 Section 19 of The Wonderful Adventures of Nils This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selma Lagerlöf Translated by Velma Swonston-Howard The Big Bird Lake Jarrow the Wild Duck On the eastern shore of Wetten lies Mount Ombay. East of Ombay lies Dagmosse. East of Dagmosse lies Lake Token. Around the whole of Token spreads the big, even Österjöta plain. Token is a pretty large lake, and in olden times it must have been still larger. But then the people thought it covered entirely too much of the fertile plain, so they attempted to drain the water from it, that they might sow and reap on the lake bottom. But they did not succeed in laying waste the entire lake, which had evidently been their intention. Therefore it still hides a lot of land, since the draining the lake has become so shallow that hardly at any point is it more than a couple of meters deep. The shores have become marshy and muddy, and out in the lake little mud islet stick up above the water's surface. Now there is one who loves to stand with his feet in the water, if he can just keep his body and head in the air, and that is the reed, and it cannot find a better place to grow upon than the long shallow Token shores. And around the little mud islets it thrives so well that it grows taller than a man's height, and so thick that it is almost impossible to push a boat through it. It forms a broad green enclosure around the whole lake, so that it is only accessible in a few places where the people have taken away the reeds. But if the reeds shut the people out, they give in return shelter and protection to many other things. In the reeds there are a lot of little dams and canals, with green still water, where duckweed and pondweed run to seed, and where knot eggs and blackfish and worms are hatched out in uncountable masses. All along the shores of these little dams and canals, there are many well-concealed places where sea birds hatch their eggs and bring up their young without being disturbed by either enemies or food worries. An incredible number of birds live in the Token reeds, and more and more gather there every year as it becomes known what a splendid abode it is. The first to settle there were the wild ducks, and they still live there by thousands, but they no longer own the entire lake, for they have been obliged to share it with swans, grebs, cots, loons, fendax, and a lot of others. Token is certainly the largest and choicest bird lake in the whole country, and the birds may count themselves lucky as long as they own such a retreat. But it is uncertain just how long they will be in control of reeds and mudbanks, for human beings cannot forget that the lake extends over a considerable portion of good and fertile soil, and every now and then the proposition to drain it comes up among them. And if these propositions were carried out, the many thousands of water birds would be forced to move from this quarter. At the time when Il Solgresson travelled around with the wild geese, there lived a token a wild duck named Jarrow. He was a young bird who had only lived one summer, one fall, and a winter. Now it was his first spring. He had just returned from South Africa and had reached token in such good season that the ice was still on the lake. One evening when he and the other young wild ducks played at racing backward and forward over the lake, a hunter fired a couple of shots at them, and Jarrow was wounded in the breast. He thought he should die, but in order that the one who had shot him shouldn't get him into his power, he continued to fly as long as he possibly could. He didn't think wither he was directing his course, but only struggled to get far away. When his strength failed him so that he could not fly any farther, he was no longer on the lake. He had flown a bit inland, and now he sank down before the entrance to one of the big farms which lie along the shores of Token. A moment later a young farmhand happened along. He saw Jarrow and came and lifted him up, but Jarrow, who asked for nothing but to be led to die in peace, gathered his last powers and nipped the farmhand in the finger, so he should let go of him. Jarrow didn't succeed in freeing himself. The encounter had this good in it at any rate. The farmhand noticed that the bird was alive. He carried him very gently into the cottage and showed him to the mistress of the house, a young woman with a kindly face. At once she took Jarrow from the farmhand, stroked him on the back and wiped away the blood which trickled down through the next feathers. She looked him over very carefully, and when she saw how pretty he was with his dark green shining head, his white neckband, his brownish red back, and his blue wing mirror, she must have thought that it was a pity for him to die. She promptly put a basket in order and tucked the bird into it. All the while Jarrow fluttered and struggled to get loose, but when he understood that the people didn't intend to kill him, he settled down in the basket with a sense of pleasure. Now it was evident how exhausted he was from pain and loss of blood. The mistress carried the basket across the floor to place it in the corner by the fireplace, but before she put it down, Jarrow was already fast asleep. In a little while Jarrow was awakened by someone who nudged him gently. When he opened his eyes, he experienced such an awful shock that he almost lost his senses. Now he was lost, for there stood the one who was more dangerous than either human beings or birds of prey. It was no less a thing than Caesar himself, the long-haired dog who nosed around him inquisitively. How pitifully scared had he not been last summer when he was still a little yellow down duckling, every time it had sounded over the reed stems. Caesar is coming, Caesar is coming. When he had seen the brown and white-spotted dog with the teeth-filled jowls come wading through the reeds, he had believed that he beheld death itself. He had always hoped that he would never have to live through that moment when he should meet Caesar face to face. But to his sorrow he must have fallen down in the very yard where Caesar lived, for there he stood right over him. Who are you, he growled? How did you get into the house? Don't you belong down among the reed banks? It was with great difficulty that he gained the courage to answer. Don't be angry with me, Caesar, because I came into the house, said he. It isn't my fault. I have been wounded by a gunshot. It was the people themselves who laid me in this basket. Oh ho! Oh ho! So it's the folks themselves that have placed you here, said Caesar. Then it is surely their intention to cure you, although for my part I think it would be wiser for them to eat you up since you are in their power. But at any rate you are tabooed in the house. You needn't look so scared. Now we are not down on talking. With that Caesar laid himself to sleep in front of the blazing log fire. As soon as Jero understood that this terrible danger was past, extreme lassitude came over him, and he fell asleep anew. The next time Jero awoke, he saw that a dish with grain and water stood before him. He was still quite ill, but he felt hungry nevertheless, and began to eat. When the mistress saw that he ate, she came up and petted him and looked pleased, and after that Jero fell asleep again. For several days he did nothing but eat and sleep. One morning Jero felt so well that he stepped from the basket and wandered along the floor. But he hadn't gone very far before he keeled over and lay there. Then came Caesar, opened his big jaws, and grabbed him. Jero believed, of course, that the dog was going to bite him to death, but Caesar carried him back to the basket without harming him. Because of this Jero acquired such a confidence in the dog Caesar, that on his next walk in the cottage he went over to the dog and lay down beside him. Thereafter Caesar and he became good friends, and every day for several hours Jero lay and slept between Caesar's paws. But an even greater affection than he felt for Caesar did Jero feel towards his mistress. Of her he had not the least fear, but rubbed his head against her hand when she came and fed him. Whenever she went out of the cottage he sighed with regret, and when she came back he cried welcome to her in his own language. Jero forgot entirely how afraid he had been of both dogs and humans in other days. He thought now that they were gentle and kind, and he loved them. He wished that he were well, so he could fly down to Torcon and tell the wild ducks that their enemies were not dangerous and that they need not fear them. He had observed that the human beings as well as Caesar had calm eyes, which it did one good to look into. The only one in the cottage whose glance he did not care to meet was Clavina, the house cat. She did him no harm either, but he couldn't place any confidence in her. Then too she quarreled with him constantly because he loved human beings. You think they protect you because they are fond of you, said Clavina. You just wait until you are fat enough. Then they'll wring the neck of you. I know them, I do. Jero, like all birds, had a tender and affectionate heart, and he was unutterably distressed when he heard this. He couldn't imagine that his mistress would wish to ring the neck of him, nor could he believe any such thing of her son, the little boy who sat for hours beside his basket, and babbled and chattered. He seemed to think that both of them had the same love for him that he had for them. One day when Jero and Caesar lay on the usual spot before the fire, Clavina sat on the hearth and began to tease the wild duck. I wonder, Jero, what you wild ducks will do next year when talken is strained and turned into grain fields, said Clavina. What's that you say, Clavina? cried