of climbing up to the wild
geese. But just then it shrieked shrill and wild. The otter tumbled
backward into the water, and dashed away as if he had been a blind
kitten. An instant later, there was a great crackling of geese's wings.
They raised themselves and flew away to find another sleeping-place.

The otter soon came on land. He said nothing, but commenced to lick one
of his forepaws. When Smirre sneered at him because he hadn't succeeded,
he broke out: "It was not the fault of my swimming-art, Smirre. I had
raced all the way over to the geese, and was about to climb up to them,
when a tiny creature came running, and jabbed me in the foot with some
sharp iron. It hurt so, I lost my footing, and then the current took
me."

He didn't have to say any more. Smirre was already far away on his way
to the wild geese.

Once again Akka and her flock had to take a night fly. Fortunately, the
moon had not gone down; and with the aid of its light, she succeeded in
finding another of those sleeping-places which she knew in that
neighbourhood. Again she followed the shining river toward the south.
Over Djupadal's manor, and over Ronneby's dark roofs and white
waterfalls she swayed forward without alighting. But a little south of
the city and not far from the sea, lies Ronneby health-spring, with its
bath house and spring house; with its big hotel and summer cottages for
the spring's guests. All these stand empty and desolate in winter--which
the birds know perfectly well; and many are the bird-companies who seek
shelter on the deserted buildings' balustrades and balconies during hard
storm-times.

Here the wild geese lit on a balcony, and, as usual, they fell asleep at
once. The boy, on the contrary, could not sleep because he hadn't cared
to creep in under the goosey-gander's wing.

The balcony faced south, so the boy had an outlook over the sea. And
since he could not sleep, he sat there and saw how pretty it looked when
sea and land meet, here in Blekinge.

You see that sea and land can meet in many different ways. In many
places the land comes down toward the sea with flat, tufted meadows, and
the sea meets the land with flying sand, which piles up in mounds and
drifts. It appears as though they both disliked each other so much that
they only wished to show the poorest they possessed. But it can also
happen that, when the land comes toward the sea, it raises a wall of
hills in front of it--as though the sea were somet