"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.