I tell you, Pastor, it was months before we could rid the blankets of vermin.
Mrs. Brauer.
And the child, the poor little thing----! But after being bathed and fed, and lying there, between the clean white covers, we both stood over its bed--the little thing, with its pinched face, laughed at us and stretched out its tiny hands--my husband said to me: "Wife, I believe this is our share of all this sorrow and misery that heaven has sent us."
Brauer.
For you must know. Pastor, that our own daughter, Gertrude was then not yet born.
Mrs. Brauer.
No, not until three years later. Well, we bought the child from that miserable, drunken woman, in proper, legal form--determined and glad to get rid of her, for she did smell so of gin, I could not endure it any longer.
Brauer.
That is what the worst drunkards in these parts prefer to brandy.