But, O dear!—then the whole town would know of it and talk of it forever. How frightfully embarrassing that would be!
No, no, I wouldn't ring the bells. I'd rather shout myself hoarse. So Karl and I screamed: "Open the door for us! Open the door, open the door!" But the storm outside roared and howled louder than we could and no one heard us. We didn't keep quiet an instant. We ran back and forth screaming, and banging and kicking on all the doors.
Suddenly I thought of the vestry. Like a flash I darted in there. Oh! what a relief—what a relief! The windows here were low—only a few feet above the ground; here it would be easy enough to get out. I rushed to a window—but would you believe it! there wasn't a sign of a hook or a hinge! These windows hadn't been opened in all the hundreds of years the church had stood. That's the way people built in old times.
Here I was right near the ground and yet couldn't get out. In my desperation I seized an old book with a clasp that lay there, and smashed a window-pane with it, and then I stuck my face through the broken pane and shouted out into the storm, "Open the door!"
Not a person was to be seen; but merely to feel the fresh air blowing on my face gave me more courage.
"Has God a knife?" suddenly asked Karl.
Yes, I thought He had.
"Well, if He has a knife, He could just cut the door to pieces, and then we could go out."
At that moment I saw old Jens pass the window as he came shambling through the churchyard. He is a dull-witted fellow who lives at the poorhouse.
I wasn't slow in getting my face to the window again, you may be sure!