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And then he took them both into his arms and squeezed them a little so that Arthur's poetry was crushed right down the middle. That was a misfortune, to be sure. But Papa consoled the boy, saying that he would be responsible since it was his fault. Brueggemann, the long, lean private tutor, now stuck his head in the door, too.
There were many good things, among them a brown knitted sweater, such as she had long desired, for in the kitchen an east wind was wont to blow through the cracks. Mrs. Poensgen saw the sweater as rapidly as Brueggemann had seen the purse. And when Brigitta said: "That is, of course, from Mamma," the old woman was not in the least surprised.
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