And how Karsten and Peter laughed down below!—Page 109.And how Karsten and Peter laughed down below!—Page 109.
Then I heard the door of Madam Land's kitchen thrown open, and footsteps across the yard—then Madam Land's voice, "Come with your stick, Land, there are thieves in the hen-house." The door of the wood-shed was opened and Madam Land's maid burst in and saw me. "It is the judge's Inger Johanne, madam," she called.
"Is it that spindleshanks again?" I heard Madam Land say—yes, she really said "spindleshanks"; but to me she only said, "Your cock is not here, girl; he has not been here all day—not for two or three days, I believe."
"But he was here this morning."
"Not at all. You didn't see straight. He is not here, I tell you."
I ran home completely at a loss. What in the world had become of Carolus? The next day I searched everywhere. I went around to all the houses in the neighborhood and asked after my cock. No, no one had seen him anywhere.
Then all at once a frightful suspicion arosein my mind: Madam Land had cut off Carolus' head!
Oh, what a shame, what a shame!—what a shame for her to do that! How I cried that day! It did no good for them to say at home that perhaps Carolus would come back, and that even if he didn't, it wasn't at all sure that Madam Land had made an end of him; he might easily have just gone astray himself.
No, I didn't believe that for a moment. It was Madam Land who had murdered him, and I thought it was mighty queer of Father that he wouldn't put her on bread and water for twenty days, for she deserved it.
The only thing that consoled me was that I myself never had to see Carolus served up in white sauce in a covered dish on the dinner table. Never—never in the world—would I have tasted a bit of Carolus!
Well, something always does happen to pets—think of Uncle Ferdinand's monkey.
It was Christmas Eve when we went mumming, and oh! how glorious the moonlight was! Down in our streets and up over our hills the moon shines clearer than it does anywhere else on the face of the globe, I'll wager.
Massa, Mina and I had dressed ourselves up in fancy costumes. "If any one asks where you are from," said Mother, when we were ready to start, "you can safely say, 'From the Land of Fantasy.' You certainly look as if you came from there."
Massa had on a light blue dress trimmed with gold-colored cord. It was one of Mother's heirlooms from Great-grandmother Krag, and had a tiny short waist and big puffed sleeves. Massa wore also a green velvet hat,and her thick long flaxen hair hung loose down her back.
Mina was dressed in silk from top to toe; an old-time dress of flowered brown silk with a train, a green silk shawl and a big white silk bonnet that came away out beyond her face.
When the others were ready, there was nothing fine left for me, so I had to take a white petticoat, and a dressing sacque, and a big old-fashioned Leghorn hat that Mother had worn when she was young. To decorate myself a little, I carried a beautifully carvedtinein one hand and a red parasol in the other. We all wore masks, of course,—big pasteboard masks, which came away down over our chins, with enormous noses and highly colored red cheeks.
Well, off we went and soon stood at the foot of our hill in a most daring mood, ready for all sorts of pranks.
I don't know who proposed that we should go first to Mrs. Berg's, but we all chimed in at once. We crept softly up to her door-step.
Unluckily for us, as it happened, Mrs. Berg has a great iron weight on her street door,—so that it will shut of itself, you know. What the matter was, I can't imagine, but as soon as we had given one knock at the door, down fell that iron weight to the floor with a thundering crash. We were so frightened that we were on the point of running away when Mrs. Berg and her husband came bustling out to the door with a lighted lamp.
"No, thanks," said Mrs. Berg, as soon as she caught sight of us. "I don't want anything to do with such jugglery as this! Out with you, and that quickly!"
"Oh, no, little Marie," said her husband. "You ought to ask the little young ladies in. They are not street children, don't you see?" Mina's magnificent clothes evidently made an impression on him.
Mrs. Berg mumbled something about its being all the same to her what sort of people we were, but Mr. Berg had already opened the door and respectfully asked us to walk in.
It was as hot as a bake-oven in the sitting-room, and so stuffy and thick with tobacco smoke that I thought I should smother behind my mask. Mr. Berg bowed and bowed and set out three chairs for us in the middle of the room. Now we had planned at home that we would use only P-speech while mumming, for then no one would know us.
