said that i would bore out his eyes unless he gave in. "'you may do as you like,' he retorted, 'but as to nils holgersson, it will turn out exactly as i have said. you can tell him from me that he would do well to return soon with his goose, for matters on the farm are in a bad shape. his father has had to forfeit a bond for his brother, whom he trusted. he has bought a horse with borrowed money, and the beast went lame the first time he drove it. since then it has been of no earthly use to him. tell nils holgersson that his parents have had to sell two of the cows and that they must give up the croft unless they receive help from somewhere." when the boy heard this he frowned and clenched his fists so hard that the nails dug into his flesh. "it is cruel of the elf to make the conditions so hard for me that i can not go home and relieve my parents, but he sha'n't turn me into a traitor to a friend! my father and mother are square and upright folk. i know they would rather forfeit my help than have me come back to them with a guilty conscience." the journey to vemminghög _thursday, november third_. one day in the beginning of november the wild geese flew over halland ridge and into skåne. for several weeks they had been resting on the wide plains around falköping. as many other wild goose flocks also stopped there, the grown geese had had a pleasant time visiting with old friends, and there had been all kinds of games and races between the younger birds. nils holgersson had not been happy over the delay in westergötland. he had tried to keep a stout heart; but it was hard for him to reconcile himself to his fate. "if i were only well out of skåne and in some foreign land," he had thought, "i should know for certain that i had nothing to hope for, and would feel easier in my mind." finally, one morning, the geese started out and flew toward halland. in the beginning the boy took very little interest in that province. he thought there was nothing new to be seen there. but when the wild geese continued the journey farther south, along the narrow coast-lands, the boy leaned over the goose's neck and did not take his glance from the ground. he saw the hills gradually disappear and the plain spread under him, at the same time he noticed that the coast became less rugged, while the group of islands beyond thinned and finally vanished and the broad, open sea came clear up to firm land. here there were no more forests: here the plain was supreme. it spread all the way to the horizon. a land that lay so exposed, with field upon field, reminded the boy of skåne. he felt both happy and sad as he looked at it. "i can't be very far from home," he thought. many times during the trip the goslings had asked the old geese: "how does it look in foreign lands?" "wait, wait! you shall soon see," the old geese had answered. when the wild geese had passed halland ridge and gone a distance into skåne, akka called out: "now look down! look all around! it is like this in foreign lands." just then they flew over söder ridge. the whole long range of hills was clad in beech woods, and beautiful, turreted castles peeped out here and there. among the trees grazed roe-buck, and on the forest meadow romped the hares. hunters' horns sounded from the forests; the loud baying of dogs could be heard all the way up to the wild geese. broad avenues wound through the trees and on these ladies and gentlemen were driving in polished carriages or riding fine horses. at the foot of the ridge lay ring lake with the ancient bosjö cloister on a narrow peninsula. "does it look like this in foreign lands?" asked the goslings. "it looks exactly like this wherever there are forest-clad ridges," replied akka, "only one doesn't see many of them. wait! you shall see how it looks in general." akka led the geese farther south to the great skåne plain. there it spread, with grain fields; with acres and acres of sugar beets, where the beet-pickers were at work; with low whitewashed farmand outhouses; with numberless little white churches; with ugly, gray sugar refineries and small villages near the railway stations. little beech-encircled meadow lakes, each of them adorned by its own stately manor, shimmered here and there. "now look down! look carefully!" called the leader-goose. "thus it is in foreign lands, from the baltic coast all the way down to the high alps. farther than that i have never travelled." when the goslings had seen the plain, the leader-goose flew down the öresund coast. swampy meadows sloped gradually toward the sea. in some places were high, steep banks, in others drift-sand fields, where the sand lay heaped in banks and hills. fishing hamlets stood all along the coast, with long rows of low, uniform brick houses, with a lighthouse at the edge of the breakwater, and brown fishing nets hanging in the drying yard. "now look down! look well! this is how it looks along the coasts in foreign