When mother is
busy scrubbing the floor, little Asta must needs get hold of a wet rag
behind her back and slop away at a chair, until she has got herself in a
terrible mess, and then she gets smacked, and screams for a moment, but
soon runs out and sings herself happy again. When you're at work in
the smithy, there comes a sound of little feet, and "Father, come to
dinner"; and a little hand takes hold of you and leads you to the door.
"Are you going to bath me to-night, father?" Or "Here's your napkin,
father." And though there might be only potatoes and milk for dinner,
she would eat as if she were seated at the grandest banquet. "Aren't
potatoes and milk your favourite dish, father?" And she makes faces at
you in the eagerness of her questionings. At night she slept in a box
at the foot of our bed, and when I was lying sleepless, it would often
happen that her light, peaceful breathing filled me too with peace; and
it was as if her little hand took mine and led me on to sleep itself, to
beautiful, divine sleep.
And now, as I come to the thing that happened, I find it a little hard
to write--my hand begins to tremble. But my hope is that there may be
some comfort in it for you too, as there has proved to be for Merle and
me in the end.
Our next neighbours here were a brazier and his wife--poor folks, like
ourselves. Soon after we first came I went over to have a talk with him.
I found him a poor wizened little creature, pottering about with his
acids, and making a living as best as he could, soldering and tinning
kettles and pans.
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