Jero and jumped up, scared through and through. I always forget, Jero, that you do not understand human speech like Caesar and myself, answered the cat, or else you surely would have heard how the men who were here in the cottage yesterday said that all the water was going to be drained from talken, and that next year the lake-bottom would be as dry as a house-floor. And now I wonder where you wild ducks will go. When Jero heard this talk he was so furious that he hissed like a snake. You are just as mean as a common coat, he screamed at Clavina. You only want to incite me against human beings. I don't believe they wanted to anything of the sort. They must know that talken is the wild duck's property. Why should they make so many birds homeless and unhappy? You have certainly hit upon all this to scare me. I hope that you may be torn in pieces by Gorgor the Eagle. I hope that my mistress will chop off your whiskers. But Jero couldn't shut Clavina up with this outburst. So you think I am lying? said she. Ask Caesar, then. He was also in the house last night. Caesar never lies. Caesar, said Jero, you understand human speech much better than Clavina. Say that she hasn't heard a right. Think how it would be if the people drained talken and changed the lake-bottom into fields. Then there would be no more pondweed or duck food for the grown wild ducks and no black fish or worms or gnat eggs for the ducklings. Then the reed banks would disappear, where now the ducklings conceal themselves until they are able to fly. All ducks would be compelled to move away from here and seek another home. But where shall they find retreat like talken? Caesar, say that Clavina has not heard a right. It was extraordinary to watch Caesar's behaviour during this conversation. He had been wide awake the whole time before, but now, when Jero turned to him, he panted, laid his long nose on his forepaws, and was sound asleep within the wink of an eyelid. The cat looked down at Caesar with a knowing smile. I believe that Caesar doesn't care to answer you, she said to Jero. It is with him as with all dogs. They will never acknowledge that humans can do any wrong. But you can rely upon my word at any rate. I shall tell you why they wish to drain the lake just now. As long as you, wild duck, still had the power and talken, they did not wish to drain it. For at least they got some good out of you. But now grebs and coots and other birds, who are no good as food, have infested nearly all the reed banks, and the people don't think they need let the lake remain on their account. Jero didn't trouble himself to answer Clavina, but raised his head and shouted in Caesar's air. Caesar, you know that on talken there are still so many ducks left that they filled the air like clouds. Say it isn't true that human beings intend to make all of these homeless. Then Caesar sprang up with such a sudden outburst at Clavina that she had to save herself by jumping up on the shelf. I'll teach you to keep quiet when I want to sleep, bold Caesar. Of course I know that there is some talk about draining the lake this year, but there's been talk of this many times before without anything coming out of it, and that draining business is a matter in which I take no stock whatever. For how would it go with the game if talken were laid waste? You are a donkey to gloat over a thing like that. What will you and I have to amuse ourselves with when there are no more birds on talken? The decoy duck Sunday, April 17th. A couple of days later Jero was so well that he could fly all about the house. Then he was petted a good deal by the mistress, and the little boy ran out in the yard and plucked the first grass blades for him which has sprung up. When the mistress caressed him, Jero thought that although he was now so strong that he could fly down to talken at any time, he shouldn't care to be separated from the human beings. He had no objection to remaining with them all his life. But early one morning the mistress placed a halter or noose over Jero, which prevented him from using his wings, and then she turned him over to the farmhand who had found him in the yard. The farmhand poked him under his arm and went down to talken with him. The ice had melted away while Jero had been ill. The old dry fall leaves still stood along the shores and islets, but all the water-grows had begun to take root down in the deep, and the green stems had already reached the surface, and now nearly all the migratory birds were at home. The curlews hooked bills peeped out from the reeds. The grebs glided about with new feather collars around the neck, and the jacksnipes were gathering straws for their nests. The farmhand got into a scow, laid Jero in the bottom of the boat, and began to pull himself out on the lake. Jero, who had now accustomed himself to expect only good of human beings, said to Caesar, who was also in the party, that he was very grateful toward the farmhand for taking him out on the lake. But there was no need to keep him so closely guarded, for he did not intend to fly away. To this Caesar made no reply. He was very close masked that morning. The only thing which struck Jero as being a bit peculiar was that the farmhand had taken his gun along. He couldn't believe that any of the good folk in the cottage would want to shoot birds, and besides Caesar had told him that the people didn't hunt at this time of the year. It is a prohibited time, he had said, although this doesn't concern me, of course. The farmhand went over to one of the little reed-enclosed mud islets. There he stepped from the boat, gathered some old reeds into a pile, and lay down behind it. Jero was permitted to wander around on the ground with a halter over his wings, and tethered to the boat with a long string. Suddenly Jero caught sight of some young ducks and drakes, in whose company he had formerly raced backward and forward over the lake. They were a long way off, but Jero called them to him with a couple of loud shouts. They responded, and a large and beautiful flock approached. Before they got there, Jero began to tell them about his marvellous rescue and of the kindness of human beings. Just then two shots sounded behind him. Three ducks sank down on the reeds, lifeless, and Caesar bounced out and captured them. Then Jero understood, the human beings had only saved him that they might use him as a decoy duck, and they had also succeeded. Three ducks had died on his account. He thought he should die of shame. He thought that even his friend Caesar looked contemptuously at him, and when they came home to the cottage, he didn't dare lie down and sleep beside the dog. The next morning Jero was again taken out on the shallows. This time too he saw some ducks, but when he observed that they flew toward him, he called to them. Away, away, be careful, fly in another direction. There's a hunter hidden behind the reed pile. I'm only a decoy bird, and he actually succeeded in preventing them from coming within shooting distance. Jero had scarcely had time to taste of a grass blade, so busy was he in keeping watch. He called out his warning as soon as a bird drew nigh. He even borne the grebs, although he detested them because they crowded the ducks out of their best hiding places. But he did not wish that any bird should meet with misfortune on his account. And thanks to Jero's vigilance, the farmhand had to go home without firing off a single shot. Despite this fact, Caesar looked less displeased than on the previous day, and when evening came he took Jero in his mouth, carried him over to the fireplace, and let him sleep between his forepaws. Nevertheless, Jero was no longer contented in the cottage, but was grievously unhappy. His heart suffered at the thought that humans never had loved him. When the mistress of the little boy came forward to caress him, he stuck his bill under his wing and pretended that he slept. For several days Jero continued his distressful watch service, and already he was known all over Tolkien. Then it happened one morning, while he called as usual, Have a care-burge, don't come near me, I'm only a decoy duck, that a greb nest came floating toward the shallows where he was tied. This was nothing especially remarkable. It was a nest from the year before, and since greb nests are built in such a way that they can move on water like boats, it often happens they drift out towards the lake. Still Jero stood there and stared at the nest, because it came so straight toward the islet that it looked as though someone had stared its course over the water. As the nest came nearer, Jero saw that a little human being, the tiniest he had ever seen, sat in the nest and rode it forward with a pair of sticks, and this little human called to him. Go as near the water as you can, Jero, and be ready to fly, you shall soon be freed. A few seconds later the greb nest lay near land, but the little oarsman did not leave it, but sat huddled up between branches and straw. Jero too held himself almost immovable. He was actually paralyzed with fear, lest the rescuer should be discovered. The next thing which occurred was that a flock of wild geese came along. Then Jero woke up to business and warned them with loud shrieks, but in spite of this they flew backward and forward over the shallows several times. They held themselves so high that they were beyond shooting distance. Still the farmhand let himself be tempted to fire a couple of shots at them. These shots were hardly fired before the little creature ran up on land, drew a tiny knife from its sheath, and with a couple of quick strokes cut loose Jero's halter. Now fly away, Jero, before the man has time to load again, cried he, while he himself ran down to the greb nest and pulled away from the shore. The hunter