the swallow was in a bad temper. he sat on the roof close by the starlings' box and drooped his bill.

"there is not a fly left to chase," he whined piteously. "they are all gone, and i am so hungry—so hungry!"

"this morning i could not get a single worm," said the starling, and shook his head wisely.

the stork came strutting along, and stood on one leg in the ploughed field just outside the garden, and looked most melancholy.

"i suppose none of you have seen a frog?" he asked. "there isn't one down in the marsh, and i have not had any breakfast to-day."

then the thrush flew up and perched on the roof of the starlings' box.

"how crestfallen you all are," he said. "what is the matter with you?"

"ah," answered the starling, "there's nothing else the matter, only the leaves are beginning to fall off the trees, and the butterflies and flies and worms are all eaten up."

"yes, that is bad for you," said the thrush.

"well, isn't it just as bad for you, you conceited creature?" said the swallow.

but the thrush piped gaily and shook his head.

"not quite," he said. "i have always the fir trees, which don't lose their leaves; and i can live very many weeks yet on all the delicious berries in the wood."

"let us stop squabbling," said the stork. "we had better consider together what we are to do."

"we can soon agree about that," answered the starling, "for we have no choice. we must travel. all my little ones can fly quite well now; we have been drilling every morning down in the meadow. i have already warned them that we shall be starting off one of these days."

the other birds thought this very sensible—all except the thrush, who thought there was no hurry. so they agreed to collect next day down in the meadow, and hold a grand review of the party that was to travel.

they flew off, each to his own quarters; but up under the roof sat the sparrow, who had heard all they had been saying.

"ah, if only i could travel with them!" he said to himself. "i should so like to see foreign lands. my neighbour the swallow has told me how delightful it is. such a lot of flies and cherries and corn, and it's so delightfully warm. but no one asks me to fly with him. i am only a poor sparrow, and the others are birds of wealth and position."

he sat thinking it all over for a long time, and the more he thought the sadder he became. when the swallow came home in the evening, the sparrow asked if he could not get him leave to travel with them.

"you? you want to go with us?" asked the swallow, laughing at him scornfully. "you would soon be sick of it. it means flying, flying over land and sea, over hill and dale. many and many a mile we fly in one journey without a rest. how do you imagine your short wings are going to support you so long as that?"

"oh, but i should so like to go with you," the sparrow pleaded. "couldn't you get leave for me to fly with the rest? i have such a longing for it. i must go with you."

"i believe you are mad," said the swallow. "you forget who you are."

"oh no," said the sparrow.

but the swallow took it upon him to instruct him about his position in society.

"don't you see," he said, "the rich merchant who lived here in the country during the summer has now moved into town, and the baron who lives on tower island has done the same? the painter who was staying out here is also by this time in copenhagen; and they won't come out here again till next spring. we birds of high station act in the same way. as soon as ever we smell winter, we make our way to lands where life is more enjoyable—to the warm south. but you poor wretches must of course stay at home and suffer. that is how things are arranged in this world. it is just the same with day labourers, and cottagers, and other poor folks."

the sparrow said nothing to this long speech; but when the swallow dropped asleep in his nest, he lay awake and wept over his hard fate. he had still not quite given up hope of going with them all the same.

next day the birds came flying from all directions, and settled down in the meadow. there were starlings and storks and swallows, besides many little singing-birds. but neither the cuckoo nor the nightingale was there, for they had left long ago. "fall in!" commanded an old stork. he had been ten times in egypt, and was therefore reckoned the wisest of them all.

all the birds lined up, and then the oldest and most experienced went round and saw if they had their travelling equipment in order. all those who had their wings rumpled, or had lost some of their tail-feathers, or did not look strong and well, were dismissed or chased away. if they did not obey commands at once, they were beaten to death without mercy.

you may be sure there was a great disturbance when they discovered the sparrow, who had flown up without being noticed, and had planted himself in the ranks with the others.

"a creature like that!" the starling called out. "he wants to go too!"

