“Ada Godfrey,” she cried, her voice trembling with rage, “you are the meanest girl I ever knew. You know perfectly well that Gretel is as good an American as any one of us. She can’t help the fact that her father was a German. If you ever say a thing like that again I’ll—I’ll——”
“Oh, don’t quarrel, girls,” expostulated Molly. “Of course we know Gretel is all right, and it really was very rude to treat Fräulein as you did, Ada. Of course, she was rude, too, but then she is in a pretty hard position. Some Germans are very nice. We had a Fräulein when we were little, and we all loved her dearly. If we dislike Fräulein, I think it’s principally because she has never seemed to care much about us.”
“She seemed to care a good deal for Gretel,” muttered Ada, but she said no more, and Geraldine also relapsed into silence, and went on with the letter she was writing her twin brother at St. Mark’s. But if any one had chanced to look over her shoulder, it would have been seen that Ada was still in her black books. For Jerry Barlow was as devoted in his allegiance to Gretel as his sister, and Geraldine was sure of his sympathy.
Meanwhile Gretel had followed Fräulein up-stairs in silence, neither of them uttering a word until they had reached the German teacher’s room and closed the door. Then Fräulein spoke.
“Impudent little beast!” she said, and then collapsed in the rocking-chair, and began to cry.
Gretel was very uncomfortable. She was sincerely sorry for Fräulein, and angry with Ada, but at the same time she felt convinced that things could not be quite as bad as Fräulein had represented. So, instead of putting her arms round her friend’s neck, and comforting her—which was what Fräulein expected—she remained standing in embarrassed silence, till the German woman demanded between sobs:
“Have you nothing to say to me? Have you, too, turned against me because of this cruel war? Ah, I did not expect this of you—I did not think——” Sobs checked further utterance.
Now, Gretel had a very soft heart, and the sight of this distress was more than she could bear. In another moment her arms were round her friend, and she was trying to draw Fräulein’s hands down from her face.
“Oh, Fräulein dear,” she protested, crying herself from pure sympathy, “I am so terribly, terribly sorry! Do try not to be so unhappy. You know I haven’t turned against you; I couldn’t do such a thing. I am your friend; I would do anything I could to help you. You can’t help being German. You are no more to blame for this dreadful war than Father would be if he were alive now.”
“Of course I am not to blame,” choked Fräulein, “but people treat me as if I were. It is cruel and outrageous, and what is more, I will not endure it.” And suddenly Fräulein’s foot came down with a stamp, that rather startled Gretel, for she had not realized before that her friend had a temper.