[Illustration: GOTTLIEB.]

All this time August found that it was getting harder and harder to tell
his father the real state of the case. But the old man, seeing that he
prevailed nothing, took a cajoling tone.

"Koom, August, mine knabe, ton't shtand dare leig a vool. Vot tit
Anterson zay ven he shent you avay?"

"He said that I'd been seen a-talking to his daughter, Jule Anderson."

"Vell, you nebber said no hoorm doo Shule, tid you? If I dought you
said vot you zhoodn't zay doo Shule, I vood shust drash you on der
shpot! Tid you gwarl mit Shule, already?"

"Quarrel with Jule! She's the last person in the world I'd think of
quarreling with. She's as good as--"

"Oh! you pe in lieb mit Shule! You vool, you! Is dat all dat I raise you
vor? I dells you, unt dells you, unt _dells_ you to sprach nodin put
Deutsche, unt to marry a kood Deutsche vrau vot kood sprach mit you, unt
now you koes right shtraight off unt kits knee-teep in lieb mit a vool
of a Yangee kirl! You doo ant pe doornt off!"

August's countenance brightened. All the way home he had felt that it
was somehow an unpardonable sin to be a Dutchman. Anderson had spoken
hardly to him in dismissing him, and now it was a great comfort to find
that his father returned the contempt of the Yankees at its full value.
All the conceit was not on the side of the Yankees. It was at least an
open question which was the most disgraced, he or Julia, by their little