Christmas with Selma Lagerlöf. Selma Lagerlöf
asleep. Then Wind-Rush took him by the arm, and dragged him over the sand to an earthen crock of old-time make, that was standing in the pit. "Get up, Thumbietot," said he, "and open this crock!" "Why can't you let me sleep?" said the boy. "I'm too tired to do anything to-night. Wait until to-morrow!"
"Open the crock!" said Wind-Rush, shaking him. "How shall a poor little child be able to open such a crock? Why, it's quite as large as I am myself." "Open it!" commanded Wind-Rush once more, "or it will be a sorry thing for you." The boy got up, tottered over to the crock, fumbled the clasp, and let his arms fall. "I'm not usually so weak," said he. "If you will only let me sleep until morning, I think that I'll be able to manage with that clasp."
But Wind-Rush was impatient, and he rushed forward and pinched the boy in the leg. That sort of treatment the boy didn't care to suffer from a crow. He jerked himself loose quickly, ran a couple of paces backward, drew his knife from the sheath, and held it extended in front of him. "You'd better be careful!" he cried to Wind-Rush.
This one too was so enraged that he didn't dodge the danger. He rushed at the boy, just as though he'd been blind, and ran so straight against the knife, that it entered through his eye into the head. The boy drew the knife back quickly, but Wind-Rush only struck out with his wings, then he fell down—dead.
"Wind-Rush is dead! The stranger has killed our chieftain, Wind-Rush!" cried the nearest crows, and then there was a terrible uproar. Some wailed, others cried for vengeance. They all ran or fluttered up to the boy, with Fumle-Drumle in the lead. But he acted badly as usual. He only fluttered and spread his wings over the boy, and prevented the others from coming forward and running their bills into him.
The boy thought that things looked very bad for him now. He couldn't run away from the crows, and there was no place where he could hide. Then he happened to think of the earthen crock. He took a firm hold on the clasp, and pulled it off. Then he hopped into the crock to hide in it. But the crock was a poor hiding place, for it was nearly filled to the brim with little, thin silver coins. The boy couldn't get far enough down, so he stooped and began to throw out the coins.
Until now the crows had fluttered around him in a thick swarm and pecked at him, but when he threw out the coins they immediately forgot their thirst for vengeance, and hurried to gather the money. The boy threw out handfuls of it, and all the crows—yes, even Wind-Air herself—picked them up. And everyone who succeeded in picking up a coin ran off to the nest with the utmost speed to conceal it.
When the boy had thrown out all the silver pennies from the crock he glanced up. Not more than a single crow was left in the sandpit. That was Fumle-Drumle, with the white feather in his wing; he who had carried Thumbietot. "You have rendered me a greater service than you understand," said the crow—with a very different voice, and a different intonation than the one he had used heretofore—"and I want to save your life. Sit down on my back, and I'll take you to a hiding place where you can be secure for to-night. To-morrow, I'll arrange it so that you will get back to the wild geese."
THE CABIN
Thursday, April fourteenth.
The following morning when the boy awoke, he lay in a bed. When he saw that he was in a house with four walls around him, and a roof over him, he thought that he was at home. "I wonder if mother will come soon with some coffee," he muttered to himself where he lay half-awake. Then he remembered that he was in a deserted cabin on the crow-ridge, and that Fumle-Drumle with the white feather had borne him there the night before.
The boy was sore all over after the journey he had made the day before, and he thought it was lovely to lie still while he waited for Fumle-Drumle who had promised to come and fetch him.
Curtains of checked cotton hung before the bed, and he drew them aside to look out into the cabin. It dawned upon him instantly that he had never seen the mate to a cabin like this. The walls consisted of nothing but a couple of rows of logs; then the roof began. There was no interior ceiling, so he could look clear up to the roof-tree. The cabin was so small that it appeared to have been built rather for such as he than for real people. However, the fireplace and chimney were so large, he thought that he had never seen larger. The entrance door was in a gable-wall at the side of the fireplace, and was so narrow that it was more like a wicket than a door. In the other gable-wall he saw a low and broad window with many panes. There was scarcely any movable furniture in the cabin. The bench on one side, and the table under the window, were also stationary—also the big bed where he lay, and the many-coloured cupboard.
The boy could not help wondering who owned the cabin, and why it was deserted. It certainly looked as though the people who had lived there expected to return. The coffee-urn and the gruel-pot stood on the hearth, and there was some wood in the fireplace; the oven-rake and baker's peel stood in a corner; the spinning wheel was raised on a bench; on the shelf over the window lay oakum and flax, a couple of skeins of yarn, a candle, and a bunch of matches.
Yes, it surely looked as if those who had lived there had intended to come back. There were bed-clothes on the bed; and on the walls there still hung long strips of cloth, upon which three riders named Kasper, Melchior, and Baltasar were painted. The same horses and riders were pictured many times. They rode around the whole cabin, and continued their ride even up toward the joists.
But in the roof the boy saw something which brought him to his senses in a jiffy. It was a couple of loaves of big bread-cakes that hung there upon a spit. They looked old and mouldy, but it was bread all the same. He gave them a knock with the oven-rake and one piece fell to the floor. He ate, and stuffed his bag full. It was incredible how good bread was, anyway.
He looked around the cabin once more, to try and discover if there was anything else which he might find useful to take along. "I may as well take what I need, since no one else cares about it," thought he. But most of the things were too big and heavy. The only things that he could carry might be a few matches perhaps.
He clambered up on the table, and swung with the help of the curtains up to the window-shelf. While he stood there and stuffed the matches into his bag, the crow with the white feather came in through the window. "Well here I am at last," said Fumle-Drumle as he lit on the table. "I couldn't get here any sooner because we crows have elected a new chieftain in Wind-Rush's place." "Whom have you chosen?" said the boy. "Well, we have chosen one who will not permit robbery and injustice. We have elected Garm Whitefeather, lately called Fumle-Drumle," answered he, drawing himself up until he looked absolutely regal. "That was a good choice," said the boy and congratulated him. "You may well wish me luck," said Garm; then he told the boy about the time they had had with Wind-Rush and Wind-Air.
During this recital the boy heard a voice outside the window which he thought sounded familiar. "Is he here?"—inquired the fox. "Yes, he's hidden in there," answered a crow-voice. "Be careful, Thumbietot!" cried Garm. "Wind-Air stands without with that fox who wants to eat you." More he didn't have time to say, for Smirre dashed against the window. The old, rotten window-frame gave way, and the next second Smirre stood upon the window-table. Garm Whitefeather, who didn't have time to fly away, he killed instantly. Thereupon he jumped down to the floor, and looked around for the boy. He tried to hide behind a big oakum-spiral, but Smirre had already spied him, and was crouched for the final spring. The cabin was so small, and so low, the boy understood that the fox could reach him without the least difficulty. But just at that moment the boy was not without weapons of defence. He struck a match quickly, touched the curtains, and when they were in flames, he threw them down upon Smirre Fox. When the fire enveloped the fox, he was seized with a mad terror. He thought no more about the boy, but rushed wildly out of the cabin.
But it looked as if the boy had escaped one danger to throw himself into a greater one. From the tuft of oakum which he had flung at Smirre the fire had spread to the bed-hangings. He jumped down and tried to smother it, but it blazed too quickly now. The cabin was soon filled with smoke, and Smirre Fox, who had remained just outside the window, began to grasp the state of affairs within. "Well, Thumbietot," he called out, "which do you choose now: to be broiled alive in there, or