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.