began to gobble up the oats.

But Dunfin was nervous.

"Let's go out again!" she said.

"Only two more grains," insisted the goosey-gander. The next second he
let out a shriek and ran for the door, but it was too late! The door
slammed, the mistress stood without and bolted it. They were locked in!

The father had removed a sharp piece of iron from the horse's hoof and
stood contentedly stroking the animal when the mother came running into
the stable.

"Come, father, and see the capture I've made!"

"No, wait a minute!" said the father. "Look here, first. I have
discovered what ailed the horse."

"I believe our luck has turned," said the mother. "Only fancy! the big
white goosey-gander that disappeared last spring must have gone off with
the wild geese. He has come back to us in company with seven wild geese.
They walked straight into the goose pen, and I've shut them all in."

"That's extraordinary," remarked the father. "But best of all is that we
don't have to think any more that our boy stole the goosey-gander when
he went away."

"You're quite right, father," she said. "But I'm afraid we'll have to
kill them to-night. In two days is Morten Gooseday[1] and we must make
haste if we expect to get them to market in time."

[Footnote 1: In Sweden the 10th of November is called Morten Gooseday
and corresponds to the American Thanksgiving Day.]

"I think it would be outrageous to butcher the goosey-gander, now that
he has returned to us with such a large family," protested Holger
Nilsson.

"If times were easier we'd let him live; but since we're going to move
from here, we can't keep geese. Come along now and help me carry them
into the kitchen," urged the mother.

They went out together and in a few moments the boy saw his father
coming along with Morten Goosey-Gander and Dunfin--one under each arm.
He and his wife went into the cabin.

The goosey-gander cried:

"Thumbietot, come and help me!"--as he always did when in
peril--although he was not aware that the boy was at hand.

Nils Holgersson heard him, yet he lingered at the door of the cow shed.

He did not hesitate because he knew that it would be well for him if the
goosey-gander were beheaded--at that moment he did not even remember
this--but because he shrank from being seen by his parents.

"They have a hard enough time of it already," he thought. "Must I bring
them a new sorrow?"

But when the door closed on the goosey-gander, the boy was