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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
32
But
the
schoolmaster,
after
four
weeks'
teaching,
has
got
them
as
far
as
Moses,
and
safely
past
the
Noah's
ark
on
which
I
came
to
grief,
and
if
glibness
is
a
sign
of
knowledge
then
they
have
learned
the
story
very
thoroughly.
Yesterday,
after
he
had
gone,
they
emerged
into
the
verandah
fresh
from
Moses
and
bursting
with
eagerness
to
tell
me
all
about
it.
"Herr
Schenk
told
us
to-day
about
Moses,"
began
the
April
baby,
making
a
rush
at
me.
"Oh?"
"Yes,
and
a
boser,
boser
Konig
who
said
every
boy
must
be
deaded,
and
Moses
was
the
allerliebster."
"Talk
English,
my
dear
baby,
and
not
such
a
dreadful
mixture,"
I
besought.
"He
wasn't
a
cat."
"A
cat?"
"Yes,
he
wasn't
a
cat,
that
Moses--a
boy
was
he."
"But
of
course
he
wasn't
a
cat,"
I
said
with
some
severity;
"no
one
ever
supposed
he
was."
"Yes,
but
mummy,"
she
explained
eagerly,
with
much
appropriate
hand-
action,
"the
cook's
Moses
is
a
cat."
"Oh,
I
see.
Well?"
"And
he
was
put
in
a
basket
in
the
water,
and
that
did
swim.
And
then
one
time
they
comed,
and
she
said--"
"Who
came?
And
who
said?"
"Why,
the
ladies;
and
the
Konigstochter
said,
'Ach
hormal,
da
schreit
so
etwas.'"
"In
German?"
"Yes,
and
then
they
went
near,
and
one
must
take
off
her
shoes
and
stockings
and
go
in
the
water
and
fetch
that
tiny
basket,
and
then
they
made
it
open,
and
that
Kind
did
cry
and
cry
and
strampel
so"--here
both
the
babies
gave
such
a
vivid
illustration
of
the
strampeln
that
the
verandah
shook--"and
see!
it
is
a
tiny
baby.
And
they
fetched
somebody
to
give
it
to
eat,
and
the
Konigstochter
can
keep
that
boy,
and
further
it
doesn't
go."
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