Nils Holgerssons underbara resa. English

by Selma Lagerlöf

days' hunt, whether ornot they had found him, they were to meet in northwestern Smaland on ahigh mountain-top, which resembled an abrupt, chopped-off tower, and wascalled Taberg. After Akka had given them the best directions, anddescribed carefully how they should find Taberg, they had separated.

  The white goosey-gander had chosen Dunfin as travelling companion, andthey had flown about hither and thither with the greatest anxiety forThumbietot. During this ramble they had heard a thrush, who sat in atree-top, cry and wail that someone, who called himselfKidnapped-by-Crows, had made fun of him. They had talked with thethrush, and he had shown them in which direction that Kidnapped-by-Crowshad travelled. Afterward, they had met a dove-cock, a starling and adrake; they had all wailed about a little culprit who had disturbedtheir song, and who was named Caught-by-Crows, Captured-by-Crows, andStolen-by-Crows. In this way, they were enabled to trace Thumbietot allthe way to the heather-heath in Sonnerbo township.

  As soon as the goosey-gander and Dunfin had found Thumbietot, they hadstarted toward the north, in order to reach Taberg. But it had been along road to travel, and the darkness was upon them before they hadsighted the mountain top. "If we only get there by to-morrow, surely allour troubles will be over," thought the boy, and dug down into the strawto have it warmer. All the while the cow fussed and fumed in the stall.Then, all of a sudden, she began to talk to the boy. "Everything iswrong with me," said the cow. "I am neither milked nor tended. I have nonight fodder in my manger, and no bed has been made under me. Mymistress came here at dusk, to put things in order for me, but she feltso ill, that she had to go in soon again, and she has not returned."

  "It's distressing that I should be little and powerless," said the boy."I don't believe that I am able to help you." "You can't make me believethat you are powerless because you are little," said the cow. "All theelves that I've ever heard of, were so strong that they could pull awhole load of hay and strike a cow dead with one fist." The boy couldn'thelp laughing at the cow. "They were a very different kind of elf fromme," said he. "But I'll loosen your halter and open the door for you, sothat you can go out and drink in one of the pools on the place, and thenI'll try to climb up to the hayloft and throw down some hay in yourmanger." "Yes, that would be some help," said the cow.

  The boy did as he had said; and when the cow stood with a full manger infront of her, he thought that at last he should get some sleep. But hehad hardly crept down in the bed before she began, anew, to talk to him.

  "You'll be clean put out with me if I ask you for one thing more," saidthe cow. "Oh, no I won't, if it's only something that I'm able to do,"said the boy. "Then I will ask you to go into the cabin, directlyopposite, and find out how my mistress is getting along. I fear somemisfortune has come to her." "No! I can't do that," said the boy. "Idare not show myself before human beings." "'Surely you're not afraid ofan old and sick woman," said the cow. "But you do not need to go intothe cabin. Just stand outside the door and peep in through the crack!""Oh! if that is all you ask of me, I'll do it of course," said the boy.

  With that he opened the cowshed door and went out in the yard. It was afearful night! Neither moon nor stars shone; the wind blew a gale, andthe rain came down in torrents. And the worst of all was that sevengreat owls sat in a row on the eaves of the cabin. It was awful just tohear them, where they sat and grumbled at the weather; but it was evenworse to think what would happen to him if one of them should set eyeson him. That would be the last of him.

  "Pity him who is little!" said the boy as he ventured out in the yard.And he had a right to say this, for he was blown down twice before hegot to the house: once the wind swept him into a pool, which was so deepthat he came near drowning. But he got there nevertheless.

  He clambered up a pair of steps, scrambled over a threshold, and cameinto the hallway. The cabin door was closed, but down in one corner alarge piece had been cut away, that the cat might go in and out. It wasno difficulty whatever for the boy to see how things were in the cabin.

  He had hardly cast a glance in there before he staggered back and turnedhis head away. An old, gray-haired woman lay stretched out on the floorwithin. She neither moved nor moaned; and her face shone strangelywhite. It was as if an invisible moon had thrown a feeble light over it.

