pains with his work, but had thrown it together in a hurry. But if
one glanced to the north, it was altogether different. Here it looked as
if it had been worked out with the utmost care and affection. In this
direction one saw only beautiful mountains, soft valleys, and winding
rivers, all the way to the big Lake Vettern, which lay ice-free and
transparently clear, and shone as if it wasn't filled with water but
with blue light.

It was Vettern that made it so pretty to look toward the north, because
it looked as though a blue stream had risen up from the lake, and spread
itself over land also. Groves and hills and roofs, and the spires of
Joenkoeping City--which shimmered along Vettern's shores--lay enveloped in
pale blue which caressed the eye. If there were countries in heaven,
they, too, must be blue like this, thought the boy, and imagined that he
had gotten a faint idea of how it must look in Paradise.

Later in the day, when the geese continued their journey, they flew up
toward the blue valley. They were in holiday humour; shrieked and made
such a racket that no one who had ears could help hearing them.

This happened to be the first really fine spring day they had had in
this section. Until now, the spring had done its work under rain and
bluster; and now, when it had all of a sudden become fine weather, the
people were filled with such a longing after summer warmth and green
woods that they could hardly perform their tasks. And when the wild
geese rode by, high above the ground, cheerful and free, there wasn't
one who did not drop what he had in hand, and glance at them.

The first ones who saw the wild geese that day were miners on Taberg,
who were digging ore at the mouth of the mine. When they heard them
cackle, they paused in their drilling for ore, and one of them called to
the birds: "Where are you going? Where are you going?" The geese didn't
understand what he said, but the boy leaned forward over the goose-back,
and answered for them: "Where there is neither pick nor hammer." When
the miners heard the words, they thought it was their own longing that
made the goose-cackle sound like human speech. "Take us along with you!
Take us along with you!" they cried. "Not this year," shrieked the boy.
"Not this year."

The wild geese followed Taberg River down toward Monk Lake, and all the
while they made the same racket. Here, on the narrow land-strip between
Monk and Vettern lakes, lay Joenkoeping with i