lands." after akka had been flying about in this manner a long time she alighted suddenly on a marsh in vemminghög township and the boy could not help thinking that she had travelled over skåne just to let him see that his was a country which could compare favourably with any in the world. this was unnecessary, for the boy was not thinking of whether the country was rich or poor. from the moment that he had seen the first willow grove his heart ached with homesickness. home at last _tuesday, november eighth_. the atmosphere was dull and hazy. the wild geese had been feeding on the big meadow around skerup church and were having their noonday rest when akka came up to the boy. "it looks as if we should have calm weather for awhile," she remarked, "and i think we'll cross the baltic to-morrow." "indeed!" said the boy abruptly, for his throat contracted so that he could hardly speak. all along he had cherished the hope that he would be released from the enchantment while he was still in skåne. "we are quite near west vemminghög now," said akka, "and i thought that perhaps you might like to go home for awhile. it may be some time before you have another opportunity to see your people." "perhaps i had better not," said the boy hesitatingly, but something in his voice betrayed that he was glad of akka's proposal. "if the goosey-gander remains with us, no harm can come to him," akka assured. "i think you had better find out how your parents are getting along. you might be of some help to them, even if you're not a normal boy." "you are right, mother akka. i should have thought of that long ago," said the boy impulsively. the next second he and the leader-goose were on their way to his home. it was not long before akka alighted behind the stone hedge encircling the little farm. "strange how natural everything looks around here!" the boy remarked, quickly clambering to the top of the hedge, so that he could look about. "it seems to me only yesterday that i first saw you come flying through the air." "i wonder if your father has a gun," said akka suddenly. "you may be sure he has," returned the boy. "it was just the gun that kept me at home that sunday morning when i should have been at church." "then i don't dare to stand here and wait for you," said akka. "you had better meet us at smygahök early to-morrow morning, so that you may stay at home over night." "oh, don't go yet, mother akka!" begged the boy, jumping from the hedge. he could not tell just why it was, but he felt as if something would happen, either to the wild goose or to himself, to prevent their future meeting. "no doubt you see that i'm distressed because i cannot get back my right form; but i want to say to you that i don't regret having gone with you last spring," he added. "i would rather forfeit the chance of ever being human again than to have missed that trip." akka breathed quickly before she answered. "there's a little matter i should have mentioned to you before this, but since you are not going back to your home for good, i thought there was no hurry about it. still it may as well be said now." "you know very well that i am always glad to do your bidding," said the boy. "if you have learned anything at all from us, thumbietot, you no longer think that the humans should have the whole earth to themselves," said the wild goose, solemnly. "remember you have a large country and you can easily afford to leave a few bare rocks, a few shallow lakes and swamps, a few desolate cliffs and remote forests to us poor, dumb creatures, where we can be allowed to live in peace. all my days i have been hounded and hunted. it would be a comfort to know that there is a refuge somewhere for one like me." "indeed, i should be glad to help if i could," said the boy, "but it's not likely that i shall ever again have any influence among human beings." "well, we're standing here talking as if we were never to meet again," said akka, "but we shall see each other to-morrow, of course. now i'll return to my flock." she spread her wings and started to fly, but came back and stroked thumbietot up and down with her bill before she flew away. it was broad daylight, but no human being moved on the farm and the boy could go where he pleased. he hastened to the cow shed, because he knew that he could get the best information from the cows. it looked rather barren in their shed. in the spring there had been three fine cows there, but now there was only one--mayrose. it was quite apparent that she yearned for her comrades. her head drooped sadly, and she had hardly touched the feed in her crib. "good day, mayrose!" said the boy, running fearlessly into her stall. "how are mother and father? how are the cat and the chickens? what has become of star and gold-lily?" when mayrose heard the boy's voice she started, and appeared as if she were going to gore him. but she was not so quick-tempered now as formerly, and took time to