Soon he stood on a big square which spread itself in front of the
church. It was covered with round stones, and was just as difficult for
him to travel over, as it is for big people to walk on a tufted meadow.
Those who are accustomed to live in the open--or way out in the
country--always feel uneasy when they come into a city, where the houses
stand straight and forbidding, and the streets are open, so that
everyone can see who goes there. And it happened in the same way with
the boy. When he stood on the big Karlskrona square, and looked at the
German church, and town hall, and the cathedral from which he had just
descended, he couldn't do anything but wish that he was back on the
tower again with the geese.
It was a lucky thing that the square was entirely deserted. There wasn't
a human being about--unless he counted a statue that stood on a high
pedestal. The boy gazed long at the statue, which represented a big,
brawny man in a three-cornered hat, long waistcoat, knee-breeches and
coarse shoes, and wondered what kind of a one he was. He held a long
stick in his hand, and he looked as if he would know how to make use of
it, too--for he had an awfully severe countenance, with a big, hooked
nose and an ugly mouth.
"What is that long-lipped thing doing here?" said the boy at last. He
had never felt so small and insignificant as he did that night.
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