"May I ask where these three elegant ladies come from?" asked Mr. Berg.
Massa undertook to answer, but she was never very clever at P-speech and she got all mixed up:
"From-prom. Fan-tan-pan—pi-ta—sa-si p-p-p——" she stammered, in a hopeless tangle, while Mina and I were ready to burst with laughter.
"Bless us! These must be foreigners from some very distant land,—they speak such a curious language. You must treat them with something, Marie."
Marie didn't appear very willing to treat us to anything, but she went over to a corner cupboardand brought out a few cookies,—pale, baked-to-death "poor man's cookies." They looked poor, indeed! I shuddered before I stuck a piece into my mouth.
To eat with a mask on, when the mouth is no wider than the slit in a savings-bank, has its difficulties, I can tell you. The little I did get in tasted of camphor. Mrs. Berg must have kept her medicines in the same closet with the cakes.
"Perhaps the little ladies would like something more," said Mr. Berg.
"No, thanks—No-po, thanks-panks." And we all three rose to go. We curtsied and curtsied. Mr. Berg bowed and bowed. Mrs. Berg turned the key in the street door after us with a snap, and I heard her say something about "that long-legged young one of the judge's!"
Oh! how we laughed! "Now we will go to Mrs. Pirk's," said I.
"Inger Johanne! Are you crazy? She is worse than Mrs. Berg!"
"That makes it all the more wildly exciting! Come on!"
We crept stealthily into Mrs. Pirk's kitchen. It was pitch dark in there except for a little light through the keyhole of the sitting-room.
"Hush! Keep still!" Mrs. Pirk coughed suddenly and we all quaked.
"Now she will surely come!" Silence again. We were half-choked with laughter.
"I am going to clear my throat," said I. "Ahem!"
"Ahem!" I gave a very loud, strong one the second time.
A chair was hastily shoved aside in the sitting-room, the door opened, a sharp light fell on our three fantastic figures, and Mrs. Pirk stood in the doorway with her spectacles on her nose. I stepped forward.
"Good-pood day-pay!" Mrs. Pirk went like a flash to the fireplace and grabbed a broom-stick.
"Get out!" she cried. "Out with you!"
So out of the door we ran, stumbling andtumbling over each other, Mrs. Pirk after us with her uplifted broom, out into the moonlit street. Oh! it was unspeakable fun to be chased out-of-doors that way by Mrs. Pirk!
Well—then we went on to the Macks'.
They were sitting alone in their big light sitting-room, as we went in. Mrs. Mack was playing "patience" and Mr. Mack sat by her side smoking his long pipe and pointing out with the end of it which card he thought she ought to take next.
We pressed close together around the door and curtsied.
"Why, see! Welcome to youth and joy!" said Mrs. Mack, rising. "What nice young people these are to come to visit a pair of old folks like us!"
Mr. Mack came forward and pointed with the end of his pipe over our heads, saying:
"Up on the sofa with you! Up on the sofa with you, all three!"
So there we sat, as if we were distinguished guests, with the lamp shining full upon us.
"I see you have atinewith you," said Mr. Mack, looking at thetineI carried. "Have you something to sell, perhaps? And where may these pretty little ladies be from?"
"I-pi sell-pell butter-putter," said I.
"We are from the Land of Fantasy," said Massa, without attempting P-speech again.
"Why! They don't make butter in the Land of Fantasy, do they?" asked Mrs. Mack.
Just then the servant came in with an immense tray, and on it was something very different from Mrs. Berg's camphorated cookies, I assure you! I thought with grief of my mask mouth no bigger than a savings-bank slit.
"And now what about unmasking?" said Mr. Mack. "That is, if these ladies from the Land of Fantasy are willing to liven up an evening for a couple of old people."
Werewilling! We took our masks off in a jiffy. But, would you believe it? Mr. Mack said he knew me the very minute we came in!
