Finally the stork put the boy down entirely unhurt.  Thereupon he said to Akka, “I’ll fly back to Glimminge castle now, mother Akka.  All who live there were very much worried when I left.  You may be sure they’ll be very glad when I tell them that Akka, the wild goose, and Thumbietot, the human elf, are on their way to rescue them.”  With that the stork craned his neck, raised his wings, and darted off like an arrow when it leaves a well-drawn bow.  Akka understood that he was making fun of her, but she didn’t let it bother her.  She waited until the boy had found his wooden shoes, which the stork had shaken off; then she put him on her back and followed the stork.  On his own account, the boy made no objection, and said not a word about not wanting to go along.  He had become so furious with the stork, that he actually sat and puffed.  That long, red-legged thing believed he was of no account just because he was little; but he would show him what kind of a man Nils Holgersson from West Vemminghoeg was.

A couple of moments later Akka stood in the storks’ nest.  It had a wheel for foundation, and over this lay several grass-mats, and some twigs.  The nest was so old that many shrubs and plants had taken root up there; and when the mother stork sat on her eggs in the round hole in the middle of the nest, she not only had the beautiful outlook over a goodly portion of Skane to enjoy, but she had also the wild brier-blossoms and house-leeks to look upon.

Both Akka and the boy saw immediately that something was going on here which turned upside down the most regular order.  On the edge of the stork-nest sat two gray owls, an old, gray-streaked cat, and a dozen old, decrepit rats with protruding teeth and watery eyes.  They were not exactly the sort of animals one usually finds living peaceably together.

Not one of them turned around to look at Akka, or to bid her welcome.  They thought of nothing except to sit and stare at some long, gray lines, which came into sight here and there—­on the winter-naked meadows.

All the black rats were silent.  One could see that they were in deep despair, and probably knew that they could neither defend their own lives nor the castle.  The two owls sat and rolled their big eyes, and twisted their great, encircling eyebrows, and talked in hollow, ghost-like voices, about the awful cruelty of the gray rats, and that they would have to move away from their nest, because they had heard it said of them that they spared neither eggs nor baby birds.  The old gray-streaked cat was positive that the gray rats would bite him to death, since they were coming into the castle in such great numbers, and he scolded the black rats incessantly.  “How could you be so idiotic as to let your best fighters go away?” said he.  “How could you trust the gray rats?  It is absolutely unpardonable!”

The twelve black rats did not say a word.  But the stork, despite his misery, could not refrain from teasing the cat.  “Don’t worry so, Monsie house-cat!” said he.  “Can’t you see that mother Akka and Thumbietot have come to save the castle?  You can be certain that they’ll succeed.  Now I must stand up to sleep—­and I do so with the utmost calm.  To-morrow, when I awaken, there won’t be a single gray rat in Glimminge castle.”