She cooed to him in a babble of French and
German and English, calling him her lee-tel Oscar.
Bennie seemed miraculously to understand. Perhaps he was
becoming accustomed to having strange ladies snatch him
to their breasts.
"So," said Frau Nirlanger, looking up at us. "Is he
not sweet? He shall be my lee-tel boy, nicht? For one
small year he shall be my own boy. Ach, I am but lonely
all the long day here in this strange land. You will let
me care for him, nicht? And Konrad, he will be very angry,
but that shall make no bit of difference. Eh, Oscar?"
And so the thing was settled, and an hour later three
anxious-browed women were debating the weighty question
of eggs or bread-and-milk for Bennie's supper. Frau
Nirlanger was for soft-boiled eggs as being none too
heavy after orphan asylum fare; I was for bread-and-milk,
that being the prescribed supper dish for all the orphans
and waifs that I had ever read about, from "The Wide,
Wide World" to "Helen's Babies," and back again. Frau
Knapf was for both eggs and bread-and-milk with a dash of
meat and potatoes thrown in for good measure, and a slice
or so of Kuchen on the side. We compromised on one egg,
one glass of milk, and a slice of lavishly buttered
bread, and jelly.
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