But now the boy thought he was too good to sit and listen to such gabble.  “Now listen to me, you crows!” said he.  “I think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves to talk about all your wickedness.  I have lived amongst wild geese for three weeks, and of them I have never heard or seen anything but good.  You must have a bad chief, since he permits you to rob and murder in this way.  You ought to begin to lead new lives, for I can tell you that human beings have grown so tired of your wickedness they are trying with all their might to root you out.  And then there will soon be an end of you.”

When Wind-Rush and the crows heard this, they were so furious that they intended to throw themselves upon him and tear him in pieces.  But Fumle-Drumle laughed and cawed, and stood in front of him.  “Oh, no, no!” said he, and seemed absolutely terrified.  “What think you that Wind-Air will say if you tear Thumbietot in pieces before he has gotten that silver money for us?” “It has to be you, Fumle-Drumle, that’s afraid of women-folk,” said Rush.  But, at any rate, both he and the others left Thumbietot in peace.

Shortly after that the crows went further.  Until now the boy thought that Smaland wasn’t such a poor country as he had heard.  Of course it was woody and full of mountain-ridges, but alongside the islands and lakes lay cultivated grounds, and any real desolation he hadn’t come upon.  But the farther inland they came, the fewer were the villages and cottages.  Toward the last, he thought that he was riding over a veritable wilderness where he saw nothing but swamps and heaths and juniper-hills.

The sun had gone down, but it was still perfect daylight when the crows reached the large heather-heath.  Wind-Rush sent a crow on ahead, to say that he had met with success; and when it was known, Wind-Air, with several hundred crows from Crow-Ridge, flew to meet the arrivals.  In the midst of the deafening cawing which the crows emitted, Fumle-Drumle said to the boy:  “You have been so comical and so jolly during the trip that I am really fond of you.  Therefore I want to give you some good advice.  As soon as we light, you’ll be requested to do a bit of work which may seem very easy to you; but beware of doing it!”

Soon thereafter Fumle-Drumle put Nils Holgersson down in the bottom of a sandpit.  The boy flung himself down, rolled over, and lay there as though he was simply done up with fatigue.  Such a lot of crows fluttered about him that the air rustled like a wind-storm, but he didn’t look up.

“Thumbietot,” said Wind-Rush, “get up now!  You shall help us with a matter which will be very easy for you.”

The boy didn’t move, but pretended to be asleep.  Then Wind-Rush took him by the arm, and dragged him over the sand to an earthen crock of old-time make, that was standing in the pit.  “Get up, Thumbietot,” said he, “and open this crock!” “Why can’t you let me sleep?” said the boy.  “I’m too tired to do anything to-night.  Wait until to-morrow!”