had his case fixed upon the geese and hadn't observed that Jero had been freed, but Caesar had followed more carefully that which happened, but just as Jero raised his wings he dashed forward and grabbed him by the neck. Jero cried pitifully and the boy who had freed him said quietly to Caesar, if you are just as honorable as you look, surely you cannot wish to force a good bird to sit here and entice others into trouble. When Caesar heard these words he grinned viciously with his upper lip, but the next second he dropped Jero. Fly, Jero, said he, you are certainly too good to be a decoy duck. It wasn't for this that I wanted to keep you here, but because it will be lonely in the cottage without you. The lowering of the lake Wednesday, April 20th. It was indeed very lonely in the cottage without Jero. The dog and the cat found the time long when they didn't have him to wrangle over, and the housewife missed the glad quacking which he had indulged in every time she entered the house. But the one who longed most for Jero was the little boy Perugula. He was but three years old and the only child, and in all his life he had never had a playmate like Jero. When he heard that Jero had gone back to talking and the wild ducks, he couldn't be satisfied with this, but thought constantly of how he should get him back again. Perugula had talked a good deal with Jero while he lay still in his basket, and he was certain that a duck understood him. He begged his mother to take him down to the lake that he might find Jero and persuade him to come back to them. Mother wouldn't listen to this, but the little one didn't give up his plan on that account. The day after Jero had disappeared, Perugula was running about in the dark. He played by himself as usual, but Caesar lay on the stoop, and when mother let the boy out she said, Take care of Perugula, Caesar. Now, if all had been as usual, Caesar would also have obeyed the command, and the boy would have been so well guarded that he couldn't have run the least risk. But Caesar was not like himself these days. He knew that the farmers who lived along Token had held frequent conferences about the lowering of the lake and that they had almost settled the matter. The ducks must leave, and Caesar should never more behold a glorious chase. He was so preoccupied with thoughts of this misfortune, that he did not remember to watch over Perugula. And the little one had scarcely been alone in the garden minute before he realized that now the right moment was come to go down to Token and talk with Jero. He opened a gate and wandered down toward the lake on the narrow path which ran along the banks. As long as he could be seen from the house, he walked slowly, but afterward he increased his pace. He was very much afraid that mother or someone else should call to him that he couldn't go. He didn't wish to do anything naughty, only to persuade Jero to come home, but he felt that those at home would not have approved of the undertaking. When Perugula came down to the lakeshore, he called Jero several times. Thereupon he stood for a long time and waited, but no Jero appeared. He saw several birds that resembled the wild duck, but they flew by without noticing him, and he could understand that none among them was the right one. When Jero didn't come to him, the little boy thought that it would be easier to find him if he went out on the lake. There were several good crafts lying along the shore, but they were tied. The only one that lay loose and at liberty was an old leaky scow, which was so unfit that no one thought of using it. But Perugula scrambled up in it without caring that the whole bottom was filled with water. He had not strength enough to use the oars, but instead he seated himself to swing and rock in the scow. Certainly no grown person would have succeeded in moving a scow out on talking in that manner. But when the tide is high and ill luck to the fore, little children have a marvelous faculty for getting out to sea. Perugula was soon riding around on talking and calling for Jero. When the old scow was rocked like this out to sea, its cracks opened wider and wider, and the water actually streamed into it. Perugula didn't pay the slightest attention to this. He sat upon the little bench in front and called to every bird he saw, and wondered why Jero didn't appear. At last Jero caught sight of Perugula. He heard that someone called him by the name which he had borne among human beings, and he understood that the boy had gone out on talking to search for him. Jero was unspeakably happy to find that one of the human beings really loved him. He shot down toward Perugula like an arrow, seated himself beside him and let him caress him. They were both very happy to see each other again. But suddenly Jero noticed the condition of the scow. It half filled with water, and was almost ready to sink. Jero tried to tell Perugula that he who could neither fly nor swim must try to get upon land, but Perugula didn't understand him. Then Jero did not wait an instant, but hurried away to get help. Jero came back in a little while and carried on his back a tiny thing who was much smaller than Perugula himself. If he hadn't been able to talk and move, the boy would have believed that it was a doll. Instantly the little one ordered Perugula to pick up a long slender pool that lay in the bottom of the scow and try to pull it toward one of the reed islands. Perugula obeyed him, and he and the tiny creature together stared the scow. With a couple of strokes they were on the little reed encircled island, and now Perugula was told that he must step on land, and just the very moment that Perugula set foot on land the scow was filled with water and sank to the bottom. When Perugula saw this he was sure that father and mother would be very angry with him. He would have started in to cry if he hadn't found something else to think about soon, namely a flock of big gray birds who lighted on the island. The little midget took him up to them and told him their names and what they said, and this was so funny that Perugula forgot everything else. Meanwhile the forks on the farm had discovered that the boy had disappeared and had started to search for him. They searched the outhouses, looked in the well, and hunted through the cellar. Then they went out into the highways and bypass, wandered to the neighboring farm to find out if he had strayed over there, and searched for him also down by talken, but no matter how much they saw they did not find him. Caesar the dog understood very well that the farmer forks were looking for Perugula, but he did nothing to lead them on the right track. Instead he lay still as though the matter didn't concern him. Later in the day Perugula's footprints were discovered down by the boat landing, and then came the thought that the old leaky scow was no longer on the strand. Then one began to understand how the whole affair had come about. The farmer and his helpers immediately took out the boats and went in search of the boy. They rode around on talken until way late in the evening without seeing the least shadow of him. They couldn't help believing that the old scow had gone down and that the little one lay dead on the lake bottom. In the evening Perugula's mother hunted around on the strand. Everyone else was convinced that the boy was drowned, but she could not bring herself to believe this. She searched all the while. She searched between reeds and bull rushes, tramped and tramped on the muddy shore, never thinking of how deep her foot sank and how wet she had become. She was unspeakably desperate, her heart ached in her breast. She did not weep but wrung her hands and called for her child in loud piercing tones. Round about her she heard swans and ducks and curlews shrieks. She thought that they followed her and moaned and wailed they too. Surely they too must be in trouble since they moaned so, thought she. Then she remembered. These were only birds that she heard complain. They surely had no worries. It was strange that they did not quiet down after sunset, but she heard all these uncountable bird throngs which lived along talken, sent forth cry upon cry. Several of them followed her wherever she went. Others came rustling past on light wings. All the air was filled with moans and lamentations. But the anguish which she herself was suffering opened her heart. She thought that she was not as far removed from all other living creatures as people usually think. She understood much better than ever before how birds fared. They had their constant worries for home and children they as she. There was surely not such a great difference between them and her as she had here to fore believed. Then she happened to think that it was as good as settled that these thousands of swans and ducks and loons would lose their homes here by talken. It will be very hard for them she thought. Where shall they bring up their children now? She stood still and mused on this. It appeared to be an excellent and agreeable accomplishment to change a lake into fields and meadows, but let it be some other lake than talken, some other lake which was not the home of so many thousand creatures. She remembered how on the following day the proposition to lower the lake was to be decided, and she wondered if this was why her little son had been lost just today. Was it God's meaning that sorrow should come and open her heart just today, before it was too late to avert the cruel act? She walked rapidly up to the house and began to talk with her husband about this. She spoke of the lake and of the birds and said that she believed it was God's judgment on them both, and she soon found that he was of the same opinion. They already owned a large place, but if the lake training was