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.