But the flowers were gone and the goat was dancing sideways over the cabin floor.
From the sideboard sounded a thud and a horrible rattle te-bang of glass and silver. The cat had sprung right up into a big bowl of cream and all the cream was running down on the sofa.
It is a horrible sight to see two quarts of cream flowing over a red velvet sofa! Oh, how frightened I was!
"Hold the door shut, Karsten!" I said. "I'll try to dry it up."
With shaking hands I tried to mop up the cream with my pocket-handkerchief, while the cat and the kid lapped and drank the cream that trickled down to the floor; and Karsten held the door shut with all his might.
But it was like an ocean of cream. It was impossible—impossible for me to dry it up.
"Oh, Karsten! what shall we do?"
"It was your cat that did it."
"Yes, but your goat ate the stock."
"Let's run away," said Karsten; and carrying the goat and the cat we rushed up the narrow cabin stairs. But, O horrors! There wasn't any sort of a place where we could hide.—And how it did look down in the cabin! And Mother didn't know the least thing about it. O dear! O dear!