carried into effect such a goodly portion of the lake bottom would fall to their share that their property would be nearly doubled. For this reason they had been more eager for the undertaking than any of the other shore owners. The others had been worried about expenses, and anxious less the draining should not prove any more successful this time than it was the last. Perola's father knew in his heart that it was he who had influenced them to undertake the work. He had exercised all his eloquence, so that he might leave to his son a farm as large again as his father had left to him. His student pondered if God's hand was back of the fact that Token had taken his son from him on the day before he was to draw up the contract to lay it waste. The wife didn't have to say many words to him before he answered. It may be that God does not want us to interfere with his order. I'll talk with the others about this tomorrow, and I think we'll conclude that all may remain as it is. While the farmer folk were talking this over, Caesar lay before the fire. He raised his head and listened very attentively. When he thought that he was sure of the outcome, he walked up to the mistress, took her by the skirt, and led her to the door. But Caesar said she and wanted to break loose. "'Do you know where Perola is?' she exclaimed. Caesar barked joyfully and threw himself against the door. She opened it and Caesar dashed down toward Token. The mistress was so positive he knew where Perola was that she rushed after him, and no sooner had they reached the shore than they heard a child's cry out on the lake. Perola had had the best day of his life in company with Thumbitot and the birds, but now he had begun to cry because he was hungry and afraid of the darkness, and he was glad when father and mother and Caesar came for him. End of THE BIG BIRDLAKE Read by Lars Rolander Section 20 of THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS by Selma Lagerlöf Translated by Velmas von Ston Howard ULVOSA LADY The Prophecy Friday, April 22 One night when the boy lay and slept on an island in Torken, he was awakened by oar strokes. He had hardly gotten his eyes open before there fell such a dazzling light on them that he began to blink. At first he couldn't make out what it was that shone so brightly out here on the lake. But he soon saw that a scowl with a big burning torch stuck up on a spike aft lay near the edge of the reeds. The red flame from the torch was clearly reflected in the night dark lake, and the brilliant light must have lured the fish. For round about the flame in the deep, a mass of dark specks were seen that moved continually and changed places. There were two old men in the scowl. One sat at the oars, and the other stood on a bench in the stern, and held in his hand a short spear which was coarsely barbed. The one who rode was apparently a poor fisherman. He was small dried up and weather beaten, and wore a thin threadbare coat. One could see that he was so used to being out in all sorts of weather that he didn't mind the cold. The other was well-fed and well-dressed, and looked like a prosperous and self-complacent farmer. Now stop, said the farmer, when they were opposite the island where the boy lay. At the same time he plunged the spear into the water. When he drew it out again, a long fine eel came with it. Look at that, said he as he released the eel from the spear. There was one who was worthwhile. Now I think we have so many that we can turn back. His comrade did not lift the oars, but sat and looked around. It is lovely out here on the lake tonight, said he, and so it was. It was absolutely still so that the entire water surface lay in undisturbed rest with the exception of the streak where the boat had gone forward. This lay like a path of gold and shimmered in the firelight. The sky was clear and dark blue, and thickly studded with stars. The shores were hidden by the reed islands except toward the west. There Mount Ombay loomed up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and cut away a big three-cornered piece of the valued heavens. The other one turned his head to get the light out of his eyes and looked about him. Yes, it is lovely here in Östergillen, said he. Still the best thing about the province is not its beauty. Then what is it that's best? asked the oarsman. That it has always been a respected and honoured province. That may be true enough, and then this that one knows it will always continue to be so. But how in the world can one know this? said the one who sat at the oars. The farmer straightened up where he stood and braced himself with a spear. There is an old story which has been handed down from father to son in my family, and in it one learns what will happen to Östergillen. Then you may as well tell it to me, said the oarsman. We do not tell it to anyone and everyone, but I do not wish to keep it a secret from an old comrade. At Ulvosa here in Östergillen he continued, and one could tell by the tone of his voice that he talked of something which he had heard from others and knew by heart. Many, many years ago there lived a lady who had the gift of looking into the future and telling people what was going to happen to them, just as certainly and accurately as though it had already occurred. For this she became widely noted, and it is easy to understand that people would come to her both from far and near to find out what they were going to pass through of good or evil. One day when Ulvosa's lady sat in her hall and spun, as was customary in former days, a poor peasant came into the room and seated himself on the bench near the door. I wonder what you are sitting in thinking about, dear lady, said the peasant after a little. I am sitting and thinking about high and holy things, answered she. Then it is not fitting perhaps that I ask you about something which weighs on my heart, said the peasant. It is probably nothing else that weighs on your heart than that you may reap much grain on your field, but I am accustomed to receive communications from the emperor about how it will go with his crown and from the pope about how it will go with his keys. Such things cannot be easy to answer, said the peasant. I have also heard that no one seems to go from here without being dissatisfied with what he has heard. When the peasant said this, he saw that Ulvosa lady bit her lip and moved higher up on the bench. So, this is what you have heard about me, said she. Then you may as well tempt fortune by asking me about the thing you wish to know, and you shall see if I can answer so that you will be satisfied. After this the peasant did not hesitate to state his errand. He said that he had come to ask how it would go with Österjöttland in the future. There was nothing which was so dear to him as his native province, and he felt that he should be happy until his dying day if he could get a satisfactory reply to his querying. Oh, is that all you wish to know, said the wise lady. Then I think that you will be content. For here, where I now sit, I can tell you that it will be like this with Österjöttland. It will always have something to boast of ahead of other provinces. Yes, that was a good answer dear lady, said the peasant, and now I would be entirely at peace if I could only comprehend how such a thing should be possible. Why should it not be possible? said Ulvosa lady. Don't you know that Österjöttland is already renowned, or think you there is any place in Sweden that can boast of owing at the same time two such cloisters at the ones in Alvastra and Breta, and such a beautiful cathedral as the one in Linköping. That may be so, said the peasant, but I am an old man, and I know that people's minds are changeable. I fear that there will come a time when they won't want to give us any glory, either for Alvastra or Breta, or for the cathedral. Hearing you may be right, said Ulvosa lady, but you need not doubt prophecy on that account. I shall now build up a new cloister on Vastena, and that will become the most celebrated in the north. Dither both the high and the lowly shall make pilgrimages, and all shall sing the praise of the province, because it has such a holy place within its confines. The peasant replied that he was right glad to know this, but he also knew, of course, that everything was perishable, and he wondered much what would give distinction to the province if Vastena cloister should once fall into disrepute. You are not easy to satisfy, said Ulvosa lady, but surely I can see so far ahead that I can tell you before Vastena cloister shall have lost its splendor, there will be a castle erected close by, which will be the most magnificent of its period. Kings and dukes will be guests there, and it shall be accounted an honor to the whole province that it owns such an ornament. This I am also glad to hear, said the peasant, but I am an old man, and I know how it generally turns out with this world's glories. And if the castle goes to ruin, I wonder much what there will be that can attract the people's attention to this province. It is not a little that you want to know, said Ulvosa lady, but certainly I can look far enough into the future to see that there will be life and movement in the forests around Finspong. I see how Cabins and Smithes arise there, and I believe that the whole province shall be renowned, because iron will be moulded within its confines. The peasant didn't deny that he was delighted to hear this, but if it should go so badly, that even Finspong's foundry went down in importance, then it would hardly be possible that any new thing could arise of which Österjörklan might boast. You are not easy to please, said Ulvosa lady, but I can see so far into the future that I mark how, along the lakeshores, great manors, large as