ith statues,
and others with black and white marble. And it was the same with the old
cathedrals; the majority of them were roofless with bare interiors. The
window openings were empty, the floors were grass-grown, and ivy
clambered along the walls. But now he knew how they had looked at one
time; that they had been covered with images and paintings; that the
chancel had had trimmed altars and gilded crosses, and that their
priests had moved about, arrayed in gold vestments.

The boy saw also the narrow streets, which were almost deserted on
holiday afternoons. He knew, he did, what a stream of stately people had
once upon a time sauntered about on them. He knew that they had been
like large workshops--filled with all sorts of workmen.

But that which Nils Holgersson did not see was, that the city--even
to-day--was both beautiful and remarkable. He saw neither the cheery
cottages on the side streets, with their black walls, and white bows and
red pelargoniums behind the shining window-panes, nor the many pretty
gardens and avenues, nor the beauty in the weed-clad ruins. His eyes
were so filled with the preceding glory, that he could not see anything
good in the present.

The wild geese flew back and forth over the city a couple of times, so
that Thumbietot might see everything. Finally they sank down on the
grass-grown floor of a cathedral ruin to spend the night.

When they had arranged themselves for sleep, Thumbietot was still awake
and looked up through the open arches, to the pale pink evening sky.
When he had been sitting there a while, he thought he didn't want to
grieve any more because he couldn't save the buried city.

No, that he didn't want to do, now that he had seen this one. If that
city, which he had seen, had not sunk into the sea again, then it would
perhaps become as dilapidated as this one in a little while. Perhaps it
could not have withstood time and decay, but would have stood there with
roofless churches and bare houses and desolate, empty streets--just like
this one. Then it was better that it should remain in all its glory down
in the deep.

"It was best that it happened as it happened," thought he. "If I had the
power to save the city, I don't believe that I should care to do it."
Then he no longer grieved over that matter.

And there are probably many among the young who think in the same way.
But when people are old, and have become accustomed to being satisfied
with little, then the