Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan Read Online Free Page A

friend since I couldn’t see Ben anymore.
    Just think, I had my father the King and Pompoo and Miramis, and I was riding over green hills and meadows as fast as the wind. It wasn’t strange that I was so happy.
    â€œHow do you get to the Land on the Other Side of the Water and Beyond the Mountains?” I asked.
    â€œOver the Bridge of Morninglight,” said Pompoo.
    â€œWhere is the Bridge of Morninglight?” I said.
    â€œWe’ll see it soon,” said Pompoo. And we did. It was a bridge so high and so long that I couldn’t see the end of it. It glittered in the morning sun and seemed to be made of golden rays.
    â€œIt’s the longest bridge in the world,” said Pompoo. “And it goes between Greenfields Island and the Land on the Other Side of the Water. But at night our lord the King draws it up, so that we can sleep calmly on Greenfields Island.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “Who would come at night?”
    â€œSir Kato,” said Pompoo.
    The moment he said it I felt an icy wind, and Miramis began trembling.
    It was the first time that I’d heard Sir Kato’s name. “Sir Kato,” I said to myself, and the sound of it made me shiver.
    â€œYes, the cruel Sir Kato,” said Pompoo. Miramis neighed loudly, almost a scream, so we stopped talking about Sir Kato.
    I wanted to ride over the Bridge of Morninglight, but first I needed to ask my father the King’s permission, so we turned back to the Garden of Roses and didn’t ride any more that day. Instead, we groomed Miramis and combed his golden mane and we petted him and fed him sugar cubes and bread crusts that we got from Pompoo’s mama.
    Later we built a hut in the Garden of Roses, Pompoo and I, and we sat in it and ate our food. We ate thin pancakes with sugar on them. They were the best I’d ever had. Ben’s mama used to make pancakes, and I got to taste them sometimes. But the ones that Pompoo’s mama made were even better.
    It was such fun building our hut. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Ben often told me about the huts he used to build at their summer place out in Vaxholm. I really wish that I could write to him and tell him about our hut, Pompoo’s and mine.
    â€œSee what a fine hut I’ve built!” I’d write. “See what a fine hut I’ve built here in Farawayland.”

Do Stars Care if You Play to Them?
    T HE NEXT DAY we rode back to Nonno. At first we couldn’t find him, but soon we heard the sound of his flute behind a little hill. He sat there playing to himself while the sheep grazed around. When he caught sight of us he took his flute from his mouth and laughed and said, “You’ve come again!”
    He seemed glad that we had come back. We took out our flutes and played, all three of us. The songs were so pretty, I didn’t understand how we could play such lovely melodies.

    â€œIt’s a shame there’s no one to hear how fine we play,” I said.
    â€œThe grass hears us,” said Nonno. “And the flowers and wind. The trees hear how we play, the willow trees that lean over the stream.”
    â€œDo they?” I said. “Do they like it?”
    â€œYes, they love it,” said Nonno.
    We played a long time for the grass and flowers and wind and trees. But I still thought it was a shame there weren’t any people to hear us.
    Then Nonno said, “We can go home and play for my grandmother if you want to. My grandmother that I live with.”
    â€œDoes she live far from here?” I asked.

    â€œYes, but the way will seem short, if we play as we walk,” said Nonno.
    â€œYes, yes, the way won’t be long, if we play as we walk,” said Pompoo. He wanted to walk home to see Nonno’s grandmother as much as I did.
    In fairy tales there are always kind old grandmothers. But I’d never met a real grandmother, though I know there are many. That’s why I