"such a pair of wings!" said the swallow. "he thinks that with them he can fly to italy!"

and all the birds of passage began to scream at once and laugh at the poor sparrow, who sat quite terrified in the midst of them.

"i know quite well," he said humbly, "that i am only a poor little sparrow. but i should so like to see the warm, pleasant lands you are going to. try to take me with you. i will use my wings as well as ever i can. i implore you to let me come!"

"he has some cheek, hasn't he?" said the old stork. "but he shall be allowed to keep his miserable life. chase him away at once, and then let us be off!"

so the birds chased the sparrow away, and he hid his miserable self under the eaves.

when the review was over, the birds of passage began to make off. company after company, they flew away through the air, whilst the sparrow peered out from under the eaves and gazed sadly after them.

"now they have all gone," he said. "no one but me is left behind."

"me too!" screamed the crow.

"and me," said the chaffinch.

"and me too, if you please," peeped the tomtit.

"yes," said the sparrow, "that is how it is. it is just as the swallow says—all we poor birds must stay here and suffer."

the winter had come. over all the fields lay the snow, and there was ice on the water. all the leaves lay dead and shrivelled on the ground; and there were no flowers, except here and there a poor frozen daisy, which stood gleaming white among the yellow grass.

and the flies and the gnats, and the butterflies and the cockchafers were dead. the snake lay torpid, and so did the lizard. the frog had gone into his winter quarters at the bottom of the pond, sitting deep in the mud, with only his nose sticking up into the air. and that was how he intended to sit the whole winter through.

the birds who had remained behind had not, after all, such a very bad time of it. the crows held great gatherings every evening in the wood, and screamed and chattered so loudly one could hear them ever so far away. the chaffinch and the tomtit hopped about cheerfully enough in the bushes, and picked up what they could find. the sparrow alone was always out of sorts. he sat on the ridge of the roof and hunched himself up, but the whole time he was thinking about the birds of passage.

"they are there by this time," he said to himself. "here we have ice and snow; but down south, in the pleasant, warm countries, they have endless summer. here i have a job to find even some dry bread; but there they have more than they can manage to eat. ah, if one only had gone with them!"

"come down and join us," called the chaffinch and the tomtit.

but the sparrow shook his head, and remained sitting on the ridge of the roof.

"i am consumed with longing, i can't endure it!" he screamed, and he took a long flight to cool his blood.

but it was of no use. wherever he came, it seemed to him that everything was so wretched and bare.

out in the field the lark was flying up to the sky and singing its trills.

"good-morning, sparrow," it twittered. "i am glad to see that you have not gone away. i am also staying on, as long as i can stand it. it is so delightful at home here, even in winter. only see how the trees have decked themselves out with hoarfrost, how the ice glistens, and how gleaming white the snow is!"

"it is miserable," said the sparrow. "poverty and want everywhere."

but the lark did not hear a word of what he said; he flew on his way, singing joyously.

"craw!" screamed the black jackdaws. "the winter is not so bad after all." and then they walked proudly round the field and looked about on all sides, for they knew that they cut a fine figure against the white snow.

"the winter is really quite peaceful," said the field-mouse, as he stuck his nose out of his hole. "if only it doesn't stay too long, the food will last. i filled my pantry well last summer, and as long as one has food one can always keep warm."

the sparrow heard it all, but it did not do him a bit of good.

"they seem to be contented enough with their lot," he said to himself, "and i suppose it is all right for them. but this miserable life of mine does not satisfy me!"

so he flew home in the sulks, and settled himself again on the ridge of the roof.

"oh, i know what i will do," he cried suddenly. "i will creep into the swallow's nest and sleep there to-night, then i can dream that i am a swallow."

and he did so, and dreamt all night that he was flying over hill and dale, over land and sea, all the way to italy. he thought he was so light, so free, and his wings carried him as straight as an arrow through the air. it was the most delightful dream he had ever had.

after this he crept every evening into the swallow's nest, and lay there till ever so late in the morning. when he came out, he sat crunched up on the ridge of the roof or in the bare lime tree. if the gardener's wife had not thrown out some crumbs to him now and then, he would certainly have starved to death. for he didn't care a rap about anything; he merely longed for the evening to come, so that he could dream again. every evening he dreamt the same thing, but he never grew tired of it.

