Was it a whistle? or were they the notes of a flute?
At any rate it could be nothing dangerous. Highwaymen and banditti do not usually whistle or play musical instruments, and Fred felt that it would be perfectly safe to push on. As he drew nearer, the tones became louder and with them were mixed what were unmistakably the voices of children. Fred, with increasing curiosity, hastened his steps; and in another moment a sight that was as odd as it was pretty met his eyes.
Yes, they were children—as many as a hundred of them, Fred thought—funny little old-fashioned German children; the girls with long flaxen braids and dresses that might have been their grandmothers’, and the boys with garments so extraordinary that Fred, who thought he could never be astonished by what a German boy might have on, was fairly lost in surprise.
But more odd than all the rest was the musician himself—a tall, thin, smooth-faced man, with blue eyes and scanty hair and an astonishing cloak, half of yellow and half of red, that reached from his shoulders to his heels. He was playing, on what seemed to be a flageolet, a brisk enlivening tune, and was lightly beating time with his feet.
Fred looked on in amazement. “It must be a Sunday-school picnic,” he said to himself at last, “only I never heard of such a thing in Germany, and what a queer-looking man for a superintendent.”
If it were a Sunday-school picnic it was a very remarkable one. There were no grown-up people at all but the one man, and the children seemed to be having no end of a good time. There were two little girls, it is true, standing quietly and soberly not far from Fred, but all of the others were either dancing or playing some lively game.
Fred could not help wondering why the two were left out; and going up to them he asked in his politest manner and best German: “Why aren’t you dancing and why do you look so sad when everybody else is so happy?”
The little things looked up curiously. They were pretty, Fred thought, but not so pretty as another and older girl who came out of the crowd just then and overheard Fred’s question.
“They’ve been sad all day,” she answered in a pretty, motherly way; “their little brothers were left behind and they can’t enjoy it because their brothers aren’t enjoying it too.”
“Mine was lame,” said one of the little girls sadly.