Sunday, June nineteenth.

The boy raised his head and looked around, perfectly bewildered.  It was mighty queer!  Here he lay sleeping in some place where he had not been before.  No, he had never seen this glen nor the mountains round about; and never had he noticed such puny and shrunken birches as those under which he now lay.

Where was the eagle?  The boy could see no sign of him.  Gorgo must have deserted him.  Well, here was another adventure!

The boy lay down again, closed his eyes, and tried to recall the circumstances under which he had dropped to sleep.

He remembered that as long as he was travelling over Westbottom he had fancied that the eagle and he were at a standstill in the air, and that the land under them was moving southward.  As the eagle turned northwest, the wind had come from that side, and again he had felt a current of air, so that the land below had stopped moving and he had noticed that the eagle was bearing him onward with terrific speed.

“Now we are flying into Lapland,” Gorgo had said, and the boy had bent forward, so that he might see the country of which he had heard so much.

But he had felt rather disappointed at not seeing anything but great tracts of forest land and wide marshes.  Forest followed marsh and marsh followed forest.  The monotony of the whole finally made him so sleepy that he had nearly dropped to the ground.

He said to the eagle that he could not stay on his back another minute, but must sleep awhile.  Gorgo had promptly swooped to the ground, where the boy had dropped down on a moss tuft.  Then Gorgo put a talon around him and soared into the air with him again.

“Go to sleep, Thumbietot!” he cried.  “The sunshine keeps me awake and I want to continue the journey.”

Although the boy hung in this uncomfortable position, he actually dozed and dreamed.

He dreamed that he was on a broad road in southern Sweden, hurrying along as fast as his little legs could carry him.  He was not alone, many wayfarers were tramping in the same direction.  Close beside him marched grain-filled rye blades, blossoming corn flowers, and yellow daisies.  Heavily laden apple trees went puffing along, followed by vine-covered bean stalks, big clusters of white daisies, and masses of berry bushes.  Tall beeches and oaks and lindens strolled leisurely in the middle of the road, their branches swaying, and they stepped aside for none.  Between the boy’s tiny feet darted the little flowers—­wild strawberry blossoms, white anemones, clover, and forget-me-nots.  At first he thought that only the vegetable family was on the march, but presently he saw that animals and people accompanied them.  The insects were buzzing around advancing bushes, the fishes were swimming in moving ditches, the birds were singing in strolling trees.  Both tame and wild beasts were racing, and amongst all this people moved along—­some with spades and scythes, others with axes, and others, again, with fishing nets.