"If I should venture where there are human beings, just for this night?"
thought the boy. "Only so I could sit by a fire for a moment, and get a
little food. I could go back to the wild geese before sunrise."
He crept from under the wing and slid down to the ground. He didn't
awaken either the goosey-gander or any of the other geese, but stole,
silently and unobserved, through the morass.
He didn't know exactly where on earth he was: if he was in Skane, in
Smaland, or in Blekinge. But just before he had gotten down in the
morass, he had caught a glimpse of a large village, and thither he
directed his steps. It wasn't long, either, before he discovered a road;
and soon he was on the village street, which was long, and had planted
trees on both sides, and was bordered with garden after garden.
The boy had come to one of the big cathedral towns, which are so common
on the uplands, but can hardly be seen at all down in the plain.
The houses were of wood, and very prettily constructed. Most of them had
gables and fronts, edged with carved mouldings, and glass doors, with
here and there a coloured pane, opening on verandas. The walls were
painted in light oil-colours; the doors and window-frames shone in blues
and greens, and even in reds. While the boy walked about and viewed the
houses, he could hear, all the way out to the road, how the people who
sat in the warm cottages chattered and laughed.
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