Mrs. Mack took a glass of Christmas mead and recited:
"Oh! I remember the happy waysOf my gay and innocent childhood days.And I love to feel that my old heart swells,With the same pure joy that in childhood dwells."
"Oh! I remember the happy waysOf my gay and innocent childhood days.And I love to feel that my old heart swells,With the same pure joy that in childhood dwells."
"Mamma composed that herself," said Mr. Mack, gazing admiringly at his wife.
Later in the evening, Mrs. Mack danced the minuet for us, holding up her skirt and singing in a delicate old-lady voice. Then she said:
"Do you remember, Mack? Do you remember that they were playing that air the evening you asked me to marry you?"
"DoIremember?" And Mr. Mack and his wife beamed tenderly at each other.
"Think! That such a homely woman as I should get married!" said Mrs. Mack to us on the sofa.
"You homely!" and Mr. Mack gave the dear old lady a kiss right on the mouth.
"Now we shall see, children, whether, when you get old, you have done like Mack and me.We have danced a minuet our whole life through, and the memories of youth have been our music."
When we went home at the end of the evening, we had our pockets crammed full of apples and nuts and cakes.
It is jolly fun to go out mumming at Christmas! Just try it!
It was an afternoon in the spring. There had been a heavy fall of snow the day before and then suddenly a thaw set in. So very warm was the air and the sun so burning hot that the water from the roof gutters came rushing and tumbling out in regular waterfalls; and big snowslides from the housetops thumped down everywhere, making a rumbling noise all along the streets.
The walking I won't try to describe. There were no paths made, just the frightfully soft melting snow, so deep that it came exactly half-way to your knees. So there wasn't much pleasure in walking, I assure you; and we hadn't a thing to do.
The steamships from both east and westwere delayed by the snow-storm, so there was no fun in going to the wharf and hanging around there. Usually it is amusing enough,—always something new to see and something happening; and now and then we have fun seeing the queer seasick people on board the ships. Just outside of our town there is a horribly rough place in the sea where cross currents meet, and the passengers look forlorn enough when the ship gets to the wharf.
But all this isn't really what I meant to tell about now; I started to tell about the afternoon when we played a lot of pranks simply because there wasn't a thing else to do. Truly, that was the reason. Now you shall hear.
Karen, Mina, Munda, and I were together that afternoon. Not a person was to be seen on the street and it was disgustingly quiet and dull everywhere. The only pleasant thing was that there came a tremendously big heavy snowslide right down on the little shoemaker, Jorgen.
The only pleasant thing was that there came a tremendously big, heavy snowslide right down on the little shoemaker.—Page 123.The only pleasant thing was that there came a tremendously big, heavy snowslide right down on the little shoemaker.—Page 123.
Well, I don't mean that that was a pleasure exactly, you understand, but it made a little variety.
Just as he came around the corner, by Madam Lindeland's, b-r-r-r! there was a rumbling above, and down upon him slid a whole mass of snow from Madam Lindeland's steep sloping roof. He was knocked completely over, and all we could see of him was a bit of his old brown blouse sticking up through the snow.
In a flash Mina, Munda, Karen, and I were on the spot, digging him out with our hands. Before you could count ten, he was up, but you had better believe he was angry! Not at us exactly, but at the snow, and the thaw, and the town itself that was so badly arranged that people walking in the streets might be killed before they knew it.
"Preposterous, the whole business," grumbled the shoemaker. "Who would dream that there would be such a thaw right on top of such an unreasonable snow-storm—and in March, too!"
Then he noticed that he had lost his cap, so we dug in the snow again, searching for it, and had lots of fun before we finally found it.
All this excitement over the snowslide made us crazy for more fun, and we decided that we would go to Madam Graaberg and ask her if she had white velvet to sell. Madam Graaberg has a little shop in a basement and sells almost nothing butlu-de-fisk(fish soaked in lye, with a rank odor).
First we peeped in the window between the glasses of groats. Yes, there were many people in the shop and Madam Graaberg stood behind the counter as usual. She is as big as three ordinary women and her eyes are as black as two bits of coal; and my! how they can flash!
