So it befell that Bertha was fascinated; that, blushing, she laughed back to him, and was nothing offended when, at his first sight of her, he rippled out at once into “Ahaha, du libra Ogostine.” Within two weeks he was closing his business (no intricate matter) every evening, to walk home with her, through the September moonlight. Then extraordinary things happened to the English language. “I ain'd nefer can like no foreigner!” she often joked back to a question of his. “Nefer, nefer! you t'ink I'm takin' up mit a hant-orkan maan, Mister Toby?” Whereupon he would carol out the tender taunt, “Ahaha, du libra Ogostine!” “Yoost a hant-orkan maan!” “No! _No_! No oragan! I am a greata--greata merchant. Vote a Republican! Polititshian! To-bigli, Chititzen Republican. Naturalasize! March in a parade!” Never lived native American prouder of his citizenship than this adopted one. Had he not voted at the election? Was he not a member of the great Republican party? He had eagerly joined it, for the reason that he had been a Republican in Italy, and he had drawn with him to the polls his second cousin, Leo Vesschi, and the five other Italians with whom he lived. For this, he had been rewarded by Pixley, his precinct committee-man, who allowed him to carry pink torches in three night processions. “You keeb oud politigs,” said Bertha, earnestly, one evening. “My uncle, Louie Gratz, he iss got a neighbour-lady; her man gone in politigs. After_vorts_ he git it! He iss in der bennidenshierry two years. You know why?” “Democrat!” shouted the chestnut vender triumphantly. “No, sir! Yoost politigs,” replied the unpartisan Bertha. “You keeb oud politigs.” _“Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Ogostine, Ogostine! Ahaha, du libra Ogostine, Nees coma ross.”_ The song was always a teasing of her and carried all his friendly laughter at her, because of her German ways; but it became softly exultant whenever she betrayed her interest in him. “Libra Ogostine, she afraid I go penitensh?” he inquired. “Me!” she jeered with uneasy laughter. “_I_ ain'd care! but you--you don' look oud, you git in dod voikhouse!” He turned upon her, suddenly, a face like a mother's, and touched her hand with a light caress. “I stay in a workhouse sevena-hunder' year,” he said gently, “you come seeta by window some-a-time.” At this Bertha turned away, was silent for a space, leaning on the gate-post in front of her uncle's house, whither they were now come. Finally she answered brokenly: “I ain'd sit by no vinder for yoost a jessnut maan.” This was her way of stimulating his ambition. “Ahaha!” he cried. “You don' know? I'm goin' buy beeg stan'! Candy! Peanut! Banan'! Make some-a-time four dollar a day! 'Tis a greata countra! Bimaby git a store! Ride a buggy! Smoke a cigar! You play piano! Vote a Republican!” “Toby!” “Tis true!” “Toby,” she said tearfully; “Toby, you voik hart, und safe your money?” “You help?” he whispered.