What Happened To Inger Johanne Part 13

"No--we had better go down right away. We shall have to defend ourselves from Soren, the mason."

"Yes, perhaps he will say that we set the waterfall on his pigs on purpose."

When we got home, there stood Father on the door-steps and Soren, the mason, down in the yard.

Oh! how Soren looked! He was wringing his hands and crying and threatening. Father had a deep wrinkle between his eyes. That's always a sign that he is angry.

"What is this I hear? Have you drowned two young pigs of Soren's?"

"The waterfall went into his pig-pen instead of over our ground,"

whimpered Karsten.

"Explain how it happened," said Father to me; and I explained the whole of it exactly as it was. I tell you it was lucky for us that we _had_ come down from the hilltop!

"Here are ten crowns to pay for your little pigs, Soren," said Father, "and I hope that will make it all right between us."

But for Karsten and me it wasn't all right by any means--for I had to break open my savings-bank and pay Father back for the pigs. And I had been saving ever since Christmas and had over seven crowns in it. Ugh!

it is horrid that young pigs are such tender little creatures! And all that afternoon I was kept under arrest up in the trunk-room on account of the waterfall disaster.

Karsten got a whipping. He had to give up his savings, too, but there were only fifteen ore in his bank, for Karsten shakes the money out of the slit of his savings-bank almost as soon as he has put it in.

That was the last time in my whole life that I made a waterfall.

CHAPTER XI

LOCKED IN

Right below our old house on the hillside stands the church. It is a little wooden church, white-painted and low, with irregular windows, one low and another high, over the whole church. The doors are low and even the tower is low; the spire scarcely reaches up over the big maple-trees, as we can see from our windows. But then the maple-trees are tremendously big.

Every one in town says that the bells in our church tower are remarkable. They are considered unusually musical, and I think they are, too; and nothing could be more fun than to stand up in the tower when those great bells are being rung!

It is awfully thrilling--exactly as if your ear-drums would be split.

When you put your fingers in your ears, draw them quickly out, stuff them in again--it is like a roaring ocean of sound. You should just hear it!

It is great fun to slip in after old Peter, the bellows-blower, when he is going up to ring the bells; to grope your way up the steep worm-eaten stairs with cobwebs in every corner,--and the higher you go the narrower and steeper are the stairs; to hide yourself back of the timbers and in the corners so that Peter sha'n't see you; to stand there in that tremendous bell-clanging and then to rush down over the old stairs as if you were crazy, before Peter has shut the tower windows again and shuffled his way down.

Peter would be furious if he saw us, you know. However, he has seen us sometimes, for all our painstaking, though he can't hear us--he is deaf as a post--and he certainly can scold; and when he scolds he threatens us with all the worst things he knows of--telling the minister and the dean and everybody.

But his scolding doesn't make much difference. Our clambering up into the tower certainly can't do the least harm to any one; so, even after he has scolded us, the next time we see him slinking along and squeezing himself in through the church door (he never opens it wider than just enough to push himself through exactly like a little black mouse creeping through a crack), we are right after him, you may be sure.

Sometimes there will be ten or twelve of us, without his knowing a thing about it.

But once I got rather the worst of it when I stole up to the church tower after Peter. It was grewsome, I can tell you, for only think, I got locked in the church! I have been up in the tower since, just the same, only I don't dare to go alone any more, though I wasn't exactly alone that time I'm telling you about, either; I had my little brother, Karl, with me. But as he was only a little bit of a fellow, he wasn't any help.

It was one Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Every Sat.u.r.day at five o'clock the church bells are rung to ring the Sabbath in. Karl and I were just pa.s.sing the church when Peter came slinking along with his trousers turned up as usual. It was an afternoon towards autumn, not dark yet--far from it--but not so very light either. And how the wind blew that day! almost a gale. The big maple-trees creaked and groaned. All at once I had an overwhelming desire to run up into the tower and hear how the bells sounded when the wind bl.u.s.tered and howled so around the church.

"You go home now, Karl," said I, "run as fast as you can. Just let me see how fast you can run." Oh no! indeed, he wouldn't. He just clung fast to me and wanted to go with me. Oh well--pooh!--I could just as well take him along. It would be fun for him, too, to hear the bells.

When I thought Peter was well up the first flight of stairs I pushed open the heavy church door with its lead weight, and Karl and I squeezed into the church. He was heavy to drag up the stairs and I hauled and dragged as hard as I could, and he never whimpered once,--just thought it was great fun.

Peter had already begun to ring. The gale raged up here as if we were out on a wild sea, and sent mournful wails through all the cracks and openings. The church tower itself seemed to sway!

I had got Karl up the last flight of stairs. Back of the great cross-beam we were splendidly hidden. I peeped out once or twice. Peter stood with his eyes shut and pulled and pulled on the great rope. The big bells swung back and forth over our heads.

Oh! how the bells clanged and how the wind howled and roared! I had to force myself to stand still and not jump over to the window to look down upon the trees as they swayed and bowed in the strong blast. But I must not do it, of course, for then Peter would see me and I should only get another long scolding preachment. Besides, I had all I could do to keep fast hold of Karl. He was determined to go out from behind the beam, and every time the bells rang louder than usual he screamed with delight. He was welcome to scream as loud as he liked, Peter could hear nothing of it anyway.

But all of a sudden, and very much sooner than I had expected, Peter stopped ringing. One, two, three--he slammed the tower windows shut. As quickly as possible I hurried Karl down the first two flights, but by that time Peter was almost upon us. Without thinking of anything except that Peter mustn't see us, I dragged Karl back into a dark corner, though it was dusky everywhere. At that moment Peter pa.s.sed us. He shuffled along close to us and I could hear how carefully he groped his way down the stairs.

All at once it flashed over me that he would get down from the tower before we did, lock the door and go away. I clutched Karl and dragged him along over the nearly dark stairs, he stumbling, falling and crying a little. Peter was already in the weapon-room.

"Peter, Peter!" I shouted anxiously. "Don't lock it! Don't lock it! I am up here."

But do you suppose that Peter heard? Not a bit!

He opened the heavy church door and slammed it shut again. By that time I was right there, shouting and hammering at the door; but the key turned in the lock and Peter went his way round the corner.

Yes, he had gone, and there were we!

I was so afraid,--I don't believe I was ever so afraid in my whole long life! I hammered on the door with my fists, I shouted and screamed.

n.o.body heard me. Outside, the storm howled and roared.

No, I knew well enough that in such weather no one would think of coming to the churchyard, not even a child or a maid with a baby-carriage. And the church door opened on the churchyard, not on the street. It was impossible for any one to hear us all the way from the street in such a storm.

I turned around almost wild with fright. What could I do?

Perhaps--perhaps we could get out through a window.

But if we tried that, we must go into the church itself. And just think!

I got more afraid than ever when I thought of that, for all the ghost stories I had ever heard came to my mind. Suppose that Mina's great-grandfather, for instance, whose tomb was in there, should come walking down the church aisle, stiff and white!

I clutched Karl's hand so tightly that he screamed.

"Karl dear--little man--we must go into the church. You won't be afraid, will you?"

Karl looked uncertain as he gazed at me and asked:

"Are you afraid?"

Then I realized that I must be brave; and when there is a "must" you can, you know; and there is no use in whimpering, anyway.

"Are you afraid?" asked little Karl again.

"Oh, no--no, indeed."

So I opened the door of the church and peeped in. Rows upon rows of empty seats showed dimly through the half darkness, but there wasn't the least sign of Mina's great-grandfather.