As soon as he felt himself freed, he ran toward the door.  He didn’t give himself time to stop; but, as he ran past him, he grabbed the boy by the neck-band and carried him along with him.  On the stoop he spread his wings and flew up in the air; at the same time he made a graceful sweep with his neck and seated the boy on his smooth, downy back.

And off they flew—­while all Vittskoevle stood and stared after them.

IN OeVID CLOISTER PARK

All that day, when the wild geese played with the fox, the boy lay and slept in a deserted squirrel nest.  When he awoke, along toward evening, he felt very uneasy.  “Well, now I shall soon be sent home again!  Then I’ll have to exhibit myself before father and mother,” thought he.  But when he looked up and saw the wild geese, who lay and bathed in Vomb Lake—­not one of them said a word about his going.  “They probably think the white one is too tired to travel home with me to-night,” thought the boy.

The next morning the geese were awake at daybreak, long before sunrise.  Now the boy felt sure that he’d have to go home; but, curiously enough, both he and the white goosey-gander were permitted to follow the wild ones on their morning tour.  The boy couldn’t comprehend the reason for the delay, but he figured it out in this way, that the wild geese did not care to send the goosey-gander on such a long journey until they had both eaten their fill.  Come what might, he was only glad for every moment that should pass before he must face his parents.

The wild geese travelled over Oevid’s Cloister estate which was situated in a beautiful park east of the lake, and looked very imposing with its great castle; its well planned court surrounded by low walls and pavilions; its fine old-time garden with covered arbours, streams and fountains; its wonderful trees, trimmed bushes, and its evenly mown lawns with their beds of beautiful spring flowers.

When the wild geese rode over the estate in the early morning hour there was no human being about.  When they had carefully assured themselves of this, they lowered themselves toward the dog kennel, and shouted:  “What kind of a little hut is this?  What kind of a little hut is this?”

Instantly the dog came out of his kennel—­furiously angry—­and barked at the air.

“Do you call this a hut, you tramps!  Can’t you see that this is a great stone castle?  Can’t you see what fine terraces, and what a lot of pretty walls and windows and great doors it has, bow, wow, wow, wow?  Don’t you see the grounds, can’t you see the garden, can’t you see the conservatories, can’t you see the marble statues?  You call this a hut, do you?  Do huts have parks with beech-groves and hazel-bushes and trailing vines and oak trees and firs and hunting-grounds filled with game, wow, wow, wow?  Do you call this a hut?  Have you seen huts with so many outhouses around them that they look like a whole village?  You must know of a lot of huts that have their own church and their own parsonage; and that rule over the district and the peasant homes and the neighbouring farms and barracks, wow, wow, wow?  Do you call this a hut?  To this hut belong the richest possessions in Skane, you beggars!  You can’t see a bit of land, from where you hang in the clouds, that does not obey commands from this hut, wow, wow, wow!”