We plumped ourselves down into the shop, all four of us. It smelled frightfully oflu-de-fiskand the whole floor was like a puddle from all the wet feet. A fine place to go to ask for white velvet! And Madam Graaberg has an awful temper, let me tell you!
There were many customers to be waited on before us, so we stood together in a bunch at the farthest end of the counter. The time dragged on and on before they had all got theirlu-de-fisk, for that was what they wanted, the whole swarm of them.
On the counter beside me, there was a big new ball of string in an iron frame, the kind that whirls around when you pull the string. The end of the string dangled so invitingly close to me, and waiting for Madam Graaberg to be ready to attend to us was so tedious, that I busied myself with taking the end of the string and slyly tying it fast to one of the buttons on the back of Munda's coat. Of course I meant to untie the string before we went out, but Madam Graaberg turned suddenly to us.
"What do you want, children?" asked she, portly and dignified, towering over the counter.
We were all a little bewildered because she had come to us so abruptly, but we pushed Munda forward. My, how uncomfortable she looked!
"Have you any white velvet for sale?" asked Munda feebly.
I gave a spring towards the door, for it seemed best to get away at once. Two maids stood there, who roared with laughter. "Ha ha! Ha ha! Madam Graaberg, that's pretty good. Ha ha!"
"White velvet," hissed Madam Graaberg. "White velvet! Make a fool of me in my own lawful business, will you? Out of my shop this instant!"
She didn't need to tell us twice. We dashed helter-skelter out of the door, all four of us, splashing the mud and slush recklessly.
Suddenly Munda cried out, "Oh, I'm fast to something! I'm fast to something behind!"
Just think! I had forgotten to untie the string from the button! I thought I heard a buzzing noise when we flew out of the door, but it never occurred to me that it could be the string-ball whirling around in its frame.
There was no time now to untie the knot, for Madam Graaberg was right out in thestreet and calling after us. They were not exactly gentle words she was using, either, you may well believe!
"Oh, but I'm fast—I'm fast!" shrieked Munda again.
"Tear off the button!" I shouted. Munda made some desperate efforts to get hold of her own back. No use; so I took hold of the string and gave a great jerk and off came the button. Munda was free and we dashed round the street corner.
"Uh, uh huh!" sobbed Munda. "Mother'll be so angry about that button!"
"Pooh!" said I. "Just sew the hole up, and you can always find a button to put over it. But oh, girls! How jolly angry Madam Graaberg was!"
"Yes, and wasn't she funny when she said, 'Out of my shop this instant'?"
We were tremendously pleased with our joke. We talked and laughed—enjoying ourselves immensely; but we hadn't had enough tomfoolery yet.
"Girls," I said, "now let's go to Nibb's shop and ask whether he has white velvet."
All were willing. To think of asking that queer Mr. Nibb for white velvet, when he kept only shoe-strings and paraffin for sale! My! but that would be fun! Mr. Nibb always has the window shades tight down over his shop windows, so that not the least thing can be seen from the street. He isn't exactly right in his mind—and do you know what he did once?
It was in church and I sat just in front of him and had on my flat fur cap. He is a great one to sing in church and he stands bolt upright and sings at the top of his voice. And just think! He laid his hymn-book on top of my cap just as if it were a reading desk, and I didn't dare to move my head because he might get in a rage if I did. So he sang and sang and sang, and I sat and sat there with the hymn-book on the top of my head.
Well—that was that time—but now we stood there in the street considering as towhether we should go in and ask him if he had white velvet.
"No, we surely don't dare to," said Karen.
"Oh, yes we do," said I. "He can't kill us."
"Who knows?" said Karen. "He isn't just like other people."
"Pooh! When there are four of us together——" No, they didn't want to—so I suddenly threw the shop door wide open and then we had to go in. Mr. Nibb came towards us bowing and bowing. We pushed Munda forward again.
