Father Bear gripped him still harder. It hurt so that the boy could not keep the tears back, but he did not cry out or say a word.

"Very well, then," said Father Bear, raising his paw very slowly, hoping that the boy would give in at the last moment.

But just then the boy heard something click very close to them, and saw the muzzle of a rifle two paces away. Both he and Father Bear had been so engrossed in their own affairs they had not observed that a man had stolen right upon them.

"Father Bear! Don't you hear the clicking of a trigger?" cried the boy.

"Run, or you'll be shot!"

Father Bear grew terribly hurried. However, he allowed himself time enough to pick up the boy and carry him along. As he ran, a couple of shots sounded, and the bullets grazed his ears, but, luckily, he escaped.

The boy thought, as he was dangling from the bear's mouth, that never had he been so stupid as he was to-night. If he had only kept still, the bear would have been shot, and he himself would have been freed. But he had become so accustomed to helping the animals that he did it naturally, and as a matter of course.

When Father Bear had run some distance into the woods, he paused and set the boy down on the ground.

"Thank you, little one!" he said. "I dare say those bullets would have caught me if you hadn't been there. And now I want to do you a service in return. If you should ever meet with another bear, just say to him this--which I shall whisper to you--and he won't touch you."

Father Bear whispered a word or two into the boy's ear and hurried away, for he thought he heard hounds and hunters pursuing him.

The boy stood in the forest, free and unharmed, and could hardly understand how it was possible.

The wild geese had been flying back and forth the whole evening, peering and calling, but they had been unable to find Thumbietot. They searched long after the sun had set, and, finally, when it had grown so dark that they were forced to alight somewhere for the night, they were very downhearted. There was not one among them but thought the boy had been killed by the fall and was lying dead in the forest, where they could not see him.

But the next morning, when the sun peeped over the hills and awakened the wild geese, the boy lay sleeping, as usual, in their midst. When he woke and heard them shrieking and cackling their astonishment, he could not help laughing.

They were so eager to know what had happened to him that they did not care to go to breakfast until he had told them the whole story. The boy soon narrated his entire adventure with the bears, but after that he seemed reluctant to continue.

"How I got back to you perhaps you already know?" he said.

"No, we know nothing. We thought you were killed."

"That's curious!" remarked the boy. "Oh, yes!--when Father Bear left me I climbed up into a pine and fell asleep. At daybreak I was awakened by an eagle hovering over me. He picked me up with his talons and carried me away. He didn't hurt me, but flew straight here to you and dropped me down among you."

"Didn't he tell you who he was?" asked the big white gander.

"He was gone before I had time even to thank him. I thought that Mother Akka had sent him after me."

"How extraordinary!" exclaimed the white goosey-gander. "But are you certain that it was an eagle?"

"I had never before seen an eagle," said the boy, "but he was so big and splendid that I can't give him a lowlier name!"

Morten Goosey-Gander turned to the wild geese to hear what they thought of this; but they stood gazing into the air, as though they were thinking of something else.

"We must not forget entirely to eat breakfast today," said Akka, quickly spreading her wings.

THE FLOOD

THE SWANS

_May first to fourth_.

There was a terrible storm raging in the district north of Lake Malar, which lasted several days. The sky was a dull gray, the wind whistled, and the rain beat. Both people and animals knew the spring could not be ushered in with anything short of this; nevertheless they thought it unbearable.

After it had been raining for a whole day, the snowdrifts in the pine forests began to melt in earnest, and the spring brooks grew lively. All the pools on the farms, the standing water in the ditches, the water that oozed between the tufts in marshes and swamps--all were in motion and tried to find their way to creeks, that they might be borne along to the sea.

The creeks rushed as fast as possible down to the rivers, and the rivers did their utmost to carry the water to Lake Malar.

All the lakes and rivers in Uppland and the mining district quickly threw off their ice covers on one and the same day, so that the creeks filled with ice-floes which rose clear up to their banks.

Swollen as they were, they emptied into Lake Malar, and it was not long before the lake had taken in as much water as it could well hold. Down by the outlet was a raging torrent. Norrstrom is a narrow channel, and it could not let out the water quickly enough. Besides, there was a strong easterly wind that lashed against the land, obstructing the stream when it tried to carry the fresh water into the East Sea. Since the rivers kept running to Malaren with more water than it could dispose of, there was nothing for the big lake to do but overflow its banks.

It rose very slowly, as if reluctant to injure its beautiful sh.o.r.es; but as they were mostly low and gradually sloping, it was not long before the water had flooded several acres of land, and that was enough to create the greatest alarm.

Lake Malar is unique in its way, being made up of a succession of narrow fiords, bays, and inlets. In no place does it spread into a storm centre, but seems to have been created only for pleasure trips, yachting tours, and fishing. Nowhere does it present barren, desolate, wind-swept sh.o.r.es. It looks as if it never thought that its sh.o.r.es could hold anything but country seats, summer villas, manors, and amus.e.m.e.nt resorts. But, because it usually presents a very agreeable and friendly appearance, there is all the more havoc whenever it happens to drop its smiling expression in the spring, and show that it can be serious.

At that critical time Smirre Fox happened to come sneaking through a birch grove just north of Lake Malar. As usual, he was thinking of Thumbietot and the wild geese, and wondering how he should ever find them again. He had lost all track of them.

As he stole cautiously along, more discouraged than usual, he caught sight of Agar, the carrier-pigeon, who had perched herself on a birch branch.

"My, but I'm in luck to run across you, Agar!" exclaimed Smirre. "Maybe you can tell me where Akka from Kebnekaise and her flock hold forth nowadays?"

"It's quite possible that I know where they are," Agar hinted, "but I'm not likely to tell you!"

"Please yourself!" retorted Smirre. "Nevertheless, you can take a message that I have for them. You probably know the present condition of Lake Malar? There's a great overflow down there and all the swans who live in Hjalsta Bay are about to see their nests, with all their eggs, destroyed. Daylight, the swan-king, has heard of the midget who travels with the wild geese and knows a remedy for every ill. He has sent me to ask Akka if she will bring Thumbietot down to Hjalsta Bay."

"I dare say I can convey your message," Agar replied, "but I can't understand how the little boy will be able to help the swans."

"Nor do I," said Smirre, "but he can do almost everything, it seems."

"It's surprising to me that Daylight should send his messages by a fox,"

Agar remarked.

"Well, we're not exactly what you'd call good friends," said Smirre smoothly, "but in an emergency like this we must help each other.

Perhaps it would be just as well not to tell Akka that you got the message from a fox. Between you and me, she's inclined to be a little suspicious."

The safest refuge for water-fowl in the whole Malar district is Hjalsta Bay. It has low sh.o.r.es, shallow water and is also covered with reeds.

It is by no means as large as Lake Tkern, but nevertheless Hjalsta is a good retreat for birds, since it has long been forbidden territory to hunters.

It is the home of a great many swans, and the owner of the old castle nearby has prohibited all shooting on the bay, so that they might be unmolested.

As soon as Akka received word that the swans needed her help, she hastened down to Hjalsta Bay. She arrived with her flock one evening and saw at a glance that there had been a great disaster. The big swans'

nests had been torn away, and the strong wind was driving them down the bay. Some had already fallen apart, two or three had capsized, and the eggs lay at the bottom of the lake.

When Akka alighted on the bay, all the swans living there were gathered near the eastern sh.o.r.e, where they were protected from the wind.

Although they had suffered much by the flood, they were too proud to let any one see it.