Dora had run down from her room, and was peeping through her opening in the hedge, to try to find out the cause of these terrible cries.  The wash-house stood quite near the hedge, but she could not see anything except the logs that carried the water to it from the spring.  She heard the cry “We are drowning!” and she ran back up-stairs, calling out, breathless with fright,

“Aunt, aunt! two children are drowning over there! don’t you hear them call?”

Her aunt had closed all the windows, but the screams penetrated even to her ears.

“Oh dear, what can that be?” she exclaimed, in the greatest alarm.  “I hear a terrible cry; but who says they are drowning?  Mrs. Kurd!  Mrs. Kurd!  Mrs. Kurd!”

Meantime, Schnurri, all dripping-wet, ran to the shed where Battiste was shaping bean-poles for the kitchen garden.  The dog rushed at Battiste, barking furiously, seized him by the trousers, and tried to pull him along.

“Something is amiss,” said the man to himself; and taking a long bean-pole on his shoulder, in case it should be needed, he followed Schnurri to the wash-house.  By this time the whole family had assembled there—­the mother, the governess, Julius, Paula, Rolf, Hunne, and last of all Trine; for the cries had reached every corner of house and garden.  Battiste stretched his long pole across the water to the floating tub.

“Now, catch hold of that, and hold on tight, very tight,” he said, and pulled the ark and its occupants towards dry land.  Wili and Lili were as white as chalk from their long fright.

It was no time to question the children about this new mishap, for they were in no condition to talk about it; so the mother wisely took each by the hand, and led them to the seat under the apple-tree, to recover themselves.  Julius followed with little Hunne, saying, “Oh Wili and Lili, you terrible twins, you will come to some dreadful end before long.”

Old Battiste rolled up his trousers and stepped into the water in the wash-house, to pull out the stopper from the waste pipe so that the flood could subside from the land of Noah.  Trine stood looking on.  Battiste growled at her.

“You have no more sense than the seven-year-old babies!  But that is the way things go!” for he had seen at once, who must have given them the water-spout.  Trine did not think it best to reply at that moment, as she had been fairly caught in the wrong, but she secretly got her claws ready to scratch when her chance came—­just like Philomele.  When the little party under the apple-tree were somewhat tranquillized again, the cat came purring and rubbing herself fawningly about Lili’s feet.  The child only gave her an angry push, and turned to caress old Schnurri, who lay, still wet, on the ground near by; while Wili patted him affectionately, saying softly,

“You shall have all my supper to-night, old fellow.”

“Mine too,” said Lili, and they both understood now the real characters of the two pets.