Jarro came back in a little while, and carried on his back a tiny thing, who was much smaller than Per Ola himself.  If he hadn’t been able to talk and move, the boy would have believed that it was a doll.  Instantly, the little one ordered Per Ola to pick up a long, slender pole that lay in the bottom of the scow, and try to pole it toward one of the reed-islands.  Per Ola obeyed him, and he and the tiny creature, together, steered the scow.  With a couple of strokes they were on a little reed-encircled island, and now Per Ola was told that he must step on land.  And just the very moment that Per Ola set foot on land, the scow was filled with water, and sank to the bottom.  When Per Ola saw this he was sure that father and mother would be very angry with him.  He would have started in to cry if he hadn’t found something else to think about soon; namely, a flock of big, gray birds, who lighted on the island.  The little midget took him up to them, and told him their names, and what they said.  And this was so funny that Per Ola forgot everything else.

Meanwhile the folks on the farm had discovered that the boy had disappeared, and had started to search for him.  They searched the outhouses, looked in the well, and hunted through the cellar.  Then they went out into the highways and by-paths; wandered to the neighbouring farm to find out if he had strayed over there, and searched for him also down by Takern.  But no matter how much they sought they did not find him.

Caesar, the dog, understood very well that the farmer-folk were looking for Per Ola, but he did nothing to lead them on the right track; instead, he lay still as though the matter didn’t concern him.

Later in the day, Per Ola’s footprints were discovered down by the boat-landing.  And then came the thought that the old, leaky scow was no longer on the strand.  Then one began to understand how the whole affair had come about.

The farmer and his helpers immediately took out the boats and went in search of the boy.  They rowed around on Takern until way late in the evening, without seeing the least shadow of him.  They couldn’t help believing that the old scow had gone down, and that the little one lay dead on the lake-bottom.

In the evening, Per Ola’s mother hunted around on the strand.  Everyone else was convinced that the boy was drowned, but she could not bring herself to believe this.  She searched all the while.  She searched between reeds and bulrushes; tramped and tramped on the muddy shore, never thinking of how deep her foot sank, and how wet she had become.  She was unspeakably desperate.  Her heart ached in her breast.  She did not weep, but wrung her hands and called for her child in loud piercing tones.

Round about her she heard swans’ and ducks’ and curlews’ shrieks.  She thought that they followed her, and moaned and wailed—­they too.  “Surely, they, too, must be in trouble, since they moan so,” thought she.  Then she remembered:  these were only birds that she heard complain.  They surely had no worries.