Later in the day, Per Ola's footprints were discovered down by the
boat-landing. And then came the thought that the old, leaky scow was no
longer on the strand. Then one began to understand how the whole affair
had come about.
The farmer and his helpers immediately took out the boats and went in
search of the boy. They rowed around on Takern until way late in the
evening, without seeing the least shadow of him. They couldn't help
believing that the old scow had gone down, and that the little one lay
dead on the lake-bottom.
In the evening, Per Ola's mother hunted around on the strand. Everyone
else was convinced that the boy was drowned, but she could not bring
herself to believe this. She searched all the while. She searched
between reeds and bulrushes; tramped and tramped on the muddy shore,
never thinking of how deep her foot sank, and how wet she had become.
She was unspeakably desperate. Her heart ached in her breast. She did
not weep, but wrung her hands and called for her child in loud piercing
tones.
Round about her she heard swans' and ducks' and curlews' shrieks. She
thought that they followed her, and moaned and wailed--they too.
"Surely, they, too, must be in trouble, since they moan so," thought
she. Then she remembered: these were only birds that she heard complain.
They surely had no worries.
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