The Leader of the Lower School Part 18

Really Fraulein had the kindest heart in the world, and tried, in her heavy fas.h.i.+on, to be on excellent terms with her pupils, but she did not in the least comprehend the mind of the British schoolgirl.

"She treats us exactly as if we were kindergarten babies!" sneered Hetty Hanc.o.c.k. "I don't know how German girls of our age would enjoy her silly jokes, but I think she's a rotter!"

"And she's so sentimental!" hinnied Daisy Scatcherd. "I nearly had a fit when she began to troll out that love song, with her hand laid touchingly on her heart."

"That sort of rubbish may go down in the Fatherland, but it doesn't here."

The girls had waxed restive at many of the _Lieder_ which they were obliged to learn, but when Fraulein turned up one morning with a volume of songs of her own composition, their discontent verged towards mutiny.

"Ze original vords are, of course, in German," explained Fraulein, "but I have had a translation made for you by a friendt of mine, and it is sehr gut. Ze first it is a cradle song. Now, I ask has any girl in ze cla.s.s got at home a leetle, leetle brozer or sister?"

"I have," volunteered Mary Parsons bluntly. "A brother."

"And how old?"

"Six months."

"Ach! Zat is beautiful! You shall sing zis song to ze leetle baby in ze cradle, vile you rock him gently, gently, till he sleep!" and Fraulein gazed ecstatically at Mary, as if calling up a mental picture of her sisterly attention.

"He'd soon squall if I did!" grunted Mary to her neighbour, who exploded audibly.

"You, who are not so all-fortunate as to have a baby in ze home, must sing it to ze child of a neighbour," went on Fraulein, evidently determined that the value of the lullaby should receive a practical trial.

"And what are we boarders to do?" enquired Lennie Chapman ironically.

"Sing it to the cat!" whispered Hetty, whereat the bystanders t.i.ttered.

"You've stumped her there!" murmured Fiona.

Fraulein certainly for a moment looked a little at a loss, but she soon recovered her presence of mind.

"Vait till ze holidays, zen you sall see!" she returned with an engaging smile. "I shall now sing von or two of ze lieder to you, to show you vat zey are like."

The music of the songs was beautiful, that was allowed by even the most unappreciative of the girls. There was a joyous lilt and a true melody about them that put them high in the rank of composition, and the accompaniments played with Fraulein's delicate touch were harmonious and suitable. The words, unfortunately, were childish in the extreme, and more fit for youngsters of five than girls of eleven to fourteen. Even the members of the Lower Third turned up supercilious noses. They were further marred by Fraulein's accent, and when she unctuously rendered

"Hush, my baby, sweetest, best, Little mousie's gone to rest",

as

"Hosh, my baby, sveetest, best, Leetle moozie's gone to rest",

a ripple of mirth pa.s.sed round the cla.s.s.

Having gone through one or two as specimens, Fraulein selected the lullaby and set the girls to work at it. I am afraid that, instead of doing their best, they only sang in mockery. Fiona Campbell made a pretence cradle of her arm, and rocked it for Mary Parsons' benefit; and Gipsy put an amount of sham sentiment into her execution calculated to convulse the others. At the end of the lesson the cla.s.s trooped away in a state of frank rebellion.

"Really, this is too much!" protested Dilys Fenton. "We can't be expected to sing her silly songs."

"It's just baby nonsense!" exclaimed Norah Bell.

"The music's pretty," said Joyce Adamson.

"Oh, yes, the music--but look at the words!" scoffed Gipsy, turning over the pages of the new copies. "Did you ever see anything so absolutely idiotic in all your life as this?

"'Old hare's little son Is up to good fun, And skipping and prancing He's bent upon dancing.

Just see how he spins On his dear little pins!'"

"It's an affront to ask us to learn such rubbis.h.!.+" declared the outraged girls. "We shall really have to speak to Poppie about it."

"Yes, a good idea! Let's complain to Poppie."

"If she'll listen."

"She's not generally so ready to hear our grievances."

"Well, something will have to be done, for we can't go on week after week with this baby stuff. It's like turning back to one's ABC. I declare we'd more sensible songs when I was in the Kindergarten."

