University of Virginia Library

4. 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.

“Vot vor ton't you not shpeak? 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 shamt of? Pin lazin' rount? Kon you nicht
Eenglish shprachen? Oot mit id do vonst!”

“I did not do anything to be ashamed of,” said August. And
yet he looked ashamed.

[ILLUSTRATION]

GOTTLIEB.

[Description: 555EAF. Page 036. In-line image of the head and shoulders of a man with white whiskers.]

“You tidn't pe no shamt, hey? You tidn't! Vot vor you
loogs so leig a teef in der bentenshry? Vot for you sprachen
not mit me ven ich sprachs der blainest zort ov Eenglish mit
you? You kooms sneaggin heim Zaturtay nocht leig 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
leig, 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, 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 disgraeed, he or Julia, by their little
love affair.

But more comforting still was the quiet look of his sweetfaced
mother, who, moving about among her throng of children
like a hen with more chickens than she can hover,[1] never
forgot to be patient and affectionate. If there had been a look
of reproach on the face of the mother, it would have been the
hardest trial of all. But there was that in her eyes—the dear
Moravian mother—that gave courage to August. The mother
was an outside conscience, and now as Gottlieb, who had lapsed

into German for his wife's benefit, rattled on his denunciation of
this Canaanitish Yankee, with whom his son was in love, the
son looked every now and then into the eyes, the still German
eyes of the mother, and rejoiced that he saw there no reflection
of his father's rebuke. The older Wehle presently resumed his
English, such as it was, as better adapted to scolding. Whether
he thought to make his children love German by abusing them
in English, I do not know, but it was his habit.

“I dells you tese Yangees is Yangees. Dere neber voz
put shust von cood vor zompin. Antrew Antershon is von.
He shtaid mit us ven ve vos all zick, unt he is zhust so cood as
if he was porn in Deutschland. Put all de rest is Yangees.
Marry a Deutsche vrau vot's kot cood sense to ede kraut unt
shleep unter vedder peds ven it's kalt. Put shust led de Yangees
pe Yangees.”

Seeing August put on his hat and go to the door, he called
out testily:

“Vare you koes, already?”

“Over to the castle.”

“Vell, das is koot. Ko doo de gassel. Antrew vill dell you
vat sorts de Yangee kirls pe!”