Nils and the Bear
by
Nils had been exploring the mining districts a whole day.
“I must try and climb up to earth again,” he said at last, “otherwise, I fear my companions won’t find me.”
The boy was about to go up the mountain when he heard a gruff voice growl in his ear, “Who are you?”
He thought at first that he was facing a huge rock covered with brownish moss. Then he noticed that the rock had broad paws to walk with, a head, two eyes, and a growling mouth.
He could not pull himself together to answer, nor did the big bear appear to expect it of him, for he knocked him down, rolled him back and forth with his paws and nosed him. The bear seemed just about ready to swallow him when the boy had a thought. Quick as a flash he dug into his pocket and brought forth some matches,–his sole weapon of defence,–lighted one on his leather breeches, and thrust the burning match into the bear’s open mouth.
Father Bear snorted when he smelled the sulphur, and with that the flame went out.
“Can you light many of those little blue roses?” asked Father Bear.
“I can light enough to put an end to the whole forest,” replied the boy, for he thought that in this way he might scare Father Bear.
“Perhaps you could also set fire to houses and barns,” said Father Bear.
“Oh, that would be nothing for me,” boasted the boy.
“Good!” exclaimed the bear. “You shall render me a service. Now I’m very glad that I did not eat you!”
Father Bear carefully took Nils between his paws and climbed up from the pit. As soon as he was up, he speedily made for the woods. Then he ran along until he came to a hill at the edge of the forest. Here he lay in front of Nils, holding him securely between his forepaws.
“Now look down at that big noise-shop!” he commanded.
The great iron works, with many tall buildings, stood at the edge of the waterfall. High chimneys sent forth dark clouds of smoke, blasting furnaces blazed, and light shone from all the windows. Within, hammers and rolling mills were going with such force that the air rang with their clatter and boom. All about the workshops were immense coal sheds, great slag heaps, warehouses, wood piles, and tool sheds. Just beyond were long rows of workingmen’s houses, as quiet as if they were asleep. The earth around them was black while the works, themselves, were sending out light and smoke, fire and sparks. It was the grandest sight the boy had ever seen.
“Could you set fire to a place like that?” Father Bear asked doubtfully.
The boy stood wedged between the beast’s paws, thinking the only thing that might save him would be that the bear should have a high opinion of his power.
“It’s all the same to me,” he answered with a superior air. “Big or little, I can burn it down.”
“Then I’ll tell you something,” said Father Bear.
“My forefathers lived in this region from the time that the forests first sprang up. From them I inherited hunting grounds and pastures, lairs and retreats. In the beginning I wasn’t much troubled by the human kind. They dug in the mountains and picked up a little ore down here by the rapids. They had a forge and a furnace, but the hammer sounded only a few hours each day, and the furnace was not fired more than two moons at a stretch.
“But these last years, since they have built this noise-shop, there is racket day and night. I thought I should have to move away, but now I have discovered a better way.”
Father Bear took Nils up again and lumbered down the hill. He walked fearlessly between the workshops, and climbed to the top of a slag heap. There he sat up on his haunches and held the boy up high between his paws.