It was true that Johannes had amused his two little friends while they were taking walks together—mimicking all sorts of animal sounds, like those of the horse, donkey, cow, dog, cat, pig, sheep, and goat. He had whistled like the birds so cleverly that the two little girls had been enraptured. And one single instrument he did indeed play admirably—the genuine boys' castanets that every schoolboy and street urchin in Holland carries in his pocket certain months of the year. Many an autumn day, sauntering home from school, he had shortened the way for himself with the sharp, clear, uninterrupted "a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick!—a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick!—a-rick-a-ty, tick-a-ty tick!—tack! tack!"
The little girls now begged him to let their mama hear. So he took out his castanets, which he himself had made while there, and clicked away with them lustily.
"Delightful!" cried the countess. "Now you must sing and dance at the same time, like the Spaniards."
Johannes shied at the dancing. But indeed he would sing. And he sang all kinds of street ditties, such as "Oh, Mother, the Sailor!" and "Sara, you're losing your Petticoat," to the merry music of the castanets. The children thought it splendid.
Their enthusiasm excited him, and he began improvising all sorts of nonsense. The little girls clapped their hands, and the longer he played the more merry they grew. Johannes struck an attitude, and announced his selections just as if he were before an audience. The countess and her daughters went and sat in a row—the little girls wild with delight.
"Sketches from Animal Life," announced Johannes, beginning, to the time-keeping accompaniment of the castanets, the well-known air from The Carnival of Venice,
"A hen that came from Japan
Assured a crippled toad
She'd never have him for her man.
That was a sorry load."
The little girls shouted and stamped, with glee.
"More, Jo!—More, more, Johannes! Do!"
"Splendid!" cried the countess, speaking in Dutch, now, herself.