_Saturday, April twenty-third_.
The boy rode forward--way up in the air. He had the great Östergötland
plain under him, and sat and counted the many white churches which
towered above the small leafy groves around them. It wasn't long before
he had counted fifty. After that he became confused and couldn't keep
track of the counting.
Nearly all the farms were built up with large, whitewashed two-story
houses, which looked so imposing that the boy couldn't help admiring
them. "There can't be any peasants in this land," he said to himself,
"since I do not see any peasant farms."
Immediately all the wild geese shrieked: "Here the peasants live like
gentlemen. Here the peasants live like gentlemen."
On the plains the ice and snow had disappeared, and the spring work had
begun. "What kind of long crabs are those that creep over the fields?"
asked the boy after a bit. "Ploughs and oxen. Ploughs and oxen,"
answered the wild geese.
The oxen moved so slowly down on the fields, that one could scarcely
perceive they were in motion, and the geese shouted to them: "You won't
get there before next year. You won't get there before next year." But
the oxen were equal to the occasion. They raised their muzzles in the
air and bellowed: "We do more good in an hour than such as you do in a
whole lifetime."
In a few places the ploughs were drawn by horses. They went along with
much more eagerness and haste than the oxen; but the geese couldn't keep
from teasing these either. "Ar'n't you ashamed to be doing ox-duty?"
cried the wild geese. "Ar'n't you ashamed yourselves to be doing lazy
man's duty?" the horses neighed back at them.
But while horses and oxen were at work in the fields, the stable ram
walked about in the barnyard. He was newly clipped and touchy, knocked
over the small boys, chased the shepherd dog into his kennel, and then
strutted about as though he alone were lord of the whole place. "Rammie,
rammie, what have you done with your wool?" asked the wild geese, who
rode by up in the air. "That I have sent to Drag's woollen mills in
Norrköping," replied the ram with a long, drawn-out bleat. "Rammie,
rammie, what have you done with your horns?" asked the geese. But any
horns the rammie had never possessed, to his sorrow, and one couldn't
offer him a greater insult than to ask after them. He ran around a long
time, and butted at the air, so furious was he.
On the country road came a man who drove a flock of Skåne pigs that were
not more than a few weeks old, and were going to be sold up country.
They trotted along bravely, as little as they were, and kept close
together--as if they sought protection. "Nuff, nuff, nuff, we came away
too soon from father and mother. Nuff, nuff, nuff, how will it go with
us poor children?" said the little pigs. The wild geese didn't have the
heart to tease such poor little creatures. "It will be better for you
than you can ever believe," they cried as they flew past them.
The wild geese were never so merry as when they flew over a flat
country. Then they did not hurry themselves, but flew from farm to farm,
and joked with the tame animals.
As the boy rode over the plain, he happened to think of a legend which
he had heard a long time ago. He didn't remember it exactly, but it was
something about a petticoat--half of which was made of gold-woven
velvet, and half of gray homespun cloth. But the one who owned the
petticoat adorned the homespun cloth with such a lot of pearls and
precious stones that it looked richer and more gorgeous than the
gold-cloth.
He remembered this about the homespun cloth, as he looked down on
Östergötland, because it was made up of a large plain, which lay wedged
in between two mountainous forest-tracts--one to the north, the other to
the south. The two forest-heights lay there, a lovely blue, and
shimmered in the morning light, as if they were decked with golden
veils; and the plain, which simply spread out one winter-naked field
after another, was, in and of itself, prettier to look upon than gray
homespun.
But the people must have been contented on the plain, because it was
generous and kind, and they had tried to decorate it in the best way
possible. High up--where the boy rode by--he thought that cities and
farms, churches and factories, castles and railway stations were
scattered over it, like large and small trinkets. It shone on the roofs,
and the window-panes glittered like jewels. Yellow country roads,
shining railway-tracks and blue canals ran along between the districts
like embroidered loops. Linköping lay around its cathedral like a
pearl-setting around a precious stone; and the gardens in the country
were like little brooches and buttons. There was not much regulation in
the pattern, but it was a display of grandeur which one could never tire
of looking at.
The geese had left Öberg district, and travelled toward the east along
Göta Canal. This was also getting itself ready for the summer. Workmen
laid canal-banks, and tarred the huge lock-gates. They were working
everywhere to receive spring fittingly, even in the cities. There,
masons and painters stood on scaffoldings and made fine the exteriors of
the houses while maids were cleaning the windows. Down at the harbour,
sailboats and steamers were being washed and dressed up.
At Norrköping the wild geese left the plain, and flew up toward
Kolmården. For a time they had followed an old, hilly country road,
which wound around cliffs, and ran forward under wild
mountain-walls--when the boy suddenly let out a shriek. He had been
sitting and swinging his foot back and forth, and one of his wooden
shoes had slipped off.
"Goosey-gander, goosey-gander, I have dropped my shoe!" cried the boy.
The goosey-gander turned about and sank toward the ground; then the boy
saw that two children, who were walking along the road, had picked up
his shoe. "Goosey-gander, goosey-gander," screamed the boy excitedly,
"fly upward again! It is too late. I cannot get my shoe back again."
Down on the road stood Osa, the goose-girl, and her brother, little
Mats, looking at a tiny wooden shoe that had fallen from the skies.
Osa, the goose-girl, stood silent a long while, and pondered over the
find. At last she said, slowly and thoughtfully: "Do you remember,
little Mats, that when we went past Övid Cloister, we heard that the
folks in a farmyard had seen an elf who was dressed in leather breeches,
and had wooden shoes on his feet, like any other working man? And do you
recollect when we came to Vittskövle, a girl told us that she had seen a
Goa-Nisse with wooden shoes, who flew away on the back of a goose? And
when we ourselves came home to our cabin, little Mats, we saw a goblin
who was dressed in the same way, and who also straddled the back of a
goose--and flew away. Maybe it was the same one who rode along on his
goose up here in the air and dropped his wooden shoe."
"Yes, it must have been," said little Mats.
They turned the wooden shoe about and examined it carefully--for it
isn't every day that one happens across a Goa-Nisse's wooden shoe on the
highway.
"Wait, wait, little Mats!" said Osa, the goose-girl. "There is something
written on one side of it."
"Why, so there is! but they are such tiny letters."
"Let me see! It says--it says: 'Nils Holgersson from W. Vemminghög.'
That's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard!" said little Mats.