Nuessler, and a jug of milk for the children. When everything was neatly
arranged on a white table cloth, she placed a seat for her brother, and
lifting her little niece, chair and all, put her beside her father. Then
she set to work and cut slices of bread, and poured out the beer, and
saw that there was enough for everybody.
"I'll be ready to give you something presently," she said, stroking her
little girls' flaxen heads fondly, "but I must see to your little cousin
first. Here's a chair for you, Braesig--Come, Joseph." "All right," said
Joseph, blowing a last long cloud of smoke out of the left corner of his
mouth, and then dragging his chair forward, half sitting on it all the
time. "Charles," said Braesig, "I can recommend these sausages. Your
sister, Mrs. Nuessler, makes them most capitally, and I've often told my
housekeeper that she ought to ask for the receipt, for you see the old
woman mixes up all sorts of queer things that oughtn't to go together at
all; in short, the flavor is very extraordinary and not in the least
what it ought to be, although each of the ingredients separately is
excellent, and made of a pig properly fattened on peas." "Mother, give
Braesig some more beer," said Joseph. "No more, thank you, Mrs. Nuessler.
May I ask for a little kuemmel instead? Charles, since the time that I
was learning farming at old Knirkstaedt with you, and that rascal
Pomuchelskopp, I've always been accustomed to drink a tiny little glass
of kuemmel at breakfast and supper, and it agrees with me very well, I am
thankful to say.
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