"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.

"Ach, dot is heavunly; joost like der old country. Mein gran'mutter used
to be one of der mos' famous yodlers. When I was leedle, I haf seen dem
joost like dat."

"Ma-ah," began Owgooste fretfully, as soon as the yodlers had departed.
He could not keep still an instant; he twisted from side to side,
swinging his legs with incredible swiftness.

"Ma-ah, I want to go ho-ome."

"Pehave!" exclaimed his mother, shaking him by the arm; "loog, der
leedle girl is watchun you. Dis is der last dime I take you to der blay,
you see."