look well at nils holgersson. he was just as little now as when he went away, and wore the same clothes; yet he was completely changed. the nils holgersson that went away in the spring had a heavy, slow gait, a drawling speech, and sleepy eyes. the one that had come back was lithe and alert, ready of speech, and had eyes that sparkled and danced. he had a confident bearing that commanded respect, little as he was. although he himself did not look happy, he inspired happiness in others. "moo!" bellowed mayrose. "they told me that he was changed, but i couldn't believe it. welcome home, nils holgersson! welcome home! this is the first glad moment i have known for ever so long!" "thank you, mayrose!" said the boy, who was very happy to be so well received. "now tell me all about father and mother." "they have had nothing but hardship ever since you went away," said mayrose. "the horse has been a costly care all summer, for he has stood in the stable the whole time and not earned his feed. your father is too soft-hearted to shoot him and he can't sell him. it was on account of the horse that both star and gold-lily had to be sold." there was something else the boy wanted badly to know, but he was diffident about asking the question point blank. therefore he said: "mother must have felt very sorry when she discovered that morten goosey-gander had flown?" "she wouldn't have worried much about morten goosey-gander had she known the way he came to leave. she grieves most at the thought of her son having run away from home with a goosey-gander." "does she really think that i _stole_ the goosey-gander?" said the boy. "what else could she think?" "father and mother must fancy that i've been roaming about the country, like a common tramp?" "they think that you've gone to the dogs," said mayrose. "they have mourned you as one mourns the loss of the dearest thing on earth." as soon as the boy heard this, he rushed from the cow shed and down to the stable. it was small, but clean and tidy. everything showed that his father had tried to make the place comfortable for the new horse. in the stall stood a strong, fine animal that looked well fed and well cared for. "good day to you!" said the boy. "i have heard that there's a sick horse in here. surely it can't be you, who look so healthy and strong." the horse turned his head and stared fixedly at the boy. "are you the son?" he queried. "i have heard many bad reports of him. but you have such a good face, i couldn't believe that you were he, did i not know that he was transformed into an elf." "i know that i left a bad name behind me when i went away from the farm," admitted nils holgersson. "my own mother thinks i am a thief. but what matters it--i sha'n't tarry here long. meanwhile, i want to know what ails you." "pity you're not going to stay," said the horse, "for i have the feeling that you and i might become good friends. i've got something in my foot--the point of a knife, or something sharp--that's all that ails me. it has gone so far in that the doctor can't find it, but it cuts so that i can't walk. if you would only tell your father what's wrong with me, i'm sure that he could help me. i should like to be of some use. i really feel ashamed to stand here and feed without doing any work." "it's well that you have no real illness," remarked nils holgersson. "i must attend to this at once, so that you will be all right again. you don't mind if i do a little scratching on your hoof with my knife, do you?" nils holgersson had just finished, when he heard the sound of voices. he opened the stable door a little and peeped out. his father and mother were coming down the lane. it was easy to see that they were broken by many sorrows. his mother had many lines on her face and his father's hair had turned gray. she was talking with him about getting a loan from her brother-in-law. "no, i don't want to borrow any more money," his father said, as they were passing the stable. "there's nothing quite so hard as being in debt. it would be better to sell the cabin." "if it were not for the boy, i shouldn't mind selling it," his mother demurred. "but what will become of him, if he returns some day, wretched and poor--as he's likely to be--and we not here?" "you're right about that," the father agreed. "but we shall have to ask the folks who take the place to receive him kindly and to let him know that he's welcome back to us. we sha'n't say a harsh word to him, no matter what he may be, shall we mother?" "no, indeed! if i only had him again, so that i could be certain he is not starving and freezing on the highways, i'd ask nothing more!" then his father and mother went in, and the boy heard no more of their conversation. he was happy and deeply moved when he knew that they loved him so dearly, although they believed he had gone astray. he longed to rush into their arms. "but perhaps it would be an even greater sorrow were they