Nils Holgerssons underbara resa. English

by Selma Lagerlöf

wisefor you. Don't ever bother yourself again to hunt them!"

  But Smirre, like all foxes, had found it hard to give up an undertakingalready begun, and so he lay down on the extremest point of the mountainedge, and did not take his eyes off the wild geese. While he lay andwatched them, he thought of all the harm they had done him. Yes, it wastheir fault that he had been driven from Skane, and had been obliged tomove 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 alarge pine that grew close to him, and saw a squirrel come down from thetree, hotly pursued by a marten. Neither of them noticed Smirre; and hesat quietly and watched the chase, which went from tree to tree. Helooked at the squirrel, who moved among the branches as lightly asthough he'd been able to fly. He looked at the marten, who was not asskilled at climbing as the squirrel, but who still ran up and along thebranches 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 themarten in a very friendly manner, and wished him good luck with hiscatch. Smirre chose his words well--as foxes always do. The marten, onthe contrary, who, with his long and slender body, his fine head, hissoft skin, and his light brown neck-piece, looked like a little marvelof beauty--but in reality was nothing but a crude forest dweller--hardlyanswered him. "It surprises me," said Smirre, "that such a fine hunteras you are should be satisfied with chasing squirrels when there is muchbetter game within reach." Here he paused; but when the marten onlygrinned impudently at him, he continued: "Can it be possible that youhaven't seen the wild geese that stand under the mountain wall? or areyou 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 tohim with back bent, and every separate hair on end. "Have you seen wildgeese?" he hissed. "Where are they? Tell me instantly, or I'll bite yourneck off!" "No! you must remember that I'm twice your size--so be alittle 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 whileSmirre sat and watched how he swung his snake-like body from branch tobranch, he thought: "That pretty tree-hunter has the wickedest heart inall the forest. I believe that the wild geese will have me to thank fora bloody awakening."

  But just as Smirre was waiting to hear the geese's death-rattle, he sawthe marten tumble from branch to branch--and plump into the river so thewater splashed high. Soon thereafter, wings beat loudly and strongly andall the geese went up in a hurried flight.

  Smirre intended to hurry after the geese, but he was so curious to knowhow they had been saved, that he sat there until the marten cameclambering up. That poor thing was soaked in mud, and stopped every nowand then to rub his head with his forepaws. "Now wasn't that just what Ithought--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 themarten. "I sat--all ready--on one of the lowest branches and thought howI should manage to tear a whole lot of geese to pieces, when a littlecreature, no bigger than a squirrel, jumped up and threw a stone at myhead with such force, that I fell into the water; and before I had timeto pick myself up--"

  The marten didn't have to say any more. He had no audience. Smirre wasalready a long way off in pursuit of the wild geese.

  In the meantime Akka had flown southward in search of a newsleeping-place. There was still a little daylight; and, beside, thehalf-moon stood high in the heavens, so that she could see a little.Luckily, she was well acquainted in these parts, because it hadhappened more than once that she had been wind-driven to Blekinge whenshe travelled over the East sea in the spring.

  She followed the river as long as she saw it winding through themoon-lit landscape like a black, shining snake. In this way she came waydown to Djupafors--where the river first hides itself in an undergroundchannel--and then clear and transparent, as though it were made ofglass, rushes down in a narrow cleft, and breaks into bits against itsbottom in glittering drops and flying foam. Below the white falls lay afew stones, between which the water rushed away in a wild torrentcataract. Here mother Akka alighted. This was another goodsleeping-place--especially this late in the evening, when no humanbeings moved about. At sunset the geese would hardly have been able tocamp there, for Djupafors does not lie in any wilderness. On one side ofthe falls is a paper factory; on the other--which is steep, andtree-grown--is Djupadal's park, where people are always strolling abouton the steep and slippery paths to enjoy the wild stream's rushingmovement down in the ravine.

  It was about the same here as at the former place; none of thetravellers thought the least little bit that they had come to a prettyand well-known place. They thought rather that it was ghastly anddangerous to stand and sleep on slippery, wet stones, in the middle of arumbling waterfall. But they had to be content, if only they wereprotected from carnivorous animals.

  The geese fell asleep instantly, while the boy could find no rest insleep, but sat beside them that he might watch over the goosey-gander.

  After a while, Smirre came running along the river-shore. He spied thegeese immediately where they stood out in the foaming whirlpools, andunderstood that he couldn't get at them here, either. Still he couldn'tmake up his mind to abandon them, but seated himself on the shore andlooked at them. He felt very much humbled, and thought that his entirereputation as a hunter was at stake.

  All of a sudden, he saw an otter come creeping up from the falls with afish in his mouth. Smirre approached him but stopped within two steps ofhim, 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 hewas wont to do. The otter didn't turn his head once in the direction ofthe river. He was a vagabond--like all otters--and had fished many timesby Vomb Lake, and probably knew Smirre Fox. "I know very well how youact 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 thatthis particular otter was a quick and accomplished swimmer. "I don'twonder that you do not care to look at the wild geese, since you can'tmanage to get out to them." But the otter, who had swimming-webs betweenhis toes, and a stiff tail--which was as good as an oar--and a skin thatwas water-proof, didn't wish to have it said of him that there was awaterfall 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 fishaway, and rushed down the steep shore and into the river.

  If it had been a little later in the spring, so that the nightingales inDjupafors had been at home, they would have sung for many a day ofGripe's struggle with the rapid. For the otter was thrust back by thewaves many times, and carried down river; but he fought his way steadilyup again. He swam forward in still water; he crawled over stones, andgradually came nearer the wild geese. It was a perilous trip, whichmight 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. Atlast he saw that the otter was in the act of climbing up to the wildgeese. But just then it shrieked shrill and wild. The otter tumbledbackward into the water, and dashed away as if he had been a blindkitten. 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 oneof 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 hadraced 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 somesharp iron. It hurt so, I lost my footing, and then the current tookme."

  He didn't have to say any more. Smirre was already far away on his wayto the wild geese.

  Once again Akka and her flock had to take a night fly. Fortunately, themoon had not gone down; and with the aid of its light, she succeeded infinding another of those sleeping-places which she knew in thatneighbourhood. Again she followed the shining river toward the south.Over Djupadal's manor, and over Ronneby's dark roofs and whitewaterfalls she swayed forward without