The Wonderful Adventures of Nils Selma Lagerlöf (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📖

your help,” he said. “But it was very stupid of you to let the owl escape. I can’t get away from here, because she is sitting up in the tree watching me.”

“It was thoughtless of me to let her go. But to make amends, can’t I accompany you to your home?” asked she who wrote stories, somewhat surprised to think that in this unexpected fashion she had got into conversation with one of the tiny folk. Still she was not so much surprised after all. It was as if all the while she had been awaiting some extraordinary experience, while she walked in the moonlight outside her old home.

“The fact is, I had thought of stopping here over night,” said the midget. “If you will only show me a safe sleeping place, I shall not be obliged to return to the forest before daybreak.”

“Must I show you a place to sleep? Are you not at home here?”

“I understand that you take me for one of the tiny folk,” said the midget, “but I’m a human being, like yourself, although I have been transformed by an elf.”

“That is the most remarkable thing I have ever heard! Wouldn’t you like to tell me how you happened to get into such a plight?”

The boy did not mind telling her of his adventures, and, as the narrative proceeded, she who listened to him grew more and more astonished and happy.

“What luck to run across one who has travelled all over Sweden on the back of a goose!” thought she. “Just this which he is relating I shall write down in my book. Now I need worry no more over that matter. It was well that I came home. To think that I should find such help as soon as I came to the old place!”

Instantly another thought flashed into her mind. She had sent word to her father by the doves that she longed for home, and almost immediately she had received help in the matter she had pondered so long. Might not this be the father’s answer to her prayer?

The Treasure on the Island On Their Way to the Sea

Friday, October seventh.

From the very start of the autumn trip the wild geese had flown straight south; but when they left Fryksdalen they veered in another direction, travelling over western Vermland and Dalsland, toward Bohuslän.

That was a jolly trip! The goslings were now so used to flying that they complained no more of fatigue, and the boy was fast recovering his good humour. He was glad that he had talked with a human being. He felt encouraged when she said to him that if he were to continue doing good to all whom he met, as heretofore, it could not end badly for him. She was not able to tell him how to get back his natural form, but she had given him a little hope and assurance, which inspired the boy to think out a way to prevent the big white gander from going home.

“Do you know, Morten Goosey-Gander, that it will be rather monotonous for us to stay at home all winter after having been on a trip like this,” he said, as they were flying far up in the air. “I’m sitting here thinking that we ought to go abroad with the geese.”

“Surely you are not in earnest!” said the goosey-gander. Since he had proved to the wild geese his ability to travel with them all the way to Lapland, he was perfectly satisfied to get back to the goose pen in Holger Nilsson’s cow shed.

The boy sat silently a while and gazed down on Vermland, where the birch woods, leafy groves, and gardens were clad in red and yellow autumn colours.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the earth beneath us as lovely as it is today!” he finally remarked. “The lakes are like blue satin bands. Don’t you think it would be a pity to settle down in West Vemminghög and never see any more of the world?”

“I thought you wanted to go home to your mother and father and show them what a splendid boy you had become?” said the goosey-gander.

All summer he had been dreaming of what a proud moment it would be for him when he should alight in the house yard before Holger Nilsson’s cabin and show Dunfin and the six goslings to the geese and chickens, the cows and the cat, and to Mother Holger Nilsson herself, so that he was not very happy over the boy’s proposal.

“Now, Morten Goosey-Gander, don’t you think yourself that it would be hard never to see anything more that is beautiful!” said the boy.

“I would rather see the fat grain fields of Söderslätt than these lean hills,” answered the goosey-gander. “But you must know very well that if you really wish to continue the trip, I can’t be parted from you.”

“That is just the answer I had expected from you,” said the boy, and his voice betrayed that he was relieved of a great anxiety.

Later, when they travelled over Bohuslän, the boy observed that the mountain stretches were more continuous, the valleys were more like little ravines blasted in the rock foundation, while the long lakes at their base were as black as if they had come from the underworld. This, too, was a glorious country, and as the boy saw it, with now a strip of sun, now a shadow, he thought that there was something strange and wild about it. He knew not why, but the idea came to him that once upon a time there were many strong and brave heroes in these mystical regions who had passed through many dangerous and daring adventures. The old passion of wanting to share in all sorts of wonderful adventures awoke in him.

“I might possibly miss not being in danger of my life at least once every day or two,” he thought. “Anyhow it’s best to be content with things