At last, when the tourists were gone, and the boy could crawl from his hiding place, he saw no wild geese, and no Morten Goosey-Gander came to fetch him.  He called, “Here am I, where are you?” as loud as he could, but his travelling companions did not appear.  Not for a second did he think they had deserted him; but he feared that they had met with some mishap and was wondering what he should do to find them, when Bataki, the raven, lit beside him.

The boy never dreamed that he should greet Bataki with such a glad welcome as he now gave him.

“Dear Bataki,” he burst forth.  “How fortunate that you are here!  Maybe you know what has become of Morten Goosey-Gander and the wild geese?”

“I’ve just come with a greeting from them,” replied the raven.  “Akka saw a hunter prowling about on the mountain and therefore dared not stay to wait for you, but has gone on ahead.  Get up on my back and you shall soon be with your friends.”

The boy quickly seated himself on the raven’s back and Bataki would soon have caught up with the geese had he not been hindered by a fog.  It was as if the morning sun had awakened it to life.  Little light veils of mist rose suddenly from the lake, from fields, and from the forest.  They thickened and spread with marvellous rapidity, and soon the entire ground was hidden from sight by white, rolling mists.

Bataki flew along above the fog in clear air and sparkling sunshine, but the wild geese must have circled down among the damp clouds, for it was impossible to sight them.  The boy and the raven called and shrieked, but got no response.

“Well, this is a stroke of ill luck!” said Bataki finally.  “But we know that they are travelling toward the south, and of course I’ll find them as soon as the mist clears.”

The boy was distressed at the thought of being parted from Morten Goosey-Gander just now, when the geese were on the wing, and the big white one might meet with all sorts of mishaps.  After Thumbietot had been sitting worrying for two hours or more, he remarked to himself that, thus far, there had been no mishap, and it was not worth while to lose heart.

Just then he heard a rooster crowing down on the ground, and instantly he bent forward on the raven’s back and called out: 

“What’s the name of the country I’m travelling over?”

“It’s called Haerjedalen, Haerjedalen, Haerjedalen,” crowed the rooster.

“How does it look down there where you are?” the boy asked.

“Cliffs in the west, woods in the east, broad valleys across the whole country,” replied the rooster.

“Thank you,” cried the boy.  “You give a clear account of it.”

When they had travelled a little farther, he heard a crow cawing down in the mist.

“What kind of people live in this country?” shouted the boy.

“Good, thrifty peasants,” answered the crow.  “Good, thrifty peasants.”