  The boy remembered that when his grandfather had died, his face had alsobecome so strangely white-like. And he understood that the old woman wholay on the cabin floor must be dead. Death had probably come to her sosuddenly that she didn't even have time to lie down on her bed.

  As he thought of being alone with the dead in the middle of the darknight, he was terribly afraid. He threw himself headlong down the steps,and rushed back to the cowshed.

  When he told the cow what he had seen in the cabin, she stopped eating."So my mistress is dead," said she. "Then it will soon be over for meas well." "There will always be someone to look out for you," said theboy comfortingly. "Ah! you don't know," said the cow, "that I am alreadytwice as old as a cow usually is before she is laid upon theslaughter-bench. But then I do not care to live any longer, since she,in there, can come no more to care for me."

  She said nothing more for a while, but the boy observed, no doubt, thatshe neither slept nor ate. It was not long before she began to speakagain. "Is she lying on the bare floor?" she asked. "She is," said theboy. "She had a habit of coming out to the cowshed," she continued, "andtalking about everything that troubled her. I understood what she said,although I could not answer her. These last few days she talked of howafraid she was lest there would be no one with her when she died. Shewas anxious for fear no one should close her eyes and fold her handsacross her breast, after she was dead. Perhaps you'll go in and dothis?" The boy hesitated. He remembered that when his grandfather haddied, mother had been very careful about putting everything to rights.He knew this was something which had to be done. But, on the other hand,he felt that he didn't care go to the dead, in the ghastly night. Hedidn't say no; neither did he take a step toward the cowshed door. For acouple of seconds the old cow was silent--just as if she had expected ananswer. But when the boy said nothing, she did not repeat her request.Instead, she began to talk with him of her mistress.

  There was much to tell, first and foremost, about all the children whichshe had brought up. They had been in the cowshed every day, and in thesummer they had taken the cattle to pasture on the swamp and in thegroves, so the old cow knew all about them. They had been splendid, allof them, and happy and industrious. A cow knew well enough what hercaretakers were good for.

  There was also much to be said about the farm. It had not always been aspoor as it was now. It was very large--although the greater part of itconsisted of swamps and stony groves. There was not much room forfields, but there was plenty of good fodder everywhere. At one timethere had been a cow for every stall in the cowshed; and the oxshed,which was now empty, had at one time been filled with oxen. And thenthere was life and gayety, both in cabin and cowhouse. When the mistressopened the cowshed door she would hum and sing, and all the cows lowedwith gladness when they heard her coming.

  But the good man had died when the children were so small that theycould not be of any assistance, and the mistress had to take charge ofthe farm, and all the work and responsibility. She had been as strong asa man, and had both ploughed and reaped. In the evenings, when she cameinto the cowshed to milk, sometimes she was so tired that she wept. Thenshe dashed away her tears, and was cheerful again. "It doesn't matter.Good times are coming again for me too, if only my children grow up.Yes, if they only grow up."

  But as soon as the children were grown, a strange longing came overthem. They didn't want to stay at home, but went away to a strangecountry. Their mother never got any help from them. A couple of herchildren were married before they went away, and they had left theirchildren behind, in the old home. And now these children followed themistress in the cowshed, just as her own had done. They tended the cows,and were fine, good folk. And, in the evenings, when the mistress was sotired out that she could fa
ll asleep in the middle of the milking, shewould rouse herself again to renewed courage by thinking of them. "Goodtimes are coming for me, too," said she--and shook off sleep--"when oncethey are grown."

  But when these children grew up, they went away to their parents in thestrange land. No one came back--no one stayed at home--the old mistresswas left alone on the farm.

  Probably she had never asked them to remain with her. "Think you,Roedlinna, that I would ask them to stay here with me, when they can goout in the world and have things comfortable?" she would say as shestood in the stall with the old cow. "Here in Smaland they