"Have you any white——" began Munda in a shaking voice. And then our courage suddenly gave way and Karen, Mina, and I sprang to the door as quick as lightning, slamming the door after us, and not stopping until we were at the farther corner of the street. And then we saw that Munda wasn't with us! Why in the world hadn't she come out? What was happening to her? We rushed back and listened outside the shop door. Not a soundwas to be heard. Karen and Mina were both as white as chalk.
"It's all your fault," they whispered to me. "Who knows what danger Munda is in?"
At that I was so frightened that I didn't know what I was doing, and I threw the door open at once.
There sat Munda on a chair in the middle of the shop, holding a big apple, and Mr. Nibb stood with his legs crossed, leaning against the counter in a jaunty attitude and talking to her.
"Are there many dances in the town nowadays—young ladies?" asked Mr. Nibb, turning to us, as we, pale as death, entered the shop.
No answer.
"Or engagements among the young people perhaps," he continued—polite to the last degree.
"People live so quietly in this town;—one might call himself buried alive here, so that a visit from four promising young beauties is—ahem—an adventure!"
Dear me! how comical he was! None of us said a word. Suddenly Munda got up.
"A thousand thanks," she said and curtsied—the apple in her hand.
"Thank you," we echoed, all curtseying; though really I haven't the least idea what we were thanking him for!
"Ah—bah!" said Mr. Nibb waving his hand. "It is I who must thank you. I am much indebted to the young ladies for this delightful call."
With this he opened the door, and came away out on the steps and bowed.
Oh, how we laughed when he had gone in and the door was shut again. We laughed so we could scarcely stand.
"What did he do when you were alone, Munda?"
"He sprang after a chair," said Munda. "And then he sprang after an apple—and then he stood himself there by the counter just as you saw him and began to talk—oh! how frightened I was!"
"What did he say?"
"Ha ha! he—ha ha!—he asked me if I were engaged!"
"Ha ha ha! that was splendid."
"And just then you all came in."
"Ha ha! Ha ha ha!"
By this time it was so late that we must start for home and we took the quickest way, over High Street. It was almost dark and there was scarcely a person in sight, as we ran up the street through the March slush and mud.
"Oh, let's knock on Mother Brita's windows!" said I, and we knocked gaily on the little panes as we ran past the house.
At that moment Mother Brita called from her doorway.
"Halloa!" she called. "Come here a minute. God be praised that any one should come! Let me speak to you."
We went slowly back. Perhaps she was angry with us for knocking on her windows.
"Here I am as if I were in prison," said Mother Brita. "My little grandchild is sickwith bronchitis and I can't leave him a single minute; and my son John, you know him, is out there at Stony Point with his ship, and is going to sail away this very evening, and he sails to China to be gone two years,—and I want so much to say good-bye to him—two whole years—to China—but I can't leave that poor sick baby in there, for he chokes if some one doesn't lift him up when the coughing spells come on—oh, there he's coughing again!"
Mother Brita hurried in, and all four of us after her. A tiny baby lay there in a cradle, and Mother Brita lifted him and held him up while the coughing spell lasted. He coughed so hard that he got quite blue in the face.
"O dear! You see how it is! Now he'll go away—my son John—this very evening, and I may never see him again in this world, uh-huh-huh!"
Poor Mother Brita! It seemed a sin and a shame that she should not at least see her son to bid him good-bye.
"I'll sit here with the baby until you come back, Mother Brita," said I.
"Yes, I will too."
"So will I, and I." All four of us wanted to stay.
"Oh, oh! What kind little girls!" said Mother Brita. "I will fly like the wind. Just raise him up when the spells come on. I won't be long on the way either going or coming. Well, good-bye, and I'm much obliged to you." With that Mother Brita was out of the house, having barely taken time to throw a handkerchief over her head.
There we sat. It was a strange ending to an afternoon of fun and mischief. The room was very stuffy; a small candle stood on the table and burned with a long, smoky flame, and back in a corner an old clock ticked very slowly, tick—tock!—tick—tock!
We talked only in whispers. Very soon the baby had another coughing fit. We raised him up and he choked and strangled as before, and after the coughing, cried as if in pain, withoutopening his eyes. Poor little thing! Poor baby!
