Thereupon the leader-goose pointed with her bill and said:  “But who is that you have with you?  I’ve never seen anything like him before.”  “That’s my comrade,” said the goosey-gander.  “He’s been a goose-tender all his life.  He’ll be useful all right to take with us on the trip.”  “Yes, he may be all right for a tame goose,” answered the wild one.  “What do you call him?” “He has several names,” said the goosey-gander—­hesitantly, not knowing what he should hit upon in a hurry, for he didn’t want to reveal the fact that the boy had a human name.  “Oh! his name is Thumbietot,” he said at last.  “Does he belong to the elf family?” asked the leader-goose.  “At what time do you wild geese usually retire?” said the goosey-gander quickly—­trying to evade that last question.  “My eyes close of their own accord about this time.”

One could easily see that the goose who talked with the gander was very old.  Her entire feather outfit was ice-gray, without any dark streaks.  The head was larger, the legs coarser, and the feet were more worn than any of the others.  The feathers were stiff; the shoulders knotty; the neck thin.  All this was due to age.  It was only upon the eyes that time had had no effect.  They shone brighter—­as if they were younger—­than any of the others!

She turned, very haughtily, toward the goosey-gander.  “Understand, Mr. Tame-goose, that I am Akka from Kebnekaise!  And that the goose who flies nearest me—­to the right—­is Iksi from Vassijaure, and the one to the left, is Kaksi from Nuolja!  Understand, also, that the second right-hand goose is Kolmi from Sarjektjakko, and the second, left, is Neljae from Svappavaara; and behind them fly Viisi from Oviksfjaellen and Kuusi from Sjangeli!  And know that these, as well as the six goslings who fly last—­three to the right, and three to the left—­are all high mountain geese of the finest breed!  You must not take us for land-lubbers who strike up a chance acquaintance with any and everyone!  And you must not think that we permit anyone to share our quarters, that will not tell us who his ancestors were.”

When Akka, the leader-goose, talked in this way, the boy stepped briskly forward.  It had distressed him that the goosey-gander, who had spoken up so glibly for himself, should give such evasive answers when it concerned him.  “I don’t care to make a secret of who I am,” said he.  “My name is Nils Holgersson.  I’m a farmer’s son, and, until to-day, I have been a human being; but this morning—­” He got no further.  As soon as he had said that he was human the leader-goose staggered three steps backward, and the rest of them even farther back.  They all extended their necks and hissed angrily at him.

“I have suspected this ever since I first saw you here on these shores,” said Akka; “and now you can clear out of here at once.  We tolerate no human beings among us.”

“It isn’t possible,” said the goosey-gander, meditatively, “that you wild geese can be afraid of anyone who is so tiny!  By to-morrow, of course, he’ll turn back home.  You can surely let him stay with us overnight.  None of us can afford to let such a poor little creature wander off by himself in the night—­among weasels and foxes!”