They sat
motionless on the same spot nearly all day. Their pretty, dark feather
dresses became rough and lustreless, and their eyes were riveted with
hopeless longing on the sky without.
During the first week of Gorgo's captivity he was still awake and full
of life, but later a heavy torpor came upon him. He perched himself on
one spot, like the other eagles, and stared at vacancy. He no longer
knew how the days passed.
One morning when Gorgo sat in his usual torpor, he heard some one call
to him from below. He was so drowsy that he could barely rouse himself
enough to lower his glance.
"Who is calling me?" he asked.
"Oh, Gorgo! Don't you know me? It's Thumbietot who used to fly around
with the wild geese."
"Is Akka also captured?" asked Gorgo in the tone of one who is trying to
collect his thoughts after a long sleep.
"No; Akka, the white goosey-gander, and the whole flock are probably
safe and sound up in Lapland at this season," said the boy. "It's only I
who am a prisoner here."
As the boy was speaking he noticed that Gorgo averted his glance, and
began to stare into space again.
"Golden eagle!" cried the boy; "I have not forgotten that once you
carried me back to the wild geese, and that you spared the white
goosey-gander's life! Tell me if I can be of any help to you!"
Gorgo scarcely raised his head.
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