Smirre began immediately to hunt the geese--just as much for the
pleasure of getting a good square meal, as for the desire to be avenged
for all the humiliation that they had heaped upon him. He saw that they
flew eastward until they came to Ronneby River. Then they changed their
course, and followed the river toward the south. He understood that they
intended to seek a sleeping-place along the river-banks, and he thought
that he should be able to get hold of a pair of them without much
trouble. But when Smirre finally discovered the place where the wild
geese had taken refuge, he observed they had chosen such a
well-protected spot, that he couldn't get near.
Ronneby River isn't any big or important body of water; nevertheless, it
is just as much talked of, for the sake of its pretty shores. At several
points it forces its way forward between steep mountain-walls that stand
upright out of the water, and are entirely overgrown with honeysuckle
and bird-cherry, mountain-ash and osier; and there isn't much that can
be more delightful than to row out on the little dark river on a
pleasant summer day, and look upward on all the soft green that fastens
itself to the rugged mountain-sides.
But now, when the wild geese and Smirre came to the river, it was cold
and blustery spring-winter; all the trees were nude, and there was
probably no one who thought the least little bit about whether the shore
was ugly or pretty.
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