Again we sat still for a while without speaking; then—"I'm so frightened—everything is so dismal," whispered Karen.
Deep silence broken only by the clock's ticking and the baby's breathing.
"I think I must go," she added after a minute.
"That is mean of you," whispered I.
"I must go, too," whispered Munda. "They are always so anxious at home when I don't come."
"I must go too," whispered Mina.
Then I got a little angry. "Oh well, all right, go, every one of you! All right, go on, if you want to be so mean."
And only think, they did go! They ran out of the door, all three, without a word more. Just then the baby had another attack and I had to hold him up quite a long time before he could get his breath again.
And now I was all alone in Mother Brita'slittle house. Never in my life had I been in there before, and it was anything but pleasant, you may well believe. It was very dark in all the corners, and the poor baby coughed and coughed; the candle burned lower and lower and the clock ticked on slowly and solemnly. No sign of Mother Brita.
Well, I would sit here. I wouldn't stir from here even if Mother Brita didn't come back before it was pitch-dark night—no, indeed, I would not. I would not. Not for anything would I leave this pitiful little suffering baby alone.
He was certainly very sick, very, very sick; perhaps God would come to take him to-night. Just think, if He should come while I sat there!——
At first this made me feel afraid, but then I thought that I need not be afraid of God—of Him who is kinder than any one in the world! The baby coughed painfully and I lifted him up again.
Everything was so queer, so wonderfullyqueer! First had we four been racing about, playing pranks and thinking only of fun all the afternoon—perhaps it was wrong to play such mischievous pranks—and now here was I alone taking care of a little baby I had never known anything about;—a little baby that God or His angels might soon come for and take away. I had not the least bit of fear now. I only felt as if I were in church,—it was so solemn and so still. In a little while, this poor baby might be in Heaven,—in that beautiful place flooded with glorious light,—with God. And I, just a little girl down here on earth, was I to be allowed to sit beside the baby until the angels came for him?
I looked around the bare, gloomy room. It might be that the angels who were to take away Mother Brita's grandchild were already here. Oh, how good it would be for the poor little baby who coughed so dreadfully!
The clock had struck for half-past seven, for eight o'clock, and half-past eight, and there was just a small bit left of the candle. Thesick baby had quieted down at last, and now lay very still.
There came a rattling at the door; some one fumbled at the latch and I stared through the gloom with straining eyes, making up my mind not to be afraid. The door opened slowly a little way, and Ingeborg, our cook, put her round face into the opening.
"Well, have I found you at last? And is it here you are? I was to tell you to betake yourself home. Your mother and father have been worrying themselves to pieces about you, and——"
"Hush, Ingeborg! Be still. He is so sick, so very sick."
Ingeborg came over to the cradle and bent down. Then she hurriedly brought the bit of candle to the cradle.
"Oh, he is dead," she said slowly. "Poor little thing! He is dead,—poor little chap!"
"Oh no, Ingeborg, no!" I sobbed. "Is he dead? For I lifted him up every single time he coughed. Oh, it is beautiful that he is dead,he suffered so, and yet,—oh, it seems sad, too!"
"I will stay here with him now until Mother Brita comes home," said Ingeborg. "For you——"
"How did you know I was here?"
"Why, Karen and Munda came into the kitchen just a few minutes ago, and told me."
She said again that she would stay in my place, but I couldn't bear to go before Mother Brita came back.
Shortly after, Mother Brita hurried in, warm, and out of breath. "Oh, oh! how long you have had to wait," she said in distress. "I couldn't find John at Stony Point, I had to go away into town. I suppose you are angry that I stayed so long."
"The baby had to give up the fight, Mother Brita," said Ingeborg.
"Give up? What? What do you say?"
"I lifted him up, Mother Brita, every time he coughed, I did truly," said I, and then I burst out crying again. I couldn't help it.
"Yes, I am sure you did, my jewel," said Mother Brita, "and God be praised that He has taken the baby out of his poor little body. Never can pain or sin touch him now."