to see me as i now am." while he stood there, hesitating, a cart drove up to the gate. the boy smothered a cry of surprise, for who should step from the cart and go into the house yard but osa, the goose girl, and her father! they walked hand in hand toward the cabin. when they were about half way there, osa stopped her father and said: "now remember, father, you are not to mention the wooden shoe or the geese or the little brownie who was so like nils holgersson that if it was not himself it must have had some connection with him." "certainly not!" said jon esserson. "i shall only say that their son has been of great help to you on several occasions--when you were trying to find me--and that therefore we have come to ask if we can't do them a service in return, since i'm a rich man now and have more than i need, thanks to the mine i discovered up in lapland." "i know, father, that you can say the right thing in the right way," osa commended. "it is only that one particular thing that i don't wish you to mention." they went into the cabin, and the boy would have liked to hear what they talked about in there; but he dared not venture near the house. it was not long before they came out again, and his father and mother accompanied them as far as the gate. his parents were strangely happy. they appeared to have gained a new hold on life. when the visitors were gone, father and mother lingered at the gate gazing after them. "i don't feel unhappy any longer, since i've heard so much that is good of our nils," said his mother. "perhaps he got more praise than he really deserved," put in his father thoughtfully. "wasn't it enough for you that they came here specially to say they wanted to help us because our nils had served them in many ways? i think, father, that you should have accepted their offer." "no, mother, i don't wish to accept money from any one, either as a gift or a loan. in the first place i want to free myself from all debt, then we will work our way up again. we're not so very old, are we, mother?" the father laughed heartily as he said this. "i believe you think it will be fun to sell this place, upon which we have expended such a lot of time and hard work," protested the mother. "oh, you know why i'm laughing," the father retorted. "it was the thought of the boy's having gone to the bad that weighed me down until i had no strength or courage left in me. now that i know he still lives and has turned out well, you'll see that holger nilsson has some grit left." the mother went in alone, and the boy made haste to hide in a corner, for his father walked into the stable. he went over to the horse and examined its hoof, as usual, to try to discover what was wrong with it. "what's this!" he cried, discovering some letters scratched on the hoof. "remove the sharp piece of iron from the foot," he read and glanced around inquiringly. however, he ran his fingers along the under side of the hoof and looked at it carefully. "i verily believe there is something sharp here!" he said. while his father was busy with the horse and the boy sat huddled in a corner, it happened that other callers came to the farm. the fact was that when morten goosey-gander found himself so near his old home he simply could not resist the temptation of showing his wife and children to his old companions on the farm. so he took dunfin and the goslings along, and made for home. there was not a soul in the barn yard when the goosey-gander came along. he alighted, confidently walked all around the place, and showed dunfin how luxuriously he had lived when he was a tame goose. when they had viewed the entire farm, he noticed that the door of the cow shed was open. "look in here a moment," he said, "then you will see how i lived in former days. it was very different from camping in swamps and morasses, as we do now." the goosey-gander stood in the doorway and looked into the cow shed. "there's not a soul in here," he said. "come along, dunfin, and you shall see the goose pen. don't be afraid; there's no danger." forthwith the goosey-gander, dunfin, and all six goslings waddled into the goose pen, to have a look at the elegance and comfort in which the big white gander had lived before he joined the wild geese. "this is the way it used to be: here was my place and over there was the trough, which was always filled with oats and water," explained the goosey-gander. "wait! there's some fodder in it now." with that he rushed to the trough and began to gobble up the oats. but dunfin was nervous. "let's go out again!" she said. "only two more grains," insisted the goosey-gander. the next second he let out a shriek and ran for the door, but it was too late! the door slammed, the mistress stood without and bolted it. they were locked in! the father had removed a sharp piece of iron from the horse's hoof and stood contentedly stroking the animal when the mother came running into the