"They turn me off because I love Jule Anderson." [Illustration: A LITTLE RUSTLE BROUGHT HER TO CONSCIOUSNESS.] 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 Dutchman at that"-- he said this bitterly--"but if you will wait, Jule, I will show them I am of some account.

Not good 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." "There, that's to remember the Dutchman by." "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 he is.