j 9S 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
[Mat, 
and astonishment. She could not recover herself enough 
to speak until Jule had fled half-way up the stairs. 
Then her mother covered her defeat by screaming after 
her, “ Go to your own room, you impudent hussy! You 
know I am liable to die of heart-disease any minute, and 
you want to kill me!” 
CHAPTER in. 
A Fare wex.l. 
Mrs. Anderson felt that she had made a mistake. She 
had not meant to tell Julia that August was to leave. 
But now that this stormy scene had taken place, she 
thought she could make a good use of it. She knew 
that her husband co-operated with her in her opposition 
to “ the Dutchman,” only because he was afraid of his 
wife. In his heart, Samuel Anderson could not refuse ! 
anything to his daughter. Denied any of the happiness j 
which most men find in loving their wives, he found : 
consolation in the love of his daughter. Secretly, as i 
though his paternal affection were a crime, he caressed 
Julia, and his wife was not long in discovering that the 
father cared more for a loving daughter than for a 
shrewish wife. She w'atchcd him jealously, and had 
come to regard her daughter as one who had supplanted 
her in her husband's affections, and her husband as rob¬ 
bing her of the love of her daughter. In truth, Mrs. 
Samuel Anderson had come to stand so perpetually on 
guard against imaginary encroachments on her rights, 
that she saw enemies everywhere. She hated Wehle 
because he was a Dutchman ; she would have hated him 
on a dozen other scores if he had been an American. It 
was offense enough that Julia loved him. 
So now she resolved to gain her husband to her side 
by her version of the story, and before dinner she had 
told him how August had charged her with being false 
and cruel to Andrew many years ago, and how Jule had 
thrown it up to her, and how near she had come to drop¬ 
ping down with palpitation of the heart. And Samuel 
Anderson reddened, and declared that he would protect 
his wife from such insults. The notion that he pro¬ 
tected his wife was a pleasant fiction of the little man's, 
which received a generous encouragement at the hands 
of his wife. It was a favorite trick of hers to throw 
herself, in a metaphorical way, at his feet, a helpless 
woman, and in her feebleness implore his protection. 
And Samuel felt all the courage of knighthood in de¬ 
fending his inoffensive wife. Under cover of this fiction 
so flattering to the vanity of an overawed husband, she 
had managed at one time or another to embroil him with 
almost all the neighbors, and his refusal to join fences 
had resulted in that crooked arrangement known as a 
“ devil’s lane ” on throe sides of his farm. 
Julia dared not stay away from dinner, which was 
miserable enough. She did not venture so much as to 
look at August, who sat opposite her, and who was the 
most unhappy person at the table, because he did not 
know what all the unhappiness was about. Mr. Ander¬ 
son’s brow foreboded a storm, Mrs. Anderson’s face was 
full of an earthquake, Cynthy Ann was sitting in 
shadow, and Julia’s countenance perplexed him. 
Whether she was angry with him or not, he could not 
be sure. Of one thing he was certain: she was suffering 
a great deal, and that was enough to make him exceed¬ 
ingly unhappy. 
Sitting'through his hurried meal in this atmosphere 
surcharged with domestic electricity, he got the notion— 
he could hardly tell how—that all this lowering of the 
sky had something to do with him. What had he done ? 
Nothing. His closest self-examination told him that he 
had done no wrong. But his spirits were depressed, and 
his sensitive conscience condemned him for some un¬ 
known crime that had brought about all this disturbance ] 
of the elements. The ham did not seem very good, the 
cabbage he could not eat, the corn-dodger choked him, 
he had no desire to wait for the pie. He abridged his 
meal, and went out to the bam to keep company with 
his horses and his misery until it should be time to re¬ 
turn to his plow. 
