_Friday, April fifteenth_.
The boy sat awake nearly all night, but toward morning he fell asleep
and then he dreamed of his father and mother. He could hardly recognise
them. They had both grown gray, and had old and wrinkled faces. He asked
how this had come about, and they answered that they had aged so because
they had longed for him. He was both touched and astonished, for he had
never believed but what they were glad to be rid of him.
When the boy awoke the morning was come, with fine, clear weather.
First, he himself ate a bit of bread which he found in the cabin; then
he gave morning feed to both geese and cow, and opened the cowhouse door
so that the cow could go over to the nearest farm. When the cow came
along all by herself the neighbours would no doubt understand that
something was wrong with her mistress. They would hurry over to the
desolate farm to see how the old woman was getting along, and then they
would find her dead body and bury it.
The boy and the geese had barely raised themselves into the air, when
they caught a glimpse of a high mountain, with almost perpendicular
walls, and an abrupt, broken-off top; and they understood that this
must be Taberg. On the summit stood Akka, with Yksi and Kaksi, Kolmi and
Neljä, Viisi and Knusi, and all six goslings and waited for them. There
was a rejoicing, and a cackling, and a fluttering, and a calling which
no one can describe, when they saw that the goosey-gander and Dunfin had
succeeded in finding Thumbietot.
The woods grew pretty high up on Taberg's sides, but her highest peak
was barren; and from there one could look out in all directions. If one
gazed toward the east, or south, or west, then there was hardly anything
to be seen but a poor highland with dark spruce-trees, brown morasses,
ice-clad lakes, and bluish mountain-ridges. The boy couldn't keep from
thinking it was true that the one who had created this hadn't taken very
great pains with his work, but had thrown it together in a hurry. But if
one glanced to the north, it was altogether different. Here it looked as
if it had been worked out with the utmost care and affection. In this
direction one saw only beautiful mountains, soft valleys, and winding
rivers, all the way to the big Lake Vettern, which lay ice-free and
transparently clear, and shone as if it wasn't filled with water but
with blue light.
It was Vettern that made it so pretty to look toward the north, because
it looked as though a blue stream had risen up from the lake, and spread
itself over land also. Groves and hills and roofs, and the spires of
Jönköping City--which shimmered along Vettern's shores--lay enveloped in
pale blue which caressed the eye. If there were countries in heaven,
they, too, must be blue like this, thought the boy, and imagined that he
had gotten a faint idea of how it must look in Paradise.
Later in the day, when the geese continued their journey, they flew up
toward the blue valley. They were in holiday humour; shrieked and made
such a racket that no one who had ears could help hearing them.
This happened to be the first really fine spring day they had had in
this section. Until now, the spring had done its work under rain and
bluster; and now, when it had all of a sudden become fine weather, the
people were filled with such a longing after summer warmth and green
woods that they could hardly perform their tasks. And when the wild
geese rode by, high above the ground, cheerful and free, there wasn't
one who did not drop what he had in hand, and glance at them.
The first ones who saw the wild geese that day were miners on Taberg,
who were digging ore at the mouth of the mine. When they heard them
cackle, they paused in their drilling for ore, and one of them called to
the birds: "Where are you going? Where are you going?" The geese didn't
understand what he said, but the boy leaned forward over the goose-back,
and answered for them: "Where there is neither pick nor hammer." When
the miners heard the words, they thought it was their own longing that
made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "Take us along with you!
Take us along with you!" they cried. "Not this year," shrieked the boy.
"Not this year."
The wild geese followed Taberg River down toward Monk Lake, and all the
while they made the same racket. Here, on the narrow land-strip between
Monk and Vettern lakes, lay Jönköping with its great factories. The wild
geese rode first over Monksjö paper mills. The noon rest hour was just
over, and the big workmen were streaming down to the mill-gate. When
they heard the wild geese, they stopped a moment to listen to them.
"Where are you going? Where are you going?" called the workmen. The wild
geese understood nothing of what they said, but the boy answered for
them: "There, where there are neither machines nor steam-boxes." When
the workmen heard the answer, they believed it was their own longing
that made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "Take us along with
you!" "Not this year," answered the boy. "Not this year."
Next, the geese rode over the well-known match factory, which lies on
the shores of Vettern--large as a fortress--and lifts its high chimneys
toward the sky. Not a soul moved out in the yards; but in a large hall
young working-women sat and filled match-boxes. They had opened a window
on account of the beautiful weather, and through it came the wild
geese's call. The one who sat nearest the window, leaned out with a
match-box in her hand, and cried: "Where are you going? Where are you
going?" "To that land where there is no need of either light or
matches," said the boy. The girl thought that what she had heard was
only goose-cackle; but since she thought she had distinguished a couple
of words, she called out in answer: "Take me along with you!" "Not this
year," replied the boy. "Not this year."
East of the factories rises Jönköping, on the most glorious spot that
any city can occupy. The narrow Vettern has high, steep sand-shores,
both on the eastern and western sides; but straight south, the
sand-walls are broken down, just as if to make room for a large gate,
through which one reaches the lake. And in the middle of the gate--with
mountains to the left, and mountains to the right, with Monk Lake behind
it, and Vettern in front of it--lies Jönköping.
The wild geese travelled forward over the long, narrow city, and behaved
themselves here just as they had done in the country. But in the city
there was no one who answered them. It was not to be expected that city
folks should stop out in the streets, and call to the wild geese.
The trip extended further along Vettern's shores; and after a little
they came to Sanna Sanitarium. Some of the patients had gone out on the
veranda to enjoy the spring air, and in this way they heard the
goose-cackle. "Where are you going?" asked one of them with such a
feeble voice that he was scarcely heard. "To that land where there is
neither sorrow nor sickness," answered the boy. "Take us along with
you!" said the sick ones. "Not this year," answered the boy. "Not this
year."
When they had travelled still farther on, they came to Huskvarna. It lay
in a valley. The mountains around it were steep and beautifully formed.
A river rushed along the heights in long and narrow falls. Big workshops
and factories lay below the mountain walls; and scattered over the
valley-bottom were the workingmens' homes, encircled by little gardens;
and in the centre of the valley lay the schoolhouse. Just as the wild
geese came along, a bell rang, and a crowd of school children marched
out in line. They were so numerous that the whole schoolyard was filled
with them. "Where are you going? Where are you going?" the children
shouted when they heard the wild geese. "Where there are neither books
nor lessons to be found," answered the boy. "Take us along!" shrieked
the children. "Not this year, but next," cried the boy. "Not this year,
but next."