Mother and Father said that I had done just right to stay, and when Mother kissed me good-night she said she was sure that the dear God Himself had been with me and the poor little baby. And that seemed so wonderful and beautiful and solemn that I could never tell any one, even Mother, how beautiful it was.
Up in the churchyard there is a tiny grave, the grave of Mother Brita's grandchild. I know very well just where it is and I often put flowers upon it in the summer. What I like best to put there are rosebuds, fresh, lovely, pink rosebuds.
Ugh! I can't stand rainy weather! Especially in summer! Perhaps some people may like a nasty drizzling rain that keeps on day after day right in the middle of summer, so that the gooseberries drop from the bushes, and there is only a soft wet plot of ground where one expected big, magnificent strawberries and had joyfully kept watch for them day after day. As for the rose-bushes, only the yellow hips are left on them. Half decayed rose petals lie sprinkled on the wet earth, and the mignonette and daisies lie flat on the ground all mouldy and limp.
Our old house on the hill is the most delightful house in town,—that is really true—but in rainy weather it is perhaps a little wet up there.All the water which gathers on the hilltop back of the house runs down towards us, you see. It trickles and streams in brooks and tiny waterfalls over the stones, through moss and heather, takes with it a lot of earth from the kitchen garden (where, truth to tell, there wasn't much beforehand), and washes out deep gullies in our hillside, leaving only the clean stones. Every time that it rains really in earnest for several days, Father has to put wagon-loads of new earth on the hill to make it look a little respectable again.
Detestable as these long rainy spells are, Karsten and I have lots of fun afterwards, when it has poured down by tubfuls for several days and the hilltop is really soaking and running over with water.
Karsten and I build waterworks, you see; we build dams and make sluices and waterfalls. That's fun, I can tell you!
Massa and Mina can't imagine how I can enjoy myself with anything like that now that I am so old—thirteen. They make fun of meand tattle about it at school and to the boys; but I don't bother myself the least grain about that. I get my feet sopping wet, sure enough, and the bottom of my dress, and way up my sleeves; and then I have to creep up the back stairs to change my clothes so that Mother won't see how wet they are. But oh! the fun Karsten and I have!
Sometimes we begin away back on the hilltop and make sluices, and wall them up with heather and moss, so as to make the water run where we want it to. Karsten carries the stones and gets fiery red in the face, even with his hat off. I do the walling up and give the orders, for I am the engineer, you see.
It must be awfully nice to be an engineer when you are grown up, but sad to say, I never can be, since I am a girl. However, Karsten can be the engineer and I can sit in his office and be the one to manage the whole concern, just as I do on the hilltop here; for Karsten can never think of anything new to do, but I can.
A little way down the hill we have our reservoir which all the streams run into. It is in a particularly good place, a deep hollow close to the top of the steepest precipice on the whole hill. All it needs is a little walling up on one side, but that has to be very strong and solid; for sometimes we have more than two feet of water in the reservoir, and then it will easily overflow.
After we have it all built, comes the great moment of letting the waterfall loose. Karsten and I each have a stout stake,—quick as lightning we punch a hole through the dam, and down rushes the waterfall over the precipice. The yellowish marsh water which we have led to the pool from way back on the hilltop is one mass of white foam. It thunders and crashes and spatters just like a real waterfall.
The only nuisance about it is that it lasts so short a time. Even if the pond is full up to the brim the water can all run out in five minutes. On that account we always try to let off the waterfall when there is some one besides ourselves to see it. It doesn't matter who it is, even if it is only the stone-breaker's child, but we must have at least one spectator, or we shouldn't care to let off the waterfall.
Right on the slope below the precipice is the cottage of Soren, the mason. Our land joins on to his farm. When we let out the waterfall the water streams down over our land right behind the big walnut tree. It had always taken the very same course and it never entered my head that itcouldtake any other.
But now you shall hear. It had rained twelve days on a stretch, and that just as the summer vacation had begun. In fact, it seems to me it always does—every year. Well, never mind that. At any rate Karsten and I were almost bored to death. It was all right for Karsten to stand out in the rain and sail birch bark boats in the brewing vat which stood full of water out in the farmyard, but I outgrew such play years ago, of course. As for sitting and reading books in the very middle of the summer, there is no sort of sense in that. AtleastIdon't think there is any fun in it; so I will say outright that I was dreadfully bored.
