"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.
She began to shriek and point and throw up her arms.—Page 151.
He is a thin old man, and dresses in white mason's clothes, and has a frightfully sharp chin. He was as red in the face as a boiled lobster, shook his fists at us and shouted:
"Aha! it's a good thing I have witnesses here against you—you two rapscallions! setting waterspouts running all over people. You shall hang for it! you shall hang for it! Two little pigs are dead and the others nigh unto it. If there never has been a lawsuit before, there shall be one now for such imposition and abuse. I am going to your father this very minute to complain of you."
And Soren, the mason, started up the hill in a terrible hurry, straight to Father's office.
Karsten and I looked for an instant at each other. I had a cowardly wish to run away at once.
"What shall we do?" asked Karsten. "Shall we hide up on the top of the hill here all day?"