mother. Jim is her idol. It'd break my heart.... Oh, I hate the very
name of Germans!"

"My father is German," said Kurt. "He's been fifty years in
America--eighteen years here on this farm. He always hated England. Now
he's bitter against America.... I can see a side you can't see. But I
don't blame you--for what you said."

"Forgive me. I can't conceive of meaning that against any one who's
lived here so long.... Oh, it must be hard for you."

"I'll let my father think I'm forced to join the army. But I'm going to
fight against his people. We are a house divided against itself."

"Oh, what a pity!" The girl sighed and her eyes were dark with brooding
sorrow.

A step sounded behind them. Mr. Anderson appeared, sombrero off, mopping
a very red face. His eyes gleamed, with angry glints; his mouth and chin
were working. He flopped down with a great, explosive breath.

"Kurt, your old man is a--a--son of a gun!" he exclaimed, vociferously;
manifestly, liberation of speech was a relief.

The young man nodded seriously and knowingly. "I hope, sir--he--he--"

"He did--you just bet your life! He called me a lot in German, but I
know cuss words when I hear them. I tried to reason with him--told him I
wanted my money--was here to help him get that money off the farm, some
way or other. An' he swore I was a capitalist--an enemy to labor an' the