castles, are built by gentlemen who have carried on wars in foreign lands. I believe that the manors will bring the province just as much honour as anything else that I have mentioned. But if there comes a time when no one lords the great manors, insisted the peasant, you need not be uneasy at all events, said Ulvosa lady. I see how health springs bubble on Medevi meadows by vetters' shores. I believe that the wells at Medevi will bring the land as much praise as you can desire. That is a mighty good thing to know, said the peasant, but if there comes a time when people will seek their health at other springs, you must not give yourself any insight on that account, answered Ulvosa lady. I see how people dig and labour from Mugtala to Mem, they dig a canal right through the country, and then Österjörklan's praise is again on everyone's lips. But nevertheless the peasant looked distraught. I see that the rapids in Mugtala's stream begin in Medevi, that the rapids in Mugtala's stream begin to draw wheels, said Ulvosa lady, and now two bright red spots came to her cheeks, for she began to be impatient. I hear hammers resound in Mugtala and looms clatter in Norysjörping. Yes, that's good to know, said the peasant, but everything is perishable, and I'm afraid that even this can be forgotten and go into oblivion. When the peasant was not satisfied even now, there was an end to the lady's patience. You say that everything is perishable, said she, but now I shall still name something which will always be like itself, and that is that such arrogant and pigheaded peasant as you will always be found in this province until the end of time. Hardly had Ulvosa lady said this before the peasant rose happy and satisfied, and thanked her for a good answer. Now at last he was satisfied, he said. Fairly I understand now how you look at it, then said Ulvosa lady. Well, I look at it in this way, dear lady, said the peasant, that everything which kings and priests and noblemen and merchants build and accomplish can only endure for a few years. But when you tell me that in Österjökland there will always be peasants who are honour-loving and persevering, then I know also that it will be able to keep its ancient glory. For it is only those who go bent under the eternal labour with the soil who can hold this land in good repute and honour from one time to another. End of Ulvosa lady Read by Lars Rolander Section 21 of The Wonderful Adventures of Nils This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Lars Rolander The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selmalagelöf Translated by Velma Svonston-Howard The Home Spun Cloth Saturday, April 23 The boy rode forward way up in the air. He had the great Österjökland plane 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, hear the peasants live like gentlemen, hear 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? Plows and oxen, plows 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 muscles 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 plows 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. Aren't you ashamed to be doing ox duty? cried the wild geese. Aren't you ashamed yourselves to be doing lazy men's duty? the horses kned back at them. But while the 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. Rummy, Rummy, what have you done with your wool? asked the wild geese, who rode by up in the air. That I have sent to drags wool and mills in Norr Sherping, replied the ram with a long drawn-out pleat. Rummy, Rummy, what have you done with your horns? asked the geese, but any horns the Rummy 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 drew a flock of scornepigs 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. We came away too soon from father and mother. How will it go with us poor children? said the little pigs. The wild geese didn't have the heart to tea 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 grey 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 Österjöttland, 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 winternaked field after another was in and of itself prettier to look upon than grey 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 shown on the roofs, and the windowpains glittered like jewels. Yellow country roads, shining railway tracks and blue canals ran along between the district, 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 Örber district and traveled toward the east along Jötta 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 Kaulmorden. 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. Goosegander, Goosegander, I have dropped my shoe! cried the boy. The Goosegander 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. Goosegander, Goosegander screamed the boy excitedly. Fly upward again. It's too late. I cannot get my shoe back again. Down on the road stood Orsa, the goose girl, and her brother Little Mutts, looking at a tiny wooden shoe that had fallen from the skies. Orsa, the goose girl, stood silent a long while and pondered over the find. At last she said slowly and thoughtfully, Do you remember, Little Mutts, that when we went past Irvid Cloister, we heard that the forks in the 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 Vitschövler? A girl told us that she had seen a Guwanisse with wooden shoes, who flew away on the back of a goose. And when we ourselves came home to our cabin, Little Mutts, 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 Mutts. They turned the wooden shoe about and examined it carefully, for it isn't every day that one happens across a Guwanisse's wooden shoe on the highway. Wait, wait, Little Mutts, 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 West Wemminghög. That's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard, said Little Mutts. End of the Homespun cloth, read by Lars Rolander. Section 22 of The Wonderful Adventures of Nils This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander. The Wonderful Adventures of Nils by Selma Lagerlöf, translated by Velma Swonston-Howard. The Story of Carr and Greyskin, Part One. Carr. About twelve years before Nils Holgersson started on his travels with the wild geese, there was a manufacturer at Colmorden who wanted to be rid of one of his dogs. He sent for his gamekeeper and said to him that it was impossible to keep the dog, because he could not be broken of the habit of chasing all the sheep and fowl, he said eyes on, and he asked the man to take the dog into the forest and shoot him. The gamekeeper slipped the leash on the dog to lead him to a spot in the forest, where all the superannuated dogs from the manor were shot and buried. He was not a cruel man, but he was very glad to shoot that dog, for he knew that sheep and chickens were not the only creatures he hunted. Times without number he had gone into the forest and helped himself to a hare or a grass chick. The dog was a little black and tan setter, his name was Carr, and he was so wise he understood all that was said. As the gamekeeper was leading him through the thickets, Carr knew only too well what was in store for him, but this no one could have guessed by his behavior, for he neither hung his head nor dragged his tail, but seemed as unconcerned as ever. It was because they were in the forest that the dog was so careful not to appear the least bit anxious. There were great stretches of woodland on every side of the factory, and this forest was feigned both among animals and human beings, because for many many years the owners had been so careful of it that they had begrudged themselves even the trees needed for firewood, nor had they had the heart to thin or train them. The trees had been allowed to grow as they pleased. Naturally a forest thus protected was a beloved refuge for wild animals, which were to be found there in great numbers. Among themselves they called it Liberty Forest and regarded it as the best retreat in the whole country. As the dog was being led through the woods, he thought of what a bugaboo he had been to all the small animals and birds that lived there. Now Carr wouldn't they be happy in their lairs if they only knew what was awaiting you, he thought, but at the same time he wagged his tail and barked cheerfully so that no one should think that he was worried or depressed. What fun would there have been in living had I not hunted occasionally, he reasoned, let him who will regret, it's not going to be Carr. But the instant the dog said this, a singular change came over him. He stretched his neck as though he had a mind to howl. He no longer throttled alongside the gamekeeper, but walked behind him. It was plain that he had begun to think of something unpleasant. It was early summer, the elk cows had just given birth to their young, and the night before the dog had succeeded in parting from its mother an elk calf, not more than five days old, and had driven it down into the marsh. There he had chased it back and forth over the knolls, not with the idea of capturing it, but merely for the sport of seeing how he could scare it. The elk cow knew that the marsh was bottomless, so soon after the thaw, and that it could not as yet hold up so large an animal as herself, so she stood on the solid earth for the longest time watching. But when Carr kept chasing the calf, farther and farther away, she rust out on the marsh, drove the dog off, took the calf with her, and turned back toward firm land. Elk are more skilled than other animals in traversing dangerous, marshy ground, and it seemed as if she would reach solid land in safety. But when she was almost there, a knoll which she had stepped upon sank into the mire, and she went down with it. She tried to rise, but could get no secure foothold, so she sank and sank. Carr stood and looked