_Saturday, June eighteenth_.
Next morning, when the eagle had flown some distance into Ångermanland,
he remarked that to-day he was the one who was hungry, and must find
something to eat! He set the boy down in an enormous pine on a high
mountain ridge, and away he flew.
The boy found a comfortable seat in a cleft branch from which he could
look down over Ångermanland. It was a glorious morning! The sunshine
gilded the treetops; a soft breeze played in the pine needles; the
sweetest fragrance was wafted through the forest; a beautiful landscape
spread before him; and the boy himself was happy and care-free. He felt
that no one could be better off.
He had a perfect outlook in every direction. The country west of him was
all peaks and table-land, and the farther away they were, the higher and
wilder they looked. To the east there were also many peaks, but these
sank lower and lower toward the sea, where the land became perfectly
flat. Everywhere he saw shining rivers and brooks which were having a
troublesome journey with rapids and falls so long as they ran between
mountains, but spread out clear and broad as they neared the shore of
the coast. Bothnia Bay was dotted with islands and notched with points,
but farther out was open, blue water, like a summer sky.
When the boy had had enough of the landscape he unloosed his knapsack,
took out a morsel of fine white bread, and began to eat.
"I don't think I've ever tasted such good bread," said he. "And how much
I have left! There's enough to last me for a couple of days." As he
munched he thought of how he had come by the bread.
"It must be because I got it in such a nice way that it tastes so good
to me," he said.
The golden eagle had left Medelpad the evening before. He had hardly
crossed the border into Ångermanland when the boy caught a glimpse of a
fertile valley and a river, which surpassed anything of the kind he had
seen before.
As the boy glanced down at the rich valley, he complained of feeling
hungry. He had had no food for two whole days, he said, and now he was
famished. Gorgo did not wish to have it said that the boy had fared
worse in his company than when he travelled with the wild geese, so he
slackened his speed.
"Why haven't you spoken of this before?" he asked. "You shall have all
the food you want. There's no need of your starving when you have an
eagle for a travelling companion."
Just then the eagle sighted a farmer who was sowing a field near the
river strand. The man carried the seeds in a basket suspended from his
neck, and each time that it was emptied he refilled it from a seed sack
which stood at the end of the furrow. The eagle reasoned it out that the
sack must be filled with the best food that the boy could wish for, so
he darted toward it. But before the bird could get there a terrible
clamour arose about him. Sparrows, crows, and swallows came rushing up
with wild shrieks, thinking that the eagle meant to swoop down upon some
bird.
"Away, away, robber! Away, away, bird-killer!" they cried. They made
such a racket that it attracted the farmer, who came running, so that
Gorgo had to flee, and the boy got no seed.
The small birds behaved in the most extraordinary manner. Not only did
they force the eagle to flee, they pursued him a long distance down the
valley, and everywhere the people heard their cries. Women came out and
clapped their hands so that it sounded like a volley of musketry, and
the men rushed out with rifles.
The same thing was repeated every time the eagle swept toward the
ground. The boy abandoned the hope that the eagle could procure any food
for him. It had never occurred to him before that Gorgo was so much
hated. He almost pitied him.
In a little while they came to a homestead where the housewife had just
been baking. She had set a platter of sugared buns in the back yard to
cool and was standing beside it, watching, so that the cat and dog
should not steal the buns.
The eagle circled down to the yard, but dared not alight right under the
eyes of the peasant woman. He flew up and down, irresolute; twice he
came down as far as the chimney, then rose again.
The peasant woman noticed the eagle. She raised her head and followed
him with her glance.
"How peculiarly he acts!" she remarked. "I believe he wants one of my
buns."
She was a beautiful woman, tall and fair, with a cheery, open
countenance. Laughing heartily, she took a bun from the platter, and
held it above her head.
"If you want it, come and take it!" she challenged.
While the eagle did not understand her language, he knew at once that
she was offering him the bun. With lightning speed, he swooped to the
bread, snatched it, and flew toward the heights.
When the boy saw the eagle snatch the bread he wept for joy--not because
he would escape suffering hunger for a few days, but because he was
touched by the peasant woman's sharing her bread with a savage bird of
prey.
Where he now sat on the pine branch he could recall at will the tall,
fair woman as she stood in the yard and held up the bread.
She must have known that the large bird was a golden eagle--a plunderer,
who was usually welcomed with loud shots; doubtless she had also seen
the queer changeling he bore on his back. But she had not thought of
what they were. As soon as she understood that they were hungry, she
shared her good bread with them.
"If I ever become human again," thought the boy, "I shall look up the
pretty woman who lives near the great river, and thank her for her
kindness to us."