The Wonderful Adventures of Nils

In the far south of Sweden, in Skåne, lived a boy named Nils Holgersson. He was healthy and quick, but he was lazy. He teased the cat, tied ribbons on the rooster’s tail, and ignored the chores his parents asked him to do. He laughed when the animals were frightened, and he never thought about how they felt.

One Sunday, when his parents went to church, Nils stayed home, planning to nap and snack. A tiny, bearded tomte—a house-elf—peeked out from under the rafters. Nils had heard of tomtar, who care for farms and animals, but he did not believe in them. He snatched up a net and caught the little fellow.

“Let me go,” said the tomte. “Be polite to the small and the weak.”

Nils only laughed and tugged the tomte’s cap.

“Very well,” said the tomte. “Perhaps you will learn.” He touched Nils with a finger as light as a straw. In a blink, Nils shrank until he was no taller than a thumb. The room grew huge. The cat’s eyes shone like yellow moons. And a stranger miracle—Nils could suddenly understand the speech of animals.

Just then, there came a wild, ringing cry from the sky. A flock of wild geese, led by the wise Akka of Kebnekaise, was flying north. Down in the yard, the white farm gander, Marten, stretched his neck toward them. He had always dreamed of flying free with the wild geese.

“Don’t you dare!” Nils shouted, his voice tiny but clear. He scrambled onto Marten’s back to hold him down. Marten flapped once, twice, and then—whoosh!—he lifted into the air with Nils clinging to his neck. The wild geese laughed.

“Let the tame one come,” called Akka. “If he can keep up.”

So the journey began. The wind whistled in Nils’s ears. Fields and villages slipped by like a painted map. Skåne’s patchwork of greens and golds turned to dark forests, glittering lakes, and stony shores. Nils’s heart pounded with fear, wonder, and something new—joy.

The flock traveled by day and rested by night on lonely islets and marshy shores. They learned that a fox named Smirre lurked below, ready to snatch a goose when he could. One dusky evening, Smirre crept close to where the geese slept. Nils saw the glint of his eyes and beat a willow branch on a rock. “Up! Up!” he cried in the animals’ tongue. Wings thundered. Water splashed. Smirre’s paws met only cold waves. From that night, Akka watched Nils with respect.

They crossed over Småland’s stony fields and Östergötland’s broad waters. Nils listened to cranes tell of long roads, to squirrels chatter about oaks, and to old stones hum about the people who had built bridges and towers. He began to love the land he had never truly seen from the ground.

On the wind-swept alvar of the island Öland, birds danced a spring festival. Even Marten stepped proudly among the wild geese. But Smirre Fox had followed, sly and patient. He gathered other sharp-toothed hunters to trap the flock. Nils whispered to the owls and crows who hated fox tricks. When Smirre rushed in, the night birds swooped and pecked. The geese rose safely, and Smirre slunk away, his ears ringing and his tail dusty.

By a rocky coast, Nils found a small gray goose named Dunfin, shivering and alone. She had been bullied by her sisters and chased by cruel birds. Marten stood tall between her and danger. “Fly with us,” he said. Dunfin lifted her brave little head and joined the flock. From that day, Marten and Dunfin were never far apart, and Nils felt proud of his kind friend.

Farther and farther north they flew, until the nights were bright as silver and the days never ended. In Lapland, Akka and the flock nested among low mountains and wide rivers. Nils learned to guard eggs from prowling weasels and to hush goslings with gentle words. He helped a lost reindeer calf find its herd with a Sami boy who moved with the seasons. He even traded his one precious coin to free a trapped bird. He did these things without thinking of reward. He was no longer the boy who pulled tails and laughed.

Summer passed like a shining dream. Nils sat with Akka on a ridge and traced the line of Sweden with his finger—the south’s fields, the center’s forests, the north’s harsh beauty. “You have a good heart now,” said Akka. “But remember, a good heart must keep working.”

When autumn brushed the hills with red and gold, the wild geese lifted from Lapland and turned south. Smirre Fox, thinner and hungrier, appeared again. At a wide, cold river, he leaped from rock to rock toward the resting flock. Nils waved his cap and shouted to the beavers. They slapped their tails, and waves washed over the rocks. Smirre slipped and splashed into the icy water. The geese rose laughing, and Smirre, soaked and furious, finally gave up his chase.

At last, the fields of Skåne spread below like a welcome quilt. Nils saw his parents’ farmhouse, small and familiar, and his throat tightened. He loved the sky, the wind, and his friends. He also longed to stand on his own doorstep and speak with his own voice.

But danger waited there. Nils’s parents, who could not hear the speech of animals, had decided to roast the white gander for a feast. Marten was caught and tied, and Dunfin fluttered and cried. Tiny Nils tugged at the knot with all his strength and shouted, “Stop! He is my friend!” No one heard. His mother brushed him aside without seeing him.

Nils ran to the shadowy corner of the barn where the tomte was said to live. He knocked on the little door and bowed. “Please,” he whispered, “I have been lazy and cruel, but I have learned. Spare Marten. Let me be myself, so I can care for my parents and for our animals.”

The tomte appeared, eyes bright as stars under his cap. “What have you learned on the road, Nils Holgersson?”

“That every creature has its own life and courage,” said Nils. “That Sweden is wide and beautiful, and it takes work and kindness to keep it so. I will be good. Not for a reward—because it is right.”

The tomte nodded. “You have flown far to come home.” He touched Nils’s brow.

The room seemed to shrink. Nils felt his hands and feet grow, his voice swell in his chest. He was himself again. He burst into the kitchen. “Mother! Father! Please spare the white gander and the gray goose. They are brave and faithful. I will work hard and do as I should.”

His parents stared. Their rude, idle boy spoke gently and stood straight. They lowered the knife and untied the cord. Marten and Dunfin hurried to the yard, free and honking with joy.

The next morning, the sky filled with the music of wings. Akka’s flock circled once over the farmhouse. Nils ran outside and waved. He tried to call in the language of birds, but the words were gone. Still, the geese knew. Akka dipped her wings. Marten and Dunfin called a last goodbye, then followed the flock into the bright air.

Nils watched until they were specks against the blue, then he turned to the broom, the bucket, and the steady work of a good son. In his heart, he kept a map of Sweden—the farms and forests, islands and mountains, the long road he had flown—and the warm, brave feeling that had grown there. He would never again pull a tail to hear a cry. He had learned to listen, to help, and to love.