on, not daring to move. When he saw that the elk could not save herself, he ran away as fast as he could, for he had begun to think of the beating he would get if it were discovered that he had brought a mother elk to grieve. He was so terrified that he dared not pause for breath until he reached home. It was this that the dog recalled, and it troubled him in a way very different from the recollection of all his other misdeeds. This was doubtless because he had not really meant to kill either the elk cow or her calf, but had depraved them of life without wishing to do so. But maybe they are alive yet, thought the dog. They were not dead when I ran away, perhaps they saved themselves. He was ceased with an irresistible longing to know for a certainty while yet there was time for him to find out. He noticed that the gamekeeper did not have a firm hold on the leash, so he made a sudden spring, broke loose, and dashed through the woods down to the marsh with such speed that he was out of sight before the gamekeeper had time to level his gun. There was nothing for the gamekeeper to do, but to rush after him. When he got to the marsh he found the dog standing upon a knoll, howling with all his might. The man thought he had better find out the meaning of this, so he dropped his gun and crawled out over the marsh on hands and knees. He had not gone far when he saw an elk cow lying dead in the quagmire, close beside her lay a little calf. It was still alive, but so much exhausted that it could not move. Carr was standing beside the calf, now bending down and licking it, now howling trilly for help. The gamekeeper raced the calf and began to drag it toward land, when the dog understood that a calf would be saved. He was wild with joy. He jumped round and round the gamekeeper, licking his hands and barking with delight. The man carried the baby elk home and shut it up in a calf stall in the cowshed. Then he got help to drag the mother elk from the marsh. Only after this had been done did he remember that he was to shoot Carr. He called the dog to him and again took him into the forest. The gamekeeper walked straight on toward the dog's grave, but all the while he seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly he turned and walked toward the manor. Carr had been trotting along quietly, but when the gamekeeper turned and started for home, he became anxious. The man must have discovered that it was he that had caused the death of the elk, and now he was going back to the manor to be thrashed before he was shot. To be beaten was worse than all else. With that prospect Carr could no longer keep up his spirits, but hung his head when he came to the manor he did not look up, but pretended that he knew no one there. The master was standing on the stairs leading to the hall when the gamekeeper came forward. Where on earth did that dog come from? he exclaimed. Surely it can't be Carr. He must be dead this long time. Then the man began to tell his master all about the mother elk, while Carr made himself as little as he could and crouched behind the gamekeeper's legs. Much to his surprise the man had only praise for him. He said it was plain the dog knew that the elk were in distress and wished to save them. You may do as you like, but I can't shoot that dog, declared the gamekeeper. Carr raised himself and pricked up his ears. He could hardly believe that he heard a rite. Although he did not want to show how anxious he had been, he couldn't help whining a little. Could it be possible that his life was to be spared simply because he had felt uneasy about the elk? The master thought that Carr had conducted himself well, but as he did not want the dog, he could not decide at once what should be done with him. If you will take charge of him and answer for his good behavior in the future, he may as well live, he said finally. This the gamekeeper was only too glad to do, and that was how Carr came to move to the gamekeeper's lodge. Gray Skin's Flight From the day that Carr went to live with the gamekeeper, he abandoned entirely his forbidden chase in the forest. This was due not only to his having been thoroughly frightened, but also to the fact that he did not wish to make the gamekeeper angry at him. Ever since his new master saved his life, the dog loved him above everything else. He thought only of following him and watching over him. If he left the house, Carr would run ahead to make sure that the way was clear, and if he sat at home, Carr would lie before the door and keep a close watch on everyone who came and went. When all was quiet at the lodge, when no footsteps were heard on the road, and the gamekeeper was working in his garden, Carr would amuse himself playing with a baby elk. At first the dog had no desire to leave his master even for a moment. Since he accompanied him everywhere, he went with him to the cow shed. When he gave the elk calf its milk, the dog would sit outside the stall and gaze at it. The gamekeeper called the calf Gray Skin because he thought it did not merit a prettier name, and Carr agreed with him on that point. Every time the dog looked at it, he thought that he had never seen anything so ugly and mishappen as the baby elk, with its long, shambly legs which hung down from the body like loose stilts. The head was large, old, and wrinkled, and it always drooped to one side. The skin lay in tucks and folds as if the animal had put on a coat that had not been made for him. Always doleful and discontented, curiously enough he jumped up every time Carr appeared as if glad to see him. The elk calf became less hopeful from day to day, did not grow any, and at last he could not even rise when he saw Carr. Then the dog jumped up into the crib to greet him, and thereupon a light kindled in the eyes of the poor creature as if a cherished longing were fulfilled. After that Carr visited the elk calf every day and spent many hours with him, licking his coat, playing and racing with him, till he taught him a little of everything a forest animal should know. It was remarkable that from the time Carr began to visit the elk calf in his store, the latter seemed more contented and began to grow. After he was fairly started he grew so rapidly that in a couple of weeks the stall could no longer hold him, and he had to be moved into a groove. When he had been in the groove two months his legs were so long that he could step over the fence whenever he wished. Then the lord of the manor gave the gamekeeper permission to put up a higher fence and to allow him more space. Here the elk lived for several years and grew up into a strong and handsome animal. Carr kept him company as often as he could, but now it was no longer through pity for a great friendship had sprung up between the two. The elk was always inclined to be melancholy, listless and indifferent, but Carr knew how to make him playful and happy. Grayskin had lived for five summers on the gamekeeper's place when his owner received a letter from a zoological garden abroad asking if the elk might be purchased. The master was pleased with the proposal. The gamekeeper was distressed, but had not the power to say no, so it was decided that the elk should be sold. Carr soon discovered what was in the air and ran over to the elk to have a chat with him. The dog was very much distressed at the thought of losing his friend, but the elk took the matter calmly and seemed neither glad nor sorry. Do you think of letting them send you away without offering resistance? asked Carr. What good would it do to resist? asked Grayskin. I should prefer to remain where I am naturally, but if I've been sold I shall have to go, of course. Carr looked at Grayskin and measured with his eyes. It was apparent that the elk was not yet full grown. He did not have the broad antlers, high hump, and long mane of the mature elk, but he certainly had strength enough to fight for his freedom. One can see that he has been in captivity all his life, thought Carr, but said nothing. Carr left and did not return to the groove till long past midnight. By that time he knew Grayskin would be awake and eating his breakfast. Of course you are doing right, Grayskin, in letting them take you away, remarked Carr, who appeared now to be calm and satisfied. You will be a prisoner in a large park and will have no responsibilities. It seems a pity that you must leave here without having seen the forest. You know your ancestors have a saying that the elk are one with the forest, but you haven't even been in a forest. Grayskin glanced up from the clover, which he stood munching. Indeed, I should love to see the forest, but how am I to get over the fence? He said with his usual apathene. Oh, that is difficult for one who has such short legs, said Carr. The elk glanced slyly at the dog who jumped the fence many times a day, little as he was. He walked over to the fence, and with one spring he was on the other side, without knowing how it happened. Then Carr and Grayskin went into the forest. It was a beautiful moonlight night in late summer, but in among the trees it was dark and the elk walked along slowly. Perhaps we had better turn back, said Carr. You who have never before trampled the wild forest might easily break your legs. Grayskin moved more rapidly and with more courage. Carr conducted the elk to a part of the forest where the pines grew so thickly that no wind could penetrate them. It is here that your kind are in the habit of seeking shelter from cold and storm, said Carr. Here they stand under the open skies all winter, but you will fare much better where you are going, for you will stand in a shed with a roof over your head like an ox. Grayskin made no comment, but stood quietly and drank in the strong, piney air. Have you anything more to show me, or have I