Pat—Thot we did, Katie darlint. ’Twas foine.
Bridget—Illigant!
Mr. Opperman—It vos von britty zight, aretty.
Chloe—And to tink dey-all larn dat in de school!
Carlotta—It is da poetry and da music and da rhythm, all in one-a.
Lars—And zey bane (points as he counts) one, two, tree, four, fife nations. And all bane learning und singing like one. (It would be nice to have Lars count in Swedish, if he can—the author cannot.)
Pompey—But dey-all all like heah in de Nof. Black or white, all same as one.
Bridget—They are that same, in this blissid counthry. Here’s your little pickaninnies, and the little Swades, the Eyetalian childher and the Germans, and me own little Irish colleens, all aloike good frinds, and singing all togither the Christmas songs.
Connie—We aren’t Irish and Naygurs and Swades and sich, mither, we’re Americans, ivery wan av us. Tacher says so.
Pat—And so yez are, God bliss yez, ivery one. Sing thot song ye larned in school—“My Own America, I Love but Thee.”[B]