who had forgotten his latch key. He hung up his hat, wiped the
perspiration from his face, for it was a warm evening; then he said
cheerily:

"Spring is coming; I feel it in the air. I'll be glad to get out to
Nordal--there is so much to do this summer--"

"Young man," interrupted the sister, "we have been talking about you."

"About my wickedness, I suppose."

"About your foolishness. It isn't very pleasant for us--what you're
doing."

"What am I doing? That which is unkind to you, mother?" He placed his
arms lovingly around her shoulders, but she sat without replying, her
face in her handkerchief. He turned to Selma.

"What have I done?" he asked. "Do I drink? Do I gamble? Do I steal? Do I
lie? Do I profane? Do I treat any of you unkindly? Am I disrespectful to
my mother or my sister?"

"You associate with a people known everywhere as the scum of the earth,"
snapped the sister, as she stood in front of him. "You are disgracing
us--the whole Bogstad family--you--but what's the use of talking to
you."

"Not a bit of use that way, dear sister. Suppose you answer some of my
questions. You accuse, but never bring proof. You would rather believe
uninformed people than me. You accept hearsay, but will not listen to