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selves to see it. It doesn’t matter who it is,
even if it is only the stone-breaker’s child, but
we must have at least one spectator, or we
shouldn’t care to let off the waterfall.
llight on the slope below the precipice is the
cottage of Soren, the mason. Our land joins
on to his farm. When we let out the waterfall
the water streams down over our land right
be-hind the big walnut tree. It had always taken
the verv same course and it never entered my
head that it could take any other.
But now you shall hear. It had rained
twelve days on a stretch, and that just as the
summer vacation had begun. In faet, it seems
to me it always does—every year. Well, never
mind that. At any rate Karsten and I were
almost bored to death. It was all right for
Karsten to stand out in the rain and sail birch
bark boats in the brewing vat which stood full
of water out in the farmyard, but I outgrew
such play years ago, of course. As for sitting
and reading books in the very middle of the
summer, there is no sort of sense in that. At
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