se fell asleep instantly, while the boy could find no rest in
sleep, but sat beside them that he might watch over the goosey-gander.

After a while, Smirre came running along the river-shore. He spied the
geese immediately where they stood out in the foaming whirlpools, and
understood that he couldn't get at them here, either. Still he couldn't
make up his mind to abandon them, but seated himself on the shore and
looked at them. He felt very much humbled, and thought that his entire
reputation as a hunter was at stake.

All of a sudden, he saw an otter come creeping up from the falls with a
fish in his mouth. Smirre approached him but stopped within two steps of
him, to show him that he didn't wish to take his game from him.

"You're a remarkable one, who can content yourself with catching a fish,
while the stones are covered with geese!" said Smirre. He was so eager,
that he hadn't taken the time to arrange his words as carefully as he
was wont to do. The otter didn't turn his head once in the direction of
the river. He was a vagabond--like all otters--and had fished many times
by Vomb Lake, and probably knew Smirre Fox. "I know very well how you
act when you want to coax away a salmon-trout, Smirre," said he.

"Oh! is it you, Gripe?" said Smirre, and was delighted; for he knew that
this particular otter was a quick and accomplished swimmer. "I don't
wonder that you do not care to look at the wild geese, since you can't
manage to get out to them." But the otter, who had swimming-webs between
his toes, and a stiff tail--which was as good as an oar--and a skin that
was water-proof, didn't wish to have it said of him that there was a
waterfall that he wasn't able to manage. He turned toward the stream;
and as soon as he caught sight of the wild geese, he threw the fish
away, and rushed down the steep shore and into the river.

If it had been a little later in the spring, so that the nightingales in
Djupafors had been at home, they would have sung for many a day of
Gripe's struggle with the rapid. For the otter was thrust back by the
waves many times, and carried down river; but he fought his way steadily
up again. He swam forward in still water; he crawled over stones, and
gradually came nearer the wild geese. It was a perilous trip, which
might well have earned the right to be sung by the nightingales.

Smirre followed the otter's course with his eyes as well as he could. At
last he saw that the otter was in the act