rushed as fast as possible down to the rivers, and the rivers
did their utmost to carry the water to Lake Maelar.

All the lakes and rivers in Uppland and the mining district quickly
threw off their ice covers on one and the same day, so that the creeks
filled with ice-floes which rose clear up to their banks.

Swollen as they were, they emptied into Lake Maelar, and it was not long
before the lake had taken in as much water as it could well hold. Down
by the outlet was a raging torrent. Norrstroem is a narrow channel, and
it could not let out the water quickly enough. Besides, there was a
strong easterly wind that lashed against the land, obstructing the
stream when it tried to carry the fresh water into the East Sea. Since
the rivers kept running to Maelaren with more water than it could dispose
of, there was nothing for the big lake to do but overflow its banks.

It rose very slowly, as if reluctant to injure its beautiful shores; but
as they were mostly low and gradually sloping, it was not long before
the water had flooded several acres of land, and that was enough to
create the greatest alarm.

Lake Maelar is unique in its way, being made up of a succession of narrow
fiords, bays, and inlets. In no place does it spread into a storm
centre, but seems to have been created only for pleasure trips, yachting
tours, and fishing. Nowhere does it present barren, desolate, wind-swept
shores. It looks as if it never thought that its shores could hold
anything but country seats, summer villas, manors, and amusement
resorts. But, because it usually presents a very agreeable and friendly
appearance, there is all the more havoc whenever it happens to drop its
smiling expression in the spring, and show that it can be serious.

At that critical time Smirre Fox happened to come sneaking through a
birch grove just north of Lake Maelar. As usual, he was thinking of
Thumbietot and the wild geese, and wondering how he should ever find
them again. He had lost all track of them.

As he stole cautiously along, more discouraged than usual, he caught
sight of Agar, the carrier-pigeon, who had perched herself on a birch
branch.

"My, but I'm in luck to run across you, Agar!" exclaimed Smirre. "Maybe
you can tell me where Akka from Kebnekaise and her flock hold forth
nowadays?"

"It's quite possible that I know where they are," Agar hinted, "but I'm
not likely to tell you!"

"Please yourself!" retorted Smirre. "Nevertheless, you ca