Later the boy sat on the goose-back, glum and silent, and hung his head.
He heard the wild geese call out to the goslings that now they were in
Dalarne, they could see Staedjan in the north, and that now they were
flying over Oesterdal River to Horrmund Lake and were coming to Vesterdal
River. But the boy did not care even to glance at all this.
"I shall probably travel around with wild geese the rest of my life," he
remarked to himself, "and I am likely to see more of this land than I
wish."
He was quite as indifferent when the wild geese called out to him that
now they had arrived in Vermland and that the stream they were following
southward was Klaraelven.
"I've seen so many rivers already," thought the boy, "why bother to look
at one more?"
Even had he been more eager for sight-seeing, there was not very much to
be seen, for northern Vermland is nothing but vast, monotonous forest
tracts, through which Klaraelven winds--narrow and rich in rapids. Here
and there one can see a charcoal kiln, a forest clearing, or a few low,
chimneyless huts, occupied by Finns. But the forest as a whole is so
extensive one might fancy it was far up in Lapland.
A LITTLE HOMESTEAD
_Thursday, October sixth_.
The wild geese followed Klaraelven as far as the big iron foundries at
Monk Fors. Then they proceeded westward to Fryksdalen.
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