Marbacka," said the owl, "and gentlefolk lived here
once upon a time. But you, yourself, who are you?"

"I think of moving in here," volunteered the boy without answering the
owl's question. "Would it be possible, do you think?"

"Oh, yes--but it's not much of a place now compared to what it was
once," said the owl. "You can weather it here I dare say. It all depends
upon what you expect to live on. Do you intend to take up the rat
chase?"

"Oh, by no means!" declared the boy. "There is more fear of the rats
eating me than that I shall do them any harm."

"It can't be that he is as harmless as he says," thought the brown owl.
"All the same I believe I'll make an attempt...." She rose into the air,
and in a second her claws were fastened in Nils Holgersson's shoulder
and she was trying to hack at his eyes.

The boy shielded both eyes with one hand and tried to free himself with
the other, at the same time calling with all his might for help. He
realized that he was in deadly peril and thought that this time, surely,
it was all over with him!

Now I must tell you of a strange coincidence: The very year that Nils
Holgersson travelled with the wild geese there was a woman who thought
of writing a book about Sweden, which would be suitable for children to
read in the schools. She had thought of this from Christmas time until
the following autumn; but not a line of the book had she written. At
last she became so tired of the whole thing that she said to herself:
"You are not fitted for such work. Sit down and compose stories and
legends, as usual, and let another write this book, which has got to be
serious and instructive, and in which there must not be one untruthful
word."

It was as good as settled that she would abandon the idea. But she
thought, very naturally, it would have been agreeable to write something
beautiful about Sweden, and it was hard for her to relinquish her work.
Finally, it occurred to her that maybe it was because she lived in a
city, with only gray streets and house walls around her, that she could
make no headway with the writing. Perhaps if she were to go into the
country, where she could see woods and fields, that it might go better.

She was from Vermland, and it was perfectly clear to her that she
wished to begin the book with that province. First of all she would
write about the place where she had grown up. It was a little homestead,
far removed from the great world, where many old-