“As I watch this, I’m reminded of the iron-moulders in the mining districts, who juggle with fire as if it were perfectly harmless,” remarked the boy.  “These loggers play with water as if they were its masters.  They seem to have subjugated it so that it dare not harm them.”

Gradually they neared the mouth of the river, and Bothnia Bay was beyond them.  Gorgo flew no farther straight ahead, but went northward along the coast.  Before they had travelled very far they saw a lumber camp as large as a small city.  While the eagle circled back and forth above it, he heard the boy remark that this place looked interesting.

“Here you have the great lumber camp called Svartvik,” the eagle said.

The boy thought of the mill at home, which stood peacefully embedded in foliage, and moved its wings very slowly.  This mill, where they grind the forest harvest, stood on the water.

The mill pond was crowded with logs.  One by one the helpers seized them with their cant-hooks, crowded them into the chutes and hurried them along to the whirling saws.  What happened to the logs inside, the boy could not see, but he heard loud buzzing and roaring, and from the other end of the house small cars ran out, loaded with white planks.  The cars ran on shining tracks down to the lumber yard, where the planks were piled in rows, forming streets—­like blocks of houses in a city.  In one place they were building new piles; in another they were pulling down old ones.  These were carried aboard two large vessels which lay waiting for cargo.  The place was alive with workmen, and in the woods, back of the yard, they had their homes.

“They’ll soon manage to saw up all the forests in Medelpad the way they work here,” said the boy.

The eagle moved his wings just a little, and carried the boy above another large camp, very much like the first, with the mill, yard, wharf, and the homes of the workmen.

“This is called Kukikenborg,” the eagle said.

He flapped his wings slowly, flew past two big lumber camps, and approached a large city.  When the eagle heard the boy ask the name of it, he cried; “This is Sundsvall, the manor of the lumber districts.”

The boy remembered the cities of Skane, which looked so old and gray and solemn; while here in the bleak North the city of Sundsvall faced a beautiful bay, and looked young and happy and beaming.  There was something odd about the city when one saw it from above, for in the middle stood a cluster of tall stone structures which looked so imposing that their match was hardly to be found in Stockholm.  Around the stone buildings there was a large open space, then came a wreath of frame houses which looked pretty and cosy in their little gardens; but they seemed to be conscious of the fact that they were very much poorer than the stone houses, and dared not venture into their neighbourhood.

“This must be both a wealthy and powerful city,” remarked the boy.  “Can it be possible that the poor forest soil is the source of all this?”