d filed the steel wires at the top of the cage. He felt hopeful for an
instant, but soon discouragement got the upper hand.

"I'm a big bird, Thumbietot," said Gorgo; "how can you ever manage to
file away enough wires for me to come out? You'd better quit that, and
leave me in peace."

"Oh, go to sleep, and don't bother about me!" said the boy. "I'll not be
through to-night nor to-morrow night, but I shall try to free you in
time for here you'll become a total wreck."

Gorgo fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning he saw at a glance
that a number of wires had been filed. That day he felt less drowsy than
he had done in the past. He spread his wings, and fluttered from branch
to branch to get the stiffness out of his joints.

One morning early, just as the first streak of sunlight made its
appearance, Thumbietot awakened the eagle.

"Try now, Gorgo!" he whispered.

The eagle looked up. The boy had actually filed off so many wires that
now there was a big hole in the wire netting. Gorgo flapped his wings
and propelled himself upward. Twice he missed and fell back into the
cage; but finally he succeeded in getting out.

With proud wing strokes he soared into the clouds. Little Thumbietot sat
and gazed after him with a mournful expression. He wished that some one
would come and give him his freedom too.

The boy was domiciled now at Skansen. He had become acquainted with all
the animals there, and had made many friends among them. He had to admit
that there was so much to see and learn there that it was not difficult
for him to pass the time. To be sure his thoughts went forth every day
to Morten Goosey-Gander and his other comrades, and he yearned for them.
"If only I weren't bound by my promise," he thought, "I'd find some bird
to take me to them!"

It may seem strange that Clement Larsson had not restored the boy's
liberty, but one must remember how excited the little fiddler had been
when he left Skansen. The morning of his departure he had thought of
setting out the midget's food in a blue bowl, but, unluckily, he had
been unable to find one. All the Skansen folk--Lapps, peasant girls,
artisans, and gardeners--had come to bid him good-bye, and he had had no
time to search for a blue bowl. It was time to start, and at the last
moment he had to ask the old Laplander to help him.

"One of the tiny folk happens to be living here at Skansen," said
Clement, "and every morning I set out a little food for him. W