But this dissertation the boy escaped hearing; for the student who carried him was thirsty again, and stole into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water.  When the boy was carried into the kitchen, he should have tried to look around for the goosey-gander.  He had begun to move; and as he did this, he happened to press too hard against the lid—­and it flew open.  As botanists’ box-lids are always flying open, the student thought no more about the matter but pressed it down again.  Then the cook asked him if he had a snake in the box.

“No, I have only a few plants,” the student replied.  “It was certainly something that moved there,” insisted the cook.  The student threw back the lid to show her that she was mistaken.  “See for yourself—­if—­”

But he got no further, for now the boy dared not stay in the box any longer, but with one bound he stood on the floor, and out he rushed.  The maids hardly had time to see what it was that ran, but they hurried after it, nevertheless.

The teacher still stood and talked when he was interrupted by shrill cries.  “Catch him, catch him!” shrieked those who had come from the kitchen; and all the young men raced after the boy, who glided away faster than a rat.  They tried to intercept him at the gate, but it was not so easy to get a hold on such a little creature, so, luckily, he got out in the open.

The boy did not dare to run down toward the open allee, but turned in another direction.  He rushed through the garden into the back yard.  All the while the people raced after him, shrieking and laughing.  The poor little thing ran as hard as ever he could to get out of their way; but still it looked as though the people would catch up with him.

As he rushed past a labourer’s cottage, he heard a goose cackle, and saw a white down lying on the doorstep.  There, at last, was the goosey-gander!  He had been on the wrong track before.  He thought no more of housemaids and men, who were hounding him, but climbed up the steps—­and into the hallway.  Farther he couldn’t come, for the door was locked.  He heard how the goosey-gander cried and moaned inside, but he couldn’t get the door open.  The hunters that were pursuing him came nearer and nearer, and, in the room, the goosey-gander cried more and more pitifully.  In this direst of needs the boy finally plucked up courage and pounded on the door with all his might.

A child opened it, and the boy looked into the room.  In the middle of the floor sat a woman who held the goosey-gander tight to clip his quill-feathers.  It was her children who had found him, and she didn’t want to do him any harm.  It was her intention to let him in among her own geese, had she only succeeded in clipping his wings so he couldn’t fly away.  But a worse fate could hardly have happened to the goosey-gander, and he shrieked and moaned with all his might.

And a lucky thing it was that the woman hadn’t started the clipping sooner.  Now only two quills had fallen under the shears’ when the door was opened—­and the boy stood on the door-sill.  But a creature like that the woman had never seen before.  She couldn’t believe anything else but that it was Goa-Nisse himself; and in her terror she dropped the shears, clasped her hands—­and forgot to hold on to the goosey-gander.