Julia sat and sewed in that tedious afternoon. She 
would have liked one more interview with August before 
he left. Looking through the open hall, she saw him 
leave the barn and go toward his plowing. Not that she 
looked up. nawk never watched chicken more closely 
than Mrs. Anderson watched poor Jule. But out of the 
corners of her eyes Julia saw him drive his horses before 
him from the stable. As the field in which he worked 
was on the other side of the house from where she sat 
she could not so much as catch a glimpse of him as he 
held his plow on its steady course. She wished she 
might have helped Cynthy Ann in the kitchen, for then 
she could have seen him, but there was no chance for 
such a transfer. 
Thus the tedious afternoon wore away, and just as 
the sun was settling down so that the shadow of the elm 
iu the front-yard stretched across the road into the cow- 
pasture, the dead silence was broken. Julia had been 
wishing that somebody would speak. Her mother's 
sulky speechlessness was worse than her scolding, and 
Julia had even wished her to resume her storming. But 
the silence was broken by Cynthy Ann, who came into 
the hall and called, “ Jule, I wish you would ga to the 
barn and gather the eggs ; I want to make some cake.” 
Every evening of her life Julia gathered the eggs, and 
there was nothing uncommon in Cynthy Ann’s making 
cake, so that nothing could be more innocent than this 
request. Julia eat opposite the front-door, her mother 
sat fartheralong. Julia could see the face of Cynthy Ann. 
Iler mother could only hear the voice, which was dry and 
commonplace enough. Julia thought she detected some¬ 
thing peculiar in Cynthy’s manner. She would as soon 
have thought of the big oak gate-posts with their round 
ball-like heads telegraphing her in a sly way, as to have 
suspected any such craft on the part of Cynthy Ann, who 
was a good, pious, simple-hearted, Methodist old maid, 
strict with herself, and censorious toward others. But 
there stood Cynthy making some sort of gesture, which 
Julia took -to mean that she was to go quick. She did not 
dare to show any eagerness. She laid down her work, 
and moved away listlessly. And evidently she had been 
too slow". For if August had been in sight when Cynthy 
Ann called her, he had now disappeared on the other side 
of the hill. She loitered along, hoping that he would 
come in sight, but he did not, and then she almost 
smiled to think how foolish she had been in imagining 
that Cynthy Ann had any interest in her love-affair. 
Doubtless Cynthy sided with her mother. 
And so she climbed from mow to mow gathering the 
eggs. No place is sweeter than a mow, no occupation 
can be more delightful than gathering the fresh eggs— 
great glorious pearls, more beautiful than any that men 
dive for, despised only because they are so common and 
so useful! But Julia, gliding about noiselessly, did not 
think much of the eggs, did not give much attention to 
the hens scratching for wheat kernels amongst the 
straw, nor to the barn swallows chattering over the 
adobe dwellings which they were building among the 
rafters above her. She had often listened to the love- 
talk of these last, but now her heart was too heavy to 
hear. She slid down to the edge of one of the mows, 
and sat there a few feet above the threshing-floor with 
her bonnet in her hand, looking off sadly and vacantly. 
It was pleasant to sit here alone and think, without the 
feeling that her mother was penetrating her thoughts. 
A little rustle brought her to consciousness. Her face 
was fiery red in a minute. There, in one comer of the 
threshing-floor, stood August, gazing at her. He had 
come into the barn to find a single-tree in place of one 
which had broken. While he was looking for it, Julia 
had come, and he had stood and looked, unable to dccido 
whether to speak or not, uncertain how deeply she 
mignt be offended, since she had never once let her eyes 
rest on him at dinner. And when she had come to the 
edge of the mow and stopped there in a reverie, August 
had been utterly spell-bound. 
A minute she blushed. Then, perceiving her oppor¬ 
tunity, she dropped herself to the floor and walked up 
to August. 
“August, you are to be turned off to-morrow night.” 
“ What have I done ? Anything wrong ? ” 
“No.” 
“ Why do they send me away ? ” 
“ Because—because— ” Julia stopped. 
But silence is often better than speech. A sudden in¬ 
telligence came into the blue eyes of August. “They 
turn me off'because I love Jule Anderson.” 
