At the time this conversation took place, two weeks had elapsed since Mrs. Anderson’s “attack.”  Julia had heard nothing from August yet.  The “Hawk” still made his head-quarters in the house, but was now watching another quarry.  Mrs. Anderson was able to scold as vigorously as ever, if, indeed, that function had ever been suspended.  And just now she was engaged in scolding the teacher who had expelled Norman.  The habit of fighting teachers was as chronic as her heart-disease.  Norman had always been abused by the whole race of pedagogues.  There was from the first a conspiracy against him, and now he was cheated out of his last chance of getting an education.  All this Norman steadfastly believed.

Of course Norman sided with his mother as against the Dutchman.  The more contemptible a man is, the more he contemns a man for not belonging to his race or nation.  And Norman felt that he would be eternally disgraced by any alliance with a German.  He threw himself into the fight with a great deal of vigor.  It helped him to forget other things.

“Jule,” said he, walking up to her as she sat alone on the porch, “I’m ashamed of you.  To go and fall in love with a Dutchman like Gus Wehle, and disgrace us all!”

“I wonder you didn’t think about disgrace before,” retorted Julia, “I am ashamed to have August Wehle hear what you’ve been doing.”

[Illustration:  NORMAN ANDERSON.]

Dogs that have the most practice in cat-worrying are liable to get their noses scratched sometimes.  Norman took care never to attack Julia again except under the guns of his mother’s powerful battery.  And he revenged himself on her by appealing to his mother with a complaint that “Jule had throwed up to him that he had been dismissed from school.”  And of course Julia received a solemn lecture on her way of driving poor Norman to destruction.  She was determined to disgrace the family.  If she could not do it by marrying a Dutchman, she would do it by slandering her brother.

Norman thought to find an ally in Jonas.

“Jonas, don’t you think it’s awful that Jule is in love with Dutchman like Gus Wehle?”

“I do, my love,” responded Jonas.  “I think a Dutchman is a Dutchman.  I don’t keer how much he larns by burnin’ the midnight ile by day and night.  My time-honored friend, he’s a Dutchman arter all.  The Dutch is bred in the bone.  It won’t fade.  A Dutchman may be a gentleman in his way of doin’ things, may be honest and industrious, and keep all the commandments in the catalogue, but I say he is Dutch, and that’s enough to keep him out of the kingdom of heaven and out of this free and enlightened republic.  And an American may be a good-fer-nothin’, ornery little pertater-ball, wuthless alike to man and beast; he mayn’t be good fer nothin’, nuther fer work nur study; he may git drunk and git turned outen school and do any pertikeler number of disgraceful and oncreditable things, he may be a reg’ler