now seen the whole forest? He asked. Then Carr went with him to a big marsh and showed him clods and quagmire. Over this march the elk take flight when they are in peril, said Carr. I don't know how they manage it, but large and heavy as they are they can walk here without sinking. Of course you couldn't hold yourself up on such dangerous ground, but then there is no occasion for you to do so, for you will never be hounded by hunters. Grayskin made no retort, but with a leap he was out on the march and happy when he felt how the clods rocked under him. He dashed across the marsh and came back again to Carr without having stepped into a mud hole. Have we seen the whole forest now? He asked. No, not yet, said Carr. He next conducted the elk to the skirt of the forest, where fine oaks, lindens, and aspens grew. Hear your kind, it leaves and bark, which they consider the choicest of food, but you will probably get better fare abroad. Grayskin was astonished when he saw the enormous leaf trees spreading like a great canopy above him. He ate both oak leaves and aspen bark. These ate deliciously bitter and good, he remarked, better than clover. Then wasn't it well that you should taste them once, said the dog. Thereupon he took the elk down to a little forest lake. The water was as smooth as a mirror and reflected the shores, which were veiled in thin light mists when Grayskin saw the lake he stood entranced. What is this, Carr? he asked. It was the first time that he had seen a lake. It's a large body of water, a lake, said Carr. Your people swim across it from shore to shore. One could hardly expect you to be familiar with this, but at least you should go in and take a swim. Carr himself plunged into the water for a swim. Grayskin stayed back on the shore for some little time, but finally followed. He grew breathless with delight as the cool water stole soothingly around his body. He wanted it over his back too, so he went farther out. Then he felt that the water could hold him up and began to swim. He swam all around Carr, ducking and snorting, perfectly at home in the water. When they were on shore again, the dog asked if they had not better go home now. It's a long time until morning, observed Grayskin, so we can tramp around in the forest a little longer. They went again into the pine wood. Presently they came to an open glade, illuminated by the moonlight, where grass and flowers shimmered beneath the dew. Some large animals were grazing on this forest meadow, an elk bull, several elk cows, and a number of elk calves. When Grayskin caught sight of them, he stopped short. He hardly glanced at the cows or the young ones, but stared at the old bull, which had broad antlers, with many taglets, a high hump, and a long-haired furpiece hanging down from his throat. What kind of an animal is that? asked Grayskin in wonderment. He is called Antler Crown, said Carr, and he is your kinsman. One of these days you, too, will have broad antlers like those, and just such a main, and if you were to remain in the forest, very likely you also would have a herd to lead. If he is my kinsman, I must go closer and have a look at him, said Grayskin. I never dreamt that an animal could be so stately. Grayskin walked over to the elk, but almost immediately he came back to Carr, who had remained at the edge of the clearing. You were not very well received, were you? said Carr. I told him that this was the first time I had run across any of my kinsmen, and asked if I might walk with them on their meadow, but they drew me back, threatening me with their antlers. You did right to retreat, said Carr. A young elk bull with only one taglet crown must be careful about fighting with an old elk. Another would have disgraced his name in the whole forest by retreating without resistance, but such things need not worry you who are going to move to a foreign land. Carr had barely finished speaking when Grayskin turned and walked down to the meadow. The old elk came toward him, and instantly they began to fight. Their antlers met and clashed, and Grayskin was driven backward over the whole meadow. Apparently he did not know how to make use of his strength, but when he came to the edge of the forest, he planted his feet on the ground, pushed hard with his antlers, and began to force Antler Crown back. Grayskin fought quietly, while Antler Crown puffed and snorted. The old elk in his turn was now being forced backward over the meadow. Suddenly a loud crash was heard. A taglet in the old elk's antlers had snapped. He tore himself loose and dashed into the forest. Carr was still standing at the forest border when Grayskin came along. Now that you have seen what there is in the forest, said Carr, will you come home with me? Yes, it's about time, observed the elk. Both were silent on the way home. Carr sighed several times, as if he was disappointed by something. But Grayskin stepped along his head in the air, and seemed delighted over the adventure. He walked ahead unhesitatingly until they came to the enclosure. Then he paused. He looked in at the narrow pen, where he had lived up till now, saw the beaten ground, the stale fodder, the little trough where he had drunk water, and the dark shed in which he had slept. The elk are one with the forest, he cried. Then he threw back his head, so that his neck rested against his back, and rushed widely into the woods. End of the Story of Carr and Grayskin Part 1 Red by Lars Rolander Section 23 of the Wonderful Adventures of Nils This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Lars Rolander The Story of Carr and Grayskin Part 2 Helpless the Water Snake In a pine thicket in the heart of Liberty Forest, every year in the month of August, they repaired a few grayish white moths of the kind which are called Nunmoths. They were small and few in number, and scarcely anyone noticed them. When they had flattered about in the depth of the forest a couple of nights, they laid a few thousand eggs on the branches of trees, and shortly afterward dropped lifeless to the ground. When spring came, little prickly caterpillars crawled out from the eggs, and began to eat the pine needles. They had good appetites, but they never seemed to do the trees any serious harm, because they were hotly pursued by birds. It was seldom that more than a few hundred caterpillars escaped the pursuers. The poor things that lived to be full-grown crawled up on the branches spun white webs around themselves, and sat for a couple of weeks as motionless puppy. During this period, as a rule more than half of them were abducted. If a hundred Nunmoths came forth in August, winged and perfect, it was reckoned a good year for them. This sort of uncertain and obscure existence did the moss lead for many years in Liberty Forest. There were no insect-fork in the whole country that were so scarce, and they would have remained quite harmless and powerless had they not, most unexpectedly, received a helper. This fact has some connection with Grayskin's flight from the Gamekeeper's paddock. Grayskin roamed the forest that he might become more familiar with the place. Late in the afternoon he happened to squeeze through some thickets behind a clearing, where the soil was muddy and slimy, and in the center of it was a murky pool. This open space was encircled by tall pines almost bare from age and miasmic air. Grayskin was displeased with the place and would have left it at once had he not got sight of some bright green color leaves which grew near the pool. As he bent his head toward the color stalks, he happened to disturb a big black snake which lay sleeping under them. Grayskin had heard Carr speak of the poisonous udders that were to be found in the forest. So, when the snake raised its head, shot out its tongue, and hissed at him, he thought he had encountered an awfully dangerous reptile. He was terrified, and, raising his foot, he struck so hard with his hoof that he crushed the snake's head. Then away he ran in hot haste. As soon as Grayskin had gone, another snake, just as long and as black as the first, came up from the pool. It crawled over to the dead one, and licked the poor, crushed in head. Can it be true that you are dead, old, harmless? hissed the snake. We too have lived together so many years. We too have been so happy with each other, and have fared so well here in the swam, that we have lived to be older than all the other water snakes in the forest. This is the worst sorrow that could have befallen me. The snake was so broken-hearted that his long body writhed as if it had been wounded. Even the frogs who lived in constant fear of him were sorry for him. What a wicked creature he must be to murder a poor water snake, that cannot defend itself, hissed the snake. He certainly deserves a severe punishment, as sure as my name is helpless, and I'm the oldest water snake in the whole forest. I'll be avenged. I shall not rest until the elk lies astead on the ground as my poor old snake wife. When the snake had made this vow, he curled up into a hoop and began to ponder. One can hardly imagine anything that would be more difficult for a poor water snake, than to wreck vengeance upon a big strong elk, and old helpless ponder day and night without finding any solution. One night as he lay there, with his vengeance thoughts, he heard a slight rustle over his head. He glanced up and saw few light nun mosques playing in among the trees. He followed them with his eyes a long while, then began to hiss loudly to himself, apparently pleased with the thought that had occurred to him. Then he fell asleep. The next morning the water snake went over to see Crawley, the adder, who lived in a stony and hilly part of Liberty Forest. He told him all about the death of the old water snake, and begged that he who