there whole, rather
than half, and therefore, I shall carry him on my back." "If you can do
it, Fumle-Drumle, I have no objection," said Wind-Rush. "But don't lose
him!"

With this, much was already gained, and the boy actually felt pleased
again. "There is nothing to be gained by losing my grit because I have
been kidnapped by the crows," thought he. "I'll surely be able to manage
those poor little things."

The crows continued to fly southwest, over Smaland. It was a glorious
morning--sunny and calm; and the birds down on the earth were singing
their best love songs. In a high, dark forest sat the thrush himself
with drooping wings and swelling throat, and struck up tune after tune.
"How pretty you are! How pretty you are! How pretty you are!" sang he.
"No one is so pretty. No one is so pretty. No one is so pretty." As soon
as he had finished this song, he began it all over again.

But just then the boy rode over the forest; and when he had heard the
song a couple of times, and marked that the thrush knew no other, he put
both hands up to his mouth as a speaking trumpet, and called down:
"We've heard all this before. We've heard all this before." "Who is it?
Who is it? Who is it? Who makes fun of me?" asked the thrush, and tried
to catch a glimpse of the one who called. "It is Kidnapped-by-Crows who
makes fun of your song," answered the boy. At that, the crow-chief
turned his head and said: "Be careful of your eyes, Thumbietot!" But the
boy thought, "Oh! I don't care about that. I want to show you that I'm
not afraid of you!"

Farther and farther inland they travelled; and there were woods and
lakes everywhere. In a birch-grove sat the wood-dove on a naked branch,
and before him stood the lady-dove. He blew up his feathers, cocked his
head, raised and lowered his body, until the breast-feathers rattled
against the branch. All the while he cooed: "Thou, thou, thou art the
loveliest in all the forest. No one in the forest is so lovely as thou,
thou, thou!"

But up in the air the boy rode past, and when he heard Mr. Dove he
couldn't keep still. "Don't you believe him! Don't you believe him!"
cried he.

"Who, who, who is it that lies about me?" cooed Mr. Dove, and tried to
get a sight of the one who shrieked at him. "It is Caught-by-Crows that
lies about you," replied the boy. Again Wind-Rush turned his head toward
the boy and commanded him to shut up, but Fumle-Drumle, who was carrying
him, said: "Let him chatter