"I'll take my book home, and perhaps I can get my mother to write a letter to Poppie about it," suggested Mary Parsons.

"You! Why, you're the one who's to sit serenading over your infant brother's cradle!"

"Perhaps Sausage will bring a doll to school next week and make us practise with it in turns! She'd be quite capable of it," sn.i.g.g.e.red Maude Helm.

n.o.body plucked up sufficient courage to interview Miss Poppleton on the subject. It is one thing for schoolgirls to growl, and quite another to venture to remonstrate with the Princ.i.p.al about the lessons. Miss Poppleton was not an approachable person, and except in extreme cases her pupils did not venture to get up deputations. Gipsy voiced the opinions of the cla.s.s, however, in airing their grievances to Miss Edith, and gave her an animated account of their special bug-bear, the new song book.

"Oh, dear me, Gipsy! I'm very sorry!" said Miss Edith, puckering up her forehead anxiously. "I'm afraid you girls behave very badly in the singing cla.s.s. You ought to have more respect for Fraulein Hochmeyer. I hope Mary Parsons' mother won't write about it. It puts Miss Poppleton in a most awkward position when parents make complaints. We don't want to change our singing mistress, Fraulein's system of voice production is so very good. She was a pupil of Randegger, I believe. There's no other first-cla.s.s teacher in Greyfield either except Mr. Johnson, and he doesn't take half the trouble with his pupils that Fraulein does. I wish you girls would try to appreciate her more."

Gipsy screwed up her mouth and looked humorous in reply.

"But she's a beautiful character, if you only knew!" urged Miss Edith.

"She's so simple and kind-hearted; and she works so hard! She has an invalid father to keep. He's quite dependent on her, I believe. They live in lodgings in Greyfield. I'm sure I'm often sorry for her, going about to her pupils in all weathers. It's too bad of you girls to make such fun of her! She's a stranger in a strange land, poor thing, with no friends here, and her living to make. Girls are a thoughtless set, as I've found out long ago. You might try to have a little more consideration for her, Gipsy. Just imagine yourself in her place, and fancy you were teaching a cla.s.s of German girls! Yes, as I said before, I'm sorry for Fraulein Hochmeyer. She has a hard time of it."

Gipsy said nothing, but she retired with ample food for thought. It had never struck her before to take the view of Fraulein that Miss Edith had just presented. The little foreign peculiarities and eccentricities had excited her mirth, but she had quite missed the sterling good qualities that lay underneath them. "'A stranger in a strange land, with no friends here'--I know what that means!" muttered Gipsy to herself. "It's brave of her to work to keep her father! Don't I just wish I--" but here she sighed, for the unuttered wish seemed so entirely hopeless and futile.

After revolving the matter carefully, Gipsy made up her mind that Fraulein Hochmeyer deserved to be helped instead of hindered.

"Though how I'm to do it when she insists on forcing those absurd baby songs upon us, I can't tell. Stop! I've an idea. Oh, I don't know whether I can, but I mean to have a jolly good try! No time like the present. I've half an hour before tea." And furnis.h.i.+ng herself with pencil and paper, she ran up to her attic, and was soon puckering her brows in the agonies of composition. As the result of that and several other half-hours of work, she covered two pages of foolscap; then, seeking out Miss Edith, she unfolded her scheme and begged for help.

"I'm afraid you'll think it fearful cheek of me," she began, "but you see the trouble at present in the singing cla.s.s is that we all abominate those silly little songs. They really sound foolish for girls of our age. Of course Fraulein's composed them herself, and the tunes are very nice. Do you think she'd mind changing the words? It wouldn't matter to her what we were singing so long as the music was the same, would it?

But it would make all the difference to us. I made up a few verses that go with the tunes just as well. They're here, if you don't mind looking at them," and Gipsy modestly unfolded her ma.n.u.script. "This one's instead of

"'Old hare's little son Is up to good fun.'

I've called it 'The End of the Term'

"'Now cla.s.ses are done And vacation's begun, Of fun and of leisure We'll have our full measure.

For it's hip, hip, hooray For a long holiday!

"'So to lessons goodbye, While to pleasure we fly.

No rules now need bind us, All care's cast behind us.