stable. "come, father, and see the capture i've made!" "no, wait a minute!" said the father. "look here, first. i have discovered what ailed the horse." "i believe our luck has turned," said the mother. "only fancy! the big white goosey-gander that disappeared last spring must have gone off with the wild geese. he has come back to us in company with seven wild geese. they walked straight into the goose pen, and i've shut them all in." "that's extraordinary," remarked the father. "but best of all is that we don't have to think any more that our boy stole the goosey-gander when he went away." "you're quite right, father," she said. "but i'm afraid we'll have to kill them to-night. in two days is morten gooseday[1] and we must make haste if we expect to get them to market in time." [footnote 1: in sweden the 10th of november is called morten gooseday and corresponds to the american thanksgiving day.] "i think it would be outrageous to butcher the goosey-gander, now that he has returned to us with such a large family," protested holger nilsson. "if times were easier we'd let him live; but since we're going to move from here, we can't keep geese. come along now and help me carry them into the kitchen," urged the mother. they went out together and in a few moments the boy saw his father coming along with morten goosey-gander and dunfin--one under each arm. he and his wife went into the cabin. the goosey-gander cried: "thumbietot, come and help me!"--as he always did when in peril--although he was not aware that the boy was at hand. nils holgersson heard him, yet he lingered at the door of the cow shed. he did not hesitate because he knew that it would be well for him if the goosey-gander were beheaded--at that moment he did not even remember this--but because he shrank from being seen by his parents. "they have a hard enough time of it already," he thought. "must i bring them a new sorrow?" but when the door closed on the goosey-gander, the boy was aroused. he dashed across the house yard, sprang up on the board-walk leading to the entrance door and ran into the hallway, where he kicked off his wooden shoes in the old accustomed way, and walked toward the door. all the while it went so much against the grain to appear before his father and mother that he could not raise his hand to knock. "but this concerns the life of the goosey-gander," he said to himself--"he who has been my best friend ever since i last stood here." in a twinkling the boy remembered all that he and the goosey-gander had suffered on ice-bound lakes and stormy seas and among wild beasts of prey. his heart swelled with gratitude; he conquered himself and knocked on the door. "is there some one who wishes to come in?" asked his father, opening the door. "mother, you sha'n't touch the goosey-gander!" cried the boy. instantly both the goosey-gander and dunfin, who lay on a bench with their feet tied, gave a cry of joy, so that he was sure they were alive. some one else gave a cry of joy--his _mother_! "my, but you have grown tall and handsome!" she exclaimed. the boy had not entered the cabin, but was standing on the doorstep, like one who is not quite certain how he will be received. "the lord be praised that i have you back again!" said his mother, laughing and crying. "come in, my boy! come in!" "welcome!" added his father, and not another word could he utter. but the boy still lingered at the threshold. he could not comprehend why they were so glad to see him--such as he was. then his mother came and put her arms around him and drew him into the room, and he knew that he was all right. "mother and father!" he cried. "i'm a big boy. i am a human being again!" the parting with the wild geese _wednesday, november ninth_. the boy arose before dawn and wandered down to the coast. he was standing alone on the strand east of smyge fishing hamlet before sunrise. he had already been in the pen with morten goosey-gander to try to rouse him, but the big white gander had no desire to leave home. he did not say a word, but only stuck his bill under his wing and went to sleep again. to all appearances the weather promised to be almost as perfect as it had been that spring day when the wild geese came to skåne. there was hardly a ripple on the water; the air was still and the boy thought of the good passage the geese would have. he himself was as yet in a kind of daze--sometimes thinking he was an elf, sometimes a human being. when he saw a stone hedge alongside the road, he was afraid to go farther until he had made sure that no wild animal or vulture lurked behind it. very soon he laughed to himself and rejoiced because he was big and strong and did not have to be afraid of anything. when he reached the coast he stationed himself, big as he was, at the very edge of the strand, so that the wild geese could see him. it was a busy day for the birds of passage. bird calls sounded on the air continuously. the boy smiled