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All the water which gathers on thc 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 beforchand), and washes out deep
gullies in our hillside, leaving only the clean
stones. Every time that it rains really in
earnest for several davs, Father has to put
wagon-loads of new earth on the hili 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
davs and the hilltop is really soaking and
run-ning 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
en joy myself with anything like that now that
I am so old—thiiteen. They make fun of me
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