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"Oh, Mr. Stiffelkind," said I, "don't laugh at my misery: she has not left me a single shilling under heaven. And I shall starve: I do believe I shall starve." And I began to cry fit to break my heart. "Starf! stoff and nonsense! You vill never die of starfing you vill die of HANGING, I tink ho! ho! and it is moch easier vay too."
The mother caught her little girl to her, sinking down upon her knees, putting her arms around her, holding her close. "No, no, gry all so mudge es you want. Say dot you are hongry. Say ut egen, say ut all de dime, ofer end ofer egen. Say ut, poor, starfing, leedle babby. Oh, mein poor, leedle tochter. My Gott, oh, I go crazy bretty soon, I guess. I cen't hellup you.
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