"The people who live in the neighbourhood consider the eruptions a good thing, because then the earthquakes are not so violent." "So? so?" said Bräsig, apparently not quite satisfied with the answer. "But it is true, isn't it," he went on, "that such mountains send forth flame and smoke, like a chimney?" "Something so," said the Pastor, who had not the slightest idea what Bräsig was driving at. "Well," said Bräsig, stamping with his foot, "then I wish that the devil would take Zamel Pomuchelskopp by the nape of his neck, and hold him over one of those fire-spouting holes till he got his deserts." "Fie, Bräsig!" cried the little Pastorin, "you are a heathen. How can you utter such an unchristian wish in a minister's house!" "Frau Pastorin," said Bräsig, going back into the sofa-corner, "it would be a great benefit to mankind." "Dear Bräsig," said the Pastor, "we must remember that these people used the disgraceful expression without any intention of hurting us." "It is all one to me," cried Bräsig, "with or without intention. He provoked me with intention, but what he did here without intention was a thousand times worse. You see, Herr Pastor, one must get angry sometimes, and we farmers get angry regularly two or three times a day,--it belongs to the business; but moderately, what I call a sort of farm-boy anger. For example, yesterday I was having the fallow-ground marled, and I had ordered the boys to form a line with their carts. Then I stood in the marl-pit, and all was going nicely. Then, you see, there came that lubber, Christian Kohlhaas,--a real horned-beast of a creature,--there he was with his full cart coming back to the pit. 'You confounded rascal!' said I, 'what under heaven! are you going to bring the marl back again!' Do you believe, that blockhead looked me right in the face, and said he wasn't quite ready to empty the cart, and would go into the line. Well, I was angry, you may be sure; but there are different sorts of anger. This was a proper farm-boy anger, and that kind agrees with me, especially after dinner; but here--I can't scold Pomuchelskopp as I do the farm-boys. It all stays here, I can't get rid of it. And you will see, Frau Pastorin, to-morrow I shall have that cursed gout again." "Bräsig," said the Frau Pastorin, "will you do me a favour? Don't tell Habermann anything of this." "Eh, why should I, Frau Pastorin? But I will go to little Louise, and comfort her, and tell her that Samuel Pomuchelskopp is the meanest, most infamous rascal on the face of the earth." "No, no," said the Pastor, hastily, "let that go. The child will get over it, and I hope all will be well again." "No? Then good-bye," said Bräsig, reaching for his cap. "Surely, Bräsig, you will stay to dinner with us?"