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

They already owned a large place, but if the lake-draining 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 lest the draining should not prove any more successful this time than it was the last. Per Ola’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.

He stood and pondered if God’s hand was back of the fact that Takern 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 Per Ola is?” she exclaimed. Caesar barked joyfully, and threw himself against the door. She opened it, and Caesar dashed down toward Takern. The mistress was so positive he knew where Per Ola 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.

Per Ola had had the best day of his life, in company with Thumbietot 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.

Friday, April twenty-second.

One night when the boy lay and slept on an island in Takern, 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 scow 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 scow. 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 rowed 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. “That was one who was worth while. 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 Omberg loomed up high and dark, much more impressive than usual, and, cut away a big, three-cornered piece of the vaulted 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 Östergylln,” 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 the 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 Östergötland.”

“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 Ulvåsa, here in Östergötland,” 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