"this is nearly as good as actually going with them," he thought. "if only i could dream in the daytime in the same way."

but in time his head got quite muddled, and he paid no attention to anything.

little by little the winter was slipping away, and now it was gone altogether. the days grew longer, and there was more warmth in the sunshine.

"what! are you still here?" said the sun. and he stared so hard at the snow that at last it grew quite bashful, and melted away and sank into the earth.

"wait a moment," said the cloud to the sun; "we must have a thorough cleaning before your turn comes."

so it fell like a sousing rain on the earth, washing the leaves of the trees and bushes, and collecting into quite a little lake on the ice.

"now i am coming! now i am coming!" said the real lake, which lay below, under the ice.

it heaved its breast, and with a great sigh the roof of ice burst, and all the little scales began hopping and dancing like boys who have escaped from school.

then the sun broke out from the cloud, and a thousand little green shoots peeped up from the earth.

"lend me your wings," said the winter to the storm; "i must be off."

and away it flew to the cold lands right away in the north, where there is winter always.

at last a message came from my lady spring that now they might expect her any day.

the only person who saw nothing of what was going on was the sparrow. the whole day he lay there in the swallow's nest, only flying out for a quarter of an hour to take a little bit of food. he hadn't the least idea that it was now going to be summer again. he had grown quite silly, and imagined that he was the swallow.

but one day the swallow came back.

"chee! chee!" he peeped; "is everything in order to receive us?"

this is what he wished first of all to see about, and so he flew all day long over cornfield and meadow.

"there are not many gnats here yet, but they may still come," he said in the evening when he came home.

then he peeped into the starlings' box to say "how-do" to his neighbours; but it chanced that at the moment there was no one at home, so he got ready to go to bed.

but when he was going to creep into his nest he noticed there was somebody there already.

"what's this?" he said. "who has taken the liberty to borrow my nest?"

"it is not yours," said the sparrow, who was lying there. "i am the swallow, and i have just come home from africa. you may take my word for it, it was delightful there. i have heaps of things to tell you."

the swallow sat for a moment quite speechless. then he screamed out in a furious passion,—

"you may take my word for it, i shall have something to say to you, you wretched sparrow! i might have guessed it was you who had the impudence to steal my nest. i noticed you were a little cracked even last year. now, look sharp and come out of that. at once, i say!"

but it was no good the swallow's screaming and threatening. the sparrow was quite sure that he was in the right. he went on telling the swallow how he had just come home from africa, and was so tired he really must have a quiet time to sleep.

"i will have my revenge," said the swallow as he flew away.

and there in the nest the sparrow lay asleep, dreaming of the warm, delightful land with all the gnats and flies and cherries.

he was still lying fast asleep when, in the middle of the night, the swallow came back. he had filled his broad bill with mud, and quite quietly began to wall up the hole into the nest. to and fro he flew the whole night long, and by the time the sun rose the hole was quite closed up.

"now he's happy," thought the swallow, as he began to build himself a new nest.

three days later the swallow and the starling met in the meadow. they said, "how do you do?" and told each other all they had gone through since they last saw one another.

"the most remarkable thing comes last," said the swallow. "just fancy! when i came home i found the sparrow had taken my nest, and i could not get him to come out."

"well, i never!" cried the starling. "what on earth did you do to him?"

"come and see," answered the swallow.

they both flew off to the nest, and the swallow told him how he had taken his revenge. then they pecked a hole with their bills, and out fell the poor sparrow to the ground quite dead.

"it serves him right," said the swallow.

and the starling nodded, for he thought so too.

but the chaffinch and the tomtit stood below on the ground and gazed at the dead bird.

"poor sparrow!" said the chaffinch. "i am sorry for him."

"he couldn't expect a better fate," said the tomtit. "he was ambitious; and that is what one has no right to be when one is only a sparrow."

该作者的其它作品

《the pond》

《the old room》

《the spider and other tales》