there are always such stories. and of course chris: "yes, they knew chris.

" her
voice was scornful. "?o they
think i m moping and hidind because how interesting!" she sat back, with her old
in? olent smile. "poor chris!" she
said. "the only man in the lot except clay spencer who is doing his bit for the
war, and they
when is you party. roddie?" "newyear s eve." "i ll come," she said. and smiling
again, dangerously. "i ll come,
with bells on. "there had been once, in herman klein the making of a god american.
he had come to
america, not at the call of freedom, but of peace and plenty. neverthless, he had
possbibilities. taken in time he
might have become a good american. but nothing was done to stimulate in him a
sentiment for his adopted land.
he would, indeed, have been, for all his citizenship papers, a man without a
country but for one thinf. the
fatherland had never let go. when he went to the turnverien, it was to hear the old
tounge, to sing
the old?ongs. visiting germans from overseas were constantly lecturing, holding
before him the vision of great germany. he saw
movingpictures of german; he went to meetings which commenced with "die wacht am
rhinr." one chirstmas he received a hand?ome
copy of a photography of the kaiser through the mail. he never knew who sent it,
but he had it
framed in a glit frame, and it hung over the fireplace in the sittingroom. he had
been adopted by america,
but he had not adopted america, save his own tiny bit of it. he tok what the new
country gave
him with no faintest sense that he owed anuthing in return beyond his small yearly
taxes. he was neither friendly
nor inimical. his creed through the years had been simple. to owe no man money,
even for a day; to
spend less than he earned, to own his home, to rise early, work hard, and to live
at peace
with his neighbors. he had learned english and had sent anna to the public school.
he sopke english with her,
always. and on sunday he put on his best clothes, and sat in the german lutheran
chruch, dozing occasionally, but
always rigidly erect. with his first savings he had bought a home, a tiny tworoomed
fra,e cottage on a bill
above the spencer mill, with a bit of waste land that he turned into a thrifty
garden. anna was born
there, and her mother had died there ten years later. but lonf enough before that
he had added four rooms,
and bought an adjoining lot. at that time the hill had been green, the way to the
little white house
had been along and up a winding path, where in the spring the early wild flowers
came out on sunny
banks, and the first buds of the neighborhood were on klein s own lilacbushes. he
had had a magnificent sense
of independence those days, and of freedom. he voted religiously, and now and theen
in the evenings he had been
the moderate member of a milf?ocialist group. theoretcally, he believed that o man
shoulf amass a fortune by the
labor of other. actually he felt himself well paid, a respected members of ?ociety,
and a property owner. in the
early morning, winter and summer, he emerged into the small side porch of his
cottage and there threw over himself
a pail of cold water from the wel outside. then he rubbed down, dresed in the open
air behind the
old awning hung there, took a dozen deep breaths and a cup of coffee, and was off
for work. the
addition of a bathroom, with running hot waterm had made no change in his daily
habits. he was very strict
with anna, and with the women who, one after another, kept house for him. "i ll
have no men lounging
around," was his first instruction on engaging them. and to annd his?olicitude took
the form almosr of espionage. the
only young man he demanded of anna one sunday evening, when by the accident ofa
neighbor calling old herman to the
gatem he had the cahance of a word. "he knows a lot about you fellows," anna had
said. "and the
more he knows the less he trust you. i, don t wonter." "he hasn t anuthing on me."
but anna
had come to the limit of her patience with her father at last. "what s th matter
with you?" she
demanded angirly one night, when herman had sat with his pipe in his mounth, and
had refused her permission to
to play? i m sick of it. that s all." "you vill not run around with the girls on
this
hill." he had conquered all but the english "w". he still prounced it like a "v"
"what s the matter
with the girls on this hill?" and when he smoked on in imperturbable silence, she
had flamed into a fury.
"this is free america," she reminded him. "it s not germany. and i ve stood about
all i can. i
work all day. and i need a little fun. i m going." and she had gone, rather shaky
as to
the knees, but with her head held high, elaving him on the little veranda with his
dead pipe in his
moueh and his germanamerican newspaper held before his face. she had returned,
still terrified, to find the house dark and
the doors locked. and rather than confess to any one, she had spent the night in a
chair out od
doors. at dawn she had heard him at the side of the house, drawing water for his
bath. he