hen they stopped at last, Akka said: "You may well have reason to
wonder at me, Thumbietot, who have not said thanks to you for saving me
from Smirre Fox. But I am one of those who would rather give thanks by
deeds than words. I have sent word to the elf that bewitched you. At
first he didn't want to hear anything about curing you; but I have sent
message upon message to him, and told him how well you have conducted
yourself among us. He greets you, and says, that as soon as you turn
back home, you shall be human again."

But think of it! Just as happy as the boy had been when the wild geese
began to speak, just that miserable was he when they had finished. He
didn't say a word, but turned away and wept.

"What in all the world is this?" said Akka. "It looks as though you had
expected more of me than I have offered you."

But the boy was thinking of the care-free days and the banter; and of
adventure and freedom and travel, high above the earth, that he should
miss, and he actually bawled with grief. "I don't want to be human,"
said he. "I want to go with you to Lapland." "I'll tell you something,"
said Akka. "That elf is very touchy, and I'm afraid that if you do not
accept his offer now, it will be difficult for you to coax him another
time."

It was a strange thing about that boy--as long as he had lived, he had
never cared for anyone. He had not cared for his father or mother; not
for the school teacher; not for his school-mates; nor for the boys in
the neighbourhood. All that they had wished to have him do--whether it
had been work or play--he had only thought tiresome. Therefore there was
no one whom he missed or longed for.

The only ones that he had come anywhere near agreeing with, were Osa,
the goose girl, and little Mats--a couple of children who had tended
geese in the fields, like himself. But he didn't care particularly for
them either. No, far from it! "I don't want to be human," bawled the
boy. "I want to go with you to Lapland. That's why I've been good for a
whole week!" "I don't want to forbid you to come along with us as far as
you like," said Akka, "but think first if you wouldn't rather go home
again. A day may come when you will regret this."

"No," said the boy, "that's nothing to regret. I have never been as well
off as here with you."

"Well then, let it be as you wish," said Akka.

"Thanks!" said the boy, and he felt so happy that he had to cry for very
joy--just as he had cried befor