Julia blushed just a little. 
“ I will love her all the same when I am gone. I will 
always love her.” 
Julia did not know what to say to this passionate 
speech, so she contented herself with looking a little 
grateful and very foolish. 
“ But I am only a poor boy, and a Dutchmanat that ”— 
he said this bitterly— 11 but if you will wait, Jule, I will 
show them I am of some account. Not g»od enough for 
you, but good enough for them. You will-” 
“ I will wait— -forever— for you. Gus.” Her head was 
down, and her voice could hardly be heard. “ Good-by.” 
She stretched out her hand, and he took it trembling. 
“ Wait a minute.” He dropped the hand and taking a 
' pencil wrote on a beam: 
“March 18th, 1843.” 
I “ There, that’s to remember the Dutchman by." 
I “ Don’t call yourself a Dutchman, August. One day 
in school, when I was sitting opposite to you. I learned 
this definition, ‘August: grand, magnificent,’ and I 
, looked at you and said, Yes, that ho is. August is grand 
and magnificent, and that’s what you are. You’re just 
grand 1 ” 
I do not think he was to blame. I am sure he was 
not responsible. It was done so quickly. He kissed 
her forehead and then her lips, and said good-by and was 
gone. And she, with her apron fall of eggs and her 
1 cheeks very red—it makes one warm to climb—went 
| back to the house, resolved in some way to thank 
Cynthy Ann for sending her, but Cynthy Ann’s face was 
so serious and austere in its look that Julia concluded 
she must have been mistaken, Cynthy Ann couldn’t 
have known that August was in the barn. For all she 
said was: 
“You got a right smart lot of eggs, didn’t you ? The 
hens is beginning to lay more peart since the warm 
spell sot in.” 
CHAPTER IV. 
A Counter-Irritant. 
“Vot you kits doornt off vor? Hey?” Gottlieb 
Wehle always spoke English, or what he called English, 
when he was angry. “Vot for ? Hey ? ” 
All the way home from Anderson’s on that Saturday 
night, August had been, in imagination, listening to the 
rough voice of his honest father asking this question, 
and he had been trying to find a satisfactory answer to 
it. He might say that Mr. Anderson did not want to 
keep a hand any longer. But that would not be true. 
And a young man with August’s clear blue eyes was not 
likely to lie. 
“Votvor ton’t you not slipeak? Can’t you virshta 
blain Eenglish ven you hears it? Hey? You a’n’t no 
teef vot shteels I shposes, unt you ton’t kit no troonks 
mit vishky? Vot you too tat you pe shamtof? Phi 
lazin’ rount ? Kon you nicli Eenglish shprachen ? Oot 
mit id do vonst! ” 
“ I did not do anything to be ashamed of,” said August. 
And yet he looked ashamed. 
“ You tidn’t pe no shamt, hey ? Youtidn’t! Vot vor 
you loogs so leig a teef in der bentenshry ? Vot for you 
sprachcn not mit mo ven ich sprachs der blainest zort ov 
Eenglish mit you ? You kooms sneaggin lieim Zaturtay 
nocht lcig a tog vots kot kigt, unt’s got his dail dween 
his leks ; and ven I aks you in blain Eenglish vot’s der 
madder, you loogs zheepish lcig, und says you a'n’t tun 
nodin. I zay you tun sompin. If you a’n’t tun nodin 
den, vy don’t you dell me vot it is dat you has tun? 
Hey?” 
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, mineknabe. ton'tshtand dare leig a 
vool. Vot tit Anterson zay ven ho shout you avay ? ” 
“ He said that I’d been seen a-talking to his daughter, 
Jule Anderson.” 
“Veil, you nebber said no hoorm doo Shule, tid you ? 
If I dought you said vot you zhoodn’t zay doo Sliulc, I 
vood shust drash you on der shpot! Tid you gwarl mit 
Shule, already ? ” 
[The above Story, “The tine! of llie 
World,” will be continued from where it leaves 
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