_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.