as he thought that no one but himself understood what the birds were saying to one another. presently wild geese came flying; one big flock following another. "just so it's not my geese that are going away without bidding me farewell," he thought. he wanted so much to tell them how everything had turned out, and to show them that he was no longer an elf but a human being. there came a flock that flew faster and cackled louder than the others, and something told him that this must be _the_ flock, but now he was not quite so sure about it as he would have been the day before. the flock slackened its flight and circled up and down along the coast. the boy knew it was the right one, but he could not understand why the geese did not come straight down to him. they could not avoid seeing him where he stood. he tried to give a call that would bring them down to him, but only think! his tongue would not obey him. he could not make the right sound! he heard akka's calls, but did not understand what she said. "what can this mean? have the wild geese changed their language?" he wondered. he waved his cap to them and ran along the shore calling. "here am i, where are you?" but this seemed only to frighten the geese. they rose and flew farther out to sea. at last he understood. they did not know that he was human, had not recognized him. he could not call them to him because human beings can not speak the language of birds. he could not speak their language, nor could he understand it. although the boy was very glad to be released from the enchantment, still he thought it hard that because of this he should be parted from his old comrades. he sat down on the sands and buried his face in his hands. what was the use of his gazing after them any more? presently he heard the rustle of wings. old mother akka had found it hard to fly away from thumbietot, and turned back, and now that the boy sat quite still she ventured to fly nearer to him. suddenly something must have told her who he was, for she lit close beside him. nils gave a cry of joy and took old akka in his arms. the other wild geese crowded round him and stroked him with their bills. they cackled and chattered and wished him all kinds of good luck, and he, too, talked to them and thanked them for the wonderful journey which he had been privileged to make in their company. all at once the wild geese became strangely quiet and withdrew from him, as if to say: "alas! he is a man. he does not understand us: we do not understand him!" then the boy rose and went over to akka; he stroked her and patted her. he did the same to yksi and kaksi, kolme and neljä, viisi and kuusi--the old birds who had been his companions from the very start. after that he walked farther up the strand. he knew perfectly well that the sorrows of the birds do not last long, and he wanted to part with them while they were still sad at losing him. as he crossed the shore meadows he turned and watched the many flocks of birds that were flying over the sea. all were shrieking their coaxing calls--only one goose flock flew silently on as long as he could follow it with his eyes. the wedge was perfect, the speed good, and the wing strokes strong and certain. the boy felt such a yearning for his departing comrades that he almost wished he were thumbietot again and could travel over land and sea with a flock of wild geese. table of pronunciation the final _e_ is sounded in skåne, sirle, gripe, etc. the _å_ in skåne and småland is pronounced like _o_ in ore. _j_ is like the english _y_. nuolja, oviksfjällen, sjangeli, jarro, etc., should sound as if they were spelled like this: nuolya, oviksfyellen, syang [one syllable] elee, yarro, etc. _g_, when followed by _e, i, y, ä, ö_, is also like _y_. example, göta is pronounced yöta. when _g_ is followed by _a, o, u_, or _å_, it is hard, as in go. _k_ in norrköping, linköping, kivik (pronounced cheeveek), etc., is like _ch_ in cheer. _k_ is hard when it precedes _a, o, u_, or _å_. example, kaksi, kolmi, etc. _ä_ is pronounced like _ä_ in fare. example, färs. there is no sound in the english language which corresponds to the swedish _ö_. it is like the french _eu_ in jeu. gripe is pronounced greep-e. in sirle, the first syllable has the same sound as _sir_, in sirup. the names which miss lagerlöf has given to the animals are descriptive. smirre fox, is cunning fox. sirle squirrel, is graceful, or nimble squirrel. gripe otter, means grabbing or clutching otter. mons is a pet name applied to cats; like our tommy or pussy. monsie house-cat is equivalent to tommy house-cat. mårten gåskarl (morten goosie-gander) is a pet name for a tame gander, just as we use dickie-bird for a pet bird. fru is the swedish for mrs. this title is usually applied to gentlewomen only. the author has used this meaning of "fru." a goa-nisse is an elf-king, and corresponds to the english puck or robin goodfellow. velma swanston howard. 