as
"Hosh, my baby, sveetest, best,
Leetle moozie's gone to rest",
a ripple of mirth passed round the class.
Having gone through one or two as specimens, Fräulein 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 class 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 rubbish!" declared the outraged girls. "We shall really have to speak to Poppie about it."