"
Owgooste, however, lost interest. He stood up in his place, his back to
the stage, chewing a piece of orange peel and watching a little girl in
her father's lap across the aisle, his eyes fixed in a glassy, ox-like
stare. But he was uneasy. He danced from one foot to the other, and at
intervals appealed in hoarse whispers to his mother, who disdained an
answer.
"Ma, say, ma-ah," he whined, abstractedly chewing his orange peel,
staring at the little girl.
"Ma-ah, say, ma." At times his monotonous plaint reached his mother's
consciousness. She suddenly realized what this was that was annoying
her.
"Owgooste, will you sit down?" She caught him up all at once, and jammed
him down into his place. "Be quiet, den; loog; listun at der yunge
girls."
Three young women and a young man who played a zither occupied the
stage. They were dressed in Tyrolese costume; they were yodlers, and
sang in German about "mountain tops" and "bold hunters" and the like.
The yodling chorus was a marvel of flute-like modulations. The girls
were really pretty, and were not made up in the least. Their "turn" had
a great success. Mrs. Sieppe was entranced. Instantly she remembered her
girlhood and her native Swiss village.
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