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 disgraced, he or Julia, by their little love affair.
But more comforting still was the quiet look of his sweet-faced 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.