saturday, june eighteenth.
next morning, when the eagle had flown some distance into ångermanland, he remarked that to-day he was the one who was hungry, and must find something to eat! he set the boy down in an enormous pine on a high mountain ridge, and away he flew.
the boy found a comfortable seat in a cleft branch from which he could look down over ångermanland. it was a glorious morning! the sunshine gilded the treetops; a soft breeze played in the pine needles; the sweetest fragrance was wafted through the forest; a beautiful landscape spread before him; and the boy himself was happy and care-free. he felt that no one could be better off.
he had a perfect outlook in every direction. the country west of him was all peaks and table-land, and the farther away they were, the higher and wilder they looked. to the east there were also many peaks, but these sank lower and lower toward the sea, where the land became perfectly flat. everywhere he saw shining rivers and brooks which were having a troublesome journey with rapids and falls so long as they ran between mountains, but spread out clear and broad as they neared the shore of the coast. bothnia bay was dotted with islands and notched with points, but farther out was open, blue water, like a summer sky.
when the boy had had enough of the landscape he unloosed his knapsack, took out a morsel of fine white bread, and began to eat.
"i don't think i've ever tasted such good bread," said he. "and how much i have left! there's enough to last me for a couple of days." as he munched he thought of how he had come by the bread.
"it must be because i got it in such a nice way that it tastes so good to me," he said.
the golden eagle had left medelpad the evening before. he had hardly crossed the border into ångermanland when the boy caught a glimpse of a fertile valley and a river, which surpassed anything of the kind he had seen before.
as the boy glanced down at the rich valley, he complained of feeling hungry. he had had no food for two whole days, he said, and now he was famished. gorgo did not wish to have it said that the boy had fared worse in his company than when he travelled with the wild geese, so he slackened his speed.
"why haven't you spoken of this before?" he asked. "you shall have all the food you want. there's no need of your starving when you have an eagle for a travelling companion."
just then the eagle sighted a farmer who was sowing a field near the river strand. the man carried the seeds in a basket suspended from his neck, and each time that it was emptied he refilled it from a seed sack which stood at the end of the furrow. the eagle reasoned it out that the sack must be filled with the best food that the boy could wish for, so he darted toward it. but before the bird could get there a terrible clamour arose about him. sparrows, crows, and swallows came rushing up with wild shrieks, thinking that the eagle meant to swoop down upon some bird.
"away, away, robber! away, away, bird-killer!" they cried. they made such a racket that it attracted the farmer, who came running, so that gorgo had to flee, and the boy got no seed.
the small birds behaved in the most extraordinary manner. not only did they force the eagle to flee, they pursued him a long distance down the valley, and everywhere the people heard their cries. women came out and clapped their hands so that it sounded like a volley of musketry, and the men rushed out with rifles.
the same thing was repeated every time the eagle swept toward the ground. the boy abandoned the hope that the eagle could procure any food for him. it had never occurred to him before that gorgo was so much hated. he almost pitied him.
in a little while they came to a homestead where the housewife had just been baking. she had set a platter of sugared buns in the back yard to cool and was standing beside it, watching, so that the cat and dog should not steal the buns.
the eagle circled down to the yard, but dared not alight right under the eyes of the peasant woman. he flew up and down, irresolute; twice he came down as far as the chimney, then rose again.
the peasant woman noticed the eagle. she raised her head and followed him with her glance.
"how peculiarly he acts!" she remarked. "i believe he wants one of my buns."
she was a beautiful woman, tall and fair, with a cheery, open countenance. laughing heartily, she took a bun from the platter, and held it above her head.
"if you want it, come and take it!" she challenged.
while the eagle did not understand her language, he knew at once that she was offering him the bun. with lightning speed, he swooped to the bread, snatched it, and flew toward the heights.
when the boy saw the eagle snatch the bread he wept for joy—not because he would escape suffering hunger for a few days, but because he was touched by the peasant woman's sharing her bread with a savage bird of prey.
where he now sat on the pine branch he could recall at will the tall, fair woman as she stood in the yard and held up the bread.
she must have known that the large bird was a golden eagle—a plunderer, who was usually welcomed with loud shots; doubtless she had also seen the queer changeling he bore on his back. but she had not thought of what they were. as soon as she understood that they were hungry, she shared her good bread with them.
"if i ever become human again," thought the boy, "i shall look up the pretty woman who lives near the great river, and thank her for her kindness to us."
