Nils had been exploring the mining districts a whole day.
"I must try and climb up to earth again," he said at last, "otherwise,
I fear my companions won't find me."
The boy was about to go up the mountain when he heard a gruff voice
growl in his ear, "Who are you?"
He thought at first that 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 bear
appear to expect it of him, for he knocked him down, rolled him back
and forth with his paws and nosed him. The bear seemed just about
ready to swallow him when the boy had a thought. Quick as a flash he
dug into his pocket and brought forth some matches,--his sole weapon
of defence,--lighted one on his leather breeches, and thrust the
burning match into the bear's open mouth.
Father Bear snorted when he smelled the sulphur, and with that the
flame went out.
"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 scare Father Bear.
"Perhaps you could also set fire to houses and barns," said Father
Bear.
"Oh, that would be nothing for me," boasted the boy.
"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 Nils between his paws and climbed up from
the pit. As soon as he was up, he speedily made for the woods. Then he
ran along until he came to a hill at the edge of the forest. Here he
lay in front of Nils, holding him securely between his forepaws.
"Now look down at that big noise-shop!" he commanded.
The great iron works, with many tall buildings, stood at the edge of
the waterfall. High chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, blasting
furnaces blazed, and light shone from all the windows. Within, hammers
and rolling mills were going with such force that the air rang with
their clatter and boom. All about the workshops were immense coal
sheds, great slag heaps, warehouses, wood piles, and tool sheds. Just
beyond were long rows of workingmen's houses, as quiet as if they were
asleep. The earth around them was black while the works, themselves,
were sending out light and smoke, fire and sparks. It was the grandest
sight the boy had ever seen.
"Could you set fire to a place like that?" Father Bear asked
doubtfully.
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 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. In the beginning I wasn't much troubled 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 hammer
sounded only a few hours each day, and the furnace was not fired more
than two moons at a stretch.
"But these last years, since they have built this noise-shop, there is
racket day and night. I thought I should have to move away, but now I
have discovered a better way."
Father Bear took Nils up again and lumbered down the hill. He walked
fearlessly between the workshops, and climbed to the top of a slag
heap. There he sat up on his haunches and held the boy up high between
his paws.
"Try to look into the shop," he said.
The boy saw a workman take a short, thick bar of iron at white heat
from a furnace opening, and place it under a roller that flattened and
extended it. Immediately another workman seized it and placed it
beneath a heavier roller. Thus it was passed from roller to roller
until, finally, it curled along the floor like a long red thread.
Continuously fresh threads followed it like hissing snakes.
"I call that real man's work!" the boy said to himself.
Father Bear then let him have a peep at 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.
"They keep this up day after day," Father Bear said as he dropped
wearily on the ground. "One gets tired of that kind of thing. I'm glad
that at last I can put an end to it."
The boy was all of a shiver now.
"If you will set fire to the noise-shop, I'll spare your life," said
Father Bear.
Just beyond them lay a pile of chips and shavings, 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 iron foundry. The walls would fall from the
heat, and the machinery would be destroyed.
"Will you or won't you?" demanded Father Bear.
"You mustn't be so impatient," the boy said. "Let me think a moment."
"Very well," said Father Bear, tightening his hold on the boy.
They needed iron for everything, Nils knew. There was iron in the
plough that broke up the field, and in the axe that felled the tree
for building houses, in the scythe that mowed the grain, and in the
knife that could be turned to all sorts of uses. There was iron in the
horse's bit, and in the lock on the door, in the nails that held the
furniture together, and in the sheathing that covered the roof. Iron
covered the men-of-war that he had seen in the harbor, the locomotives
steamed through the country on iron rails. The needle that had
stitched the boy's coat was made of iron, the shears that clipped the
sheep, and the kettle that cooked the food. The rifle which drove away
wild beasts was made of iron. Father Bear was perfectly right. He knew
that the coming of iron to the forest had given the human kind their
mastery over the beasts.
"Will you or won't you?" demanded Father Bear.
The boy shrank back. He swept his hand across his forehead. He could
see no way of escape, but this much he knew, he did not wish to do any
harm to the iron which was useful to so many people in the 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," replied 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.
"Father Bear! Don't you hear the clicking of a trigger?" cried the
boy. "Run, or you will be shot!"
Father Bear grew terribly hurried. He gave himself time, though, to
pick up the boy and carry him along. As he ran, a couple of shots
sounded; the bullets grazed his ears, but he escaped.
When Father Bear had run some distance into the woods, he paused and
set Nils 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. 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 then
hurried away.