could deal such deadly thrusts would undertake the work of vengeance. But Crawley was not exactly disposed to go to war with an elk. If I were to attack an elk, said the adder, he would instantly kill me. Old harmless is dead and gone, and we can't bring her back to life. So why should I rush into danger on her account? When the water snake got this reply, he raised his head a whole foot from the ground and hissed furiously. Fish-mush, fish-mush, he said, it's a pity that you have been blessed with such a weapon of defence, should be so cowardly that you don't dare use them. When the adder heard this, he too got angry. Crawl away, old hell-bless he hissed. The poison is in my fangs, but I would rather spare one who is said to be my kinsman. But the water snake did not move from the spot, and for a long time the snakes lay there hissing abusive epithets at each other. When Crawley was so angry that he couldn't hiss, but could only dart his tongue out, the water snake changed the subject and began to talk in a very different tone. I had still another errand, Crawley, he said lowering his voice to a mild whisper, but now I suppose you are so angry that you wouldn't care to help me. If you don't ask anything foolish of me, I shall certainly be at your service. In the pine trees down by the swamp live a moth-fork that fly around all night. I know all about them, remarked Crawley, what's up with them now? They are the smallest insect family in the forest, said Helpless, and the most harmless since the caterpillars content themselves with gnawing only pine needles. Yes, I know, said Crawley. I'm afraid those moths will soon be exterminated, said the water snake. There are so many who pick off the caterpillars in the spring. Now Crawley began to understand that the water snake wanted the caterpillars for his own purpose, and he answered pleasantly, Do you wish me to say to the owls that they are to leave those pine tree worms in peace? Yes, it would be well if you who have some authority in the forest should do this, said Helpless. I might also drop a good word for the pine needle-pickers among the brushes. Volunteered the adder, I will gladly serve you when you do not demand anything unreasonable. Now you have given me a good promise, Crawley, said Helpless, and I'm glad that I came to you. The Nun Moths One morning, several years later, Carr lay asleep on the porch. It was in the early summer, the season of light nights, and it was a sprightest day, although the sun was not yet up. Carr was awakened by someone calling his name. Is it you, Gray Skin? He asked, for he was accustomed to the elk's nightly visits. Again he heard the call. Then he recognized Gray Skin's voice, and hastened in the direction of the sound. Carr heard the elk's footfalls in the distance, as he dashed into the thickest pine wood, and straight through the brush, following no trodden path. Carr could not catch up with him, and he had great difficulty in even following the trail. Carr! Carr! came the cry, and the voice was certainly Gray Skin's, although it had a ring now which the dog had never heard before. I'm coming! I'm coming! the dog responded. Where are you? Carr! Carr! Don't you see how it falls and falls, said Gray Skin. Then Carr noticed that the pine needles kept dropping and dropping from the trees, like a steady fall of rain. Yes, I see how it falls, he cried, and ran far into the forest in search of the elk. Gray Skin kept running through the thickets, while Carr was about to lose the trail again. Carr! Carr! roared Gray Skin. Can't you scent that peculiar odor in the forest? Carr stopped and sniffed. He had not thought of it before, but now he remarked that the pine sent forth a much stronger odor than usual. Yes, I catch the scent, he said. He did not stop long enough to find out the course of it, but hurried on after Gray Skin. The elk ran ahead with such speed that the dog could not catch up with him. Carr! Carr! he called. Can't you hear the crunching on the pines? Now his tone was so plaintive it would have melted a stone. Carr paused to listen. He heard a faint but distinct tap tap on the trees. It sounded like the ticking of a watch. Yes, I hear how it ticks, cried Carr, and ran no farther. He understood that the elk did not want him to follow, but to take notice of something that was happening in the forest. Carr was standing beneath the drooping branches of a great pine. He looked carefully at it. The needless moved. He went closer and saw a mass of grayish white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off the needles. Every branch was covered with them. The crunch crunch in the trees came from the working of their busy little yaws. Gnawed off needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor pines there came a such strong odour that the dog suffered from it. What can be the meaning of this, wondered Carr? It's too bad about the pretty trees. Soon they'll have no beauty left. He walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all was well with them. There is a pine they haven't touched, he thought, but they had taken possession of it too. And here's a birch. No, this also. The gamekeeper will not be pleased with this, observed Carr. He ran deeper into the thickets to learn how far the destruction had spread. Wherever he went, he heard the same ticking, scented the same odour, saw the same needle rain. There was no need of his pausing to investigate. He understood it all by these signs. The little caterpillars were everywhere. The whole forest was being ravaged by them. All of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where all was still. Here's the end of their domain, thought the dog, as he paused and glanced about. But here it was even worse, for the caterpillars had already done their work, and the trees were needless. They were like dead. The only thing that covered them was a network of ragged threads, which the caterpillars had spun to useless roads and bridges. In here, among the dying trees, gray skin stood waiting for Carr. He was not alone. With him were four old elk, the most respected in the forest. Carr knew them. They were crooked back, who was a small elk, but had a larger hump than the others. Antler Crown, who was the most dignified of the elk, rough mane with a thick coat and an old legged one, who up till the autumn before, when he got a bullet in his thigh, had been terribly hot-tempered and quarrelsome. What in the world is happening to the forest? Carr asked when he came up to the elk. They stood with lowered heads, far protruding upper lips, and looked puzzled. No one can tell, answered gray skin. This insect family used to be the least hurtful of any in the forest, and never before have they done any damage. But these last few years, they have been multiplying so fast, that now it appears as if the entire forest would be destroyed. Yes, it looks bad, Carr agreed, but I see that the wisest animals in the forest have come together to hold a consultation. Perhaps you have already found a remedy. When the dog said this, crooked back solemnly raised his heavy head, pricked up his long ears, and spoke, We have summoned you, hither, Carr, that we may learn if the humans know of this desolation. No, said Carr, no human being ever comes thus far into the forest when it is not hunting time. They know nothing of this misfortune. Then Antler Crown said, We who have lived long in the forest do not think that we can fight this insect best all by ourselves. After this there will be no peace in the forest put in rough main. But we can't let the whole Liberty Forest go to rack and rooming, protested big and strong. We'll have to consult the humans. There is no alternative. Carr understood that the elk had difficulty in expressing what they wish to say, and he tried to help them. Perhaps you want me to let the people know the conditions here, he suggested. All the old elk nodded their heads. It is most unfortunate that we are obliged to ask help of human beings, but we have no choice. A moment later Carr was on his way home, as he ran ahead deeply distressed over all that he had heard and seen a big black water snake approached them. Well met in the forest, hissed the water snake. Well met again, snarl Carr, and rushed by without stopping. The snake turned and tried to catch up to him. Perhaps that creature also was worried about the forest, thought Carr, and waited. Immediately the snake began to talk about the great disaster. There will be an end of peace and quiet in the forest. When human beings are called hiser, said the snake. I'm afraid they will, the dog agreed. But the oldest forest dwellers know what they are about, he added. I think I know a better plan, said the snake. If I can get the reward I wish. Are you not the one whom everyone around here calls old, helpless? said the dog sneeringly. I am an old inhabitant of the forest, said the snake. And I know how to get rid of such plagues. If you clear the forest of that pest, I feel sure you can have anything you ask for, said Carr. The snake did not respond to this until he had crawled under a tree stump, where he was well protected. Then he said, Tell Grayskin, that if he will leave Liberty Forest forever, and go far north, where no oak tree grows, I will send sickness and death to all the creeping things that gnaw the pines and spruces. What's that you say? asked Carr bristling up. What harm has Grayskin ever done you? He has slain the one whom I loved best, the snake declared. And I want to be avenged. Before the snake had finished speaking, Carr made a dash for him, but the reptile lay safely hidden under the tree stump. Stay where you are, Carr concluded. We'll manage to drive out the caterpillars without your help. End of Carr and Grayskin Part 2 Red by Lars Rolander