"
"He seems to be in such deep earnest."
"And that's the pity of it. It does no good to talk to him. He takes it
for granted that he should be persecuted. I believe he is ready to give
up everything for this creed that has him in its grasp."
A violent ringing of the bell brought Selma to the door. It was Henrik,
who had forgotten his latch key. He hung up his hat, wiped the
perspiration from his face, for it was a warm evening; then he said
cheerily:
"Spring is coming; I feel it in the air. I'll be glad to get out to
Nordal--there is so much to do this summer--"
"Young man," interrupted the sister, "we have been talking about you."
"About my wickedness, I suppose."
"About your foolishness. It isn't very pleasant for us--what you're
doing."
"What am I doing? That which is unkind to you, mother?" He placed his
arms lovingly around her shoulders, but she sat without replying, her
face in her handkerchief. He turned to Selma.
"What have I done?" he asked. "Do I drink? Do I gamble? Do I steal? Do I
lie? Do I profane? Do I treat any of you unkindly? Am I disrespectful to
my mother or my sister?"
"You associate with a people known everywhere as the scum of the earth,"
snapped the sister, as she stood in front of him.
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