Nils Holgersson heard him, yet he lingered at the door of the cow shed.
He did not hesitate because he knew that it would be well for him if the goosey-gander were beheaded—at that moment he did not even remember this—but because he shrank from being seen by his parents.
"They have a hard enough time of it already," he thought. "Must I bring them a new sorrow?"
But when the door closed on the goosey-gander, the boy was aroused.
He dashed across the house yard, sprang up on the board-walk leading to the entrance door and ran into the hallway, where he kicked off his wooden shoes in the old accustomed way, and walked toward the door.
All the while it went so much against the grain to appear before his father and mother that he could not raise his hand to knock.
"But this concerns the life of the goosey-gander," he said to himself—"he who has been my best friend ever since I last stood here."
In a twinkling the boy remembered all that he and the goosey-gander had suffered on ice-bound lakes and stormy seas and among wild beasts of prey. His heart swelled with gratitude; he conquered himself and knocked on the door.
"Is there some one who wishes to come in?" asked his father, opening the door.
"Mother, you sha'n't touch the goosey-gander!" cried the boy.