Finally, one day, out came the sun. It shone and it glittered. The grass, the fences, and the washed-out stones all dripped and sparkled as the sun sent its blazing light upon them. And there wasn't a crack or a crevice on the whole hilltop that wasn't brimming over with water.
Oh! what a waterfall we could make to-day!
"Karsten! Karsten! Will you come with me and make a waterfall?"
Karsten had been so desperately bored the afternoon before that he had put up a swing in the loft. As I called him I saw his face up there in the dusty green window. The second after, he was down in the yard, and we were both off for the hilltop. The one single tool that we have to work with is a little old trough which we use for dipping up water when we need to.
Oh! such a summer day as it was up on that hilltop! with the sun sparkling on the wet purple heather, on the blueberries and red whortleberriesand great wavy ferns covered with pearly water-drops! But Karsten and I had something else to do, I can assure you, than to look at all this beauty. For to-day we were going to make Niagara Falls! We had water enough.
O my! how Karsten and I slaved that morning! We made an entirely new watercourse so that we had ever so much more water for the pond. And then the pond itself had to be made better and bigger. It was ready to overflow any minute,—it was so full. Karsten slipped in twice and got wet way above his knees. My! how we laughed!
It seemed as if there was always a little tuft of moss to stuff in or a stone to lay in better position, in order to make the pond really tight and firm; but at last we had it finished.
But now there was no one at hand, not a single person, to admire the glorious sight of the waterfall, and I didn't want to have all our hard work go for nothing. Karsten wanted to let the waterfall loose anyway, but I wouldn'tdo it, and we had almost got into a quarrel when, as good luck would have it, Thora Heja came trudging along across the hilltop. Thora Heja is an old peasant woman who used to work in the fields but now goes round getting her living by drowning cats and cutting hens' heads off for people.
"Thora Heja, where are you going?" I called out.
"Oh! I am going down to attend to two hens at the sexton's," shouted Thora across to us.
"Wait a little and you shall see Niagara Falls!"
"See what?"
"Wait a little and you shall see something wonderful!"
Karsten and I grabbed our big stakes and quick as lightning tore away the dam. However it happened, I really don't know, but it must be that we tore away some big stones we had never disturbed before, and that our doing this made the whole waterfall take an entirelydifferent direction. It foamed and crashed—you couldn't hear yourself think!—It was really magnificent.
"Hurrah!" shouted Karsten and I.
But right through the tremendous roar of the waterfall, there came cleaving the air the wildest pig squeal you ever heard, from the ground down below us. The waterfall kept on roaring, and the pig squeals grew worse and worse.
It never occurred to me for a moment that the pig squeals had anything to do with our waterfall. We couldn't see what was going on below from where we stood. I thought Thora Heja was behaving in the queerest way, however, for instead of standing quietly and admiring the waterfall as we had expected, she began to shriek and point and throw up her arms beseechingly and try to tell us something; finally she took to her heels and vanished through the wet grass down the steep hillside, shouting and screaming as she went.
Soon after we heard many voices down belowall talking at once, but the waterfall kept on with its rush and noise, for, as I have said, there was a tremendous lot of water in the pond that day. All this happened in a much shorter time than it takes me to write it, you know.
I heard Soren, the mason's, angry voice.
"Such a thing as this sha'n't be permitted! I won't have it—not if I swing for it! Even if it is the judge's children themselves——"
A sudden suspicion popped into my head.
"Karsten! Something must have gone wrong with our waterfall!"
"I'll run down and see!"
"No! Are you crazy? Don't go! Can't you hear how angry Soren, the mason, is?"
By this time the whole pond had emptied itself out. The waterfall had subsided into little trickling rills, coursing in straggling lines down the precipice. Then Soren, the mason, appeared in the distance, having reached a piece of ground where he could look across to where we were.