So Greta Klein’s day began, much better than the winter days when there was a hunt for fuel, chiefly taken from the woods which did not now belong to them and where good trees would be missed. Fishing could be done by cutting the ice in the lake, but flour was often low and they lived on the cheapest of food.
The children had milk for their breakfast. Not until the ill-tempered man who actually ruled this family stirred and demanded something to eat did Greta cook the fish, dodging a slap from the great hand, so ready with a blow, and not daring to take a taste of the fish which she had caught. A glass of warm milk, taken from the pail before she brought it in, since objection might be made later, was a satisfying breakfast to Greta. She welcomed the order to go down the lake to the cottages, get the clothes from the one family who had the courage to give their washing to Mrs. Klein, and see what other cottages were occupied. Greta was to ask for more work.
As the patched clothes Greta wore were neither whole nor clean, Mrs. Klein brought out Greta’s best dress, a hideous plaid gingham with a tight waist and a full skirt, poorly gathered on. The only reason for this was that people would be more likely to send the washing if the girl asking the work looked fairly clean herself. “This ought to be washed, Mother,” said Greta, though in German.
“And wear it out!” replied her mother. “Talk your best English to them and get me two washings if you can. It is a lucky thing that you learned the English before you were sick.”
That was always a funny thing to Greta, that in some way she had learned English before she was sick, that sickness that was brain fever, she was told and made her forget all about when her little brother had been born and made her speak German so poorly, and yet she could speak English! She must have gone to school some time, though her mother would give her no satisfaction about when or where. “You have had enough schooling,” was all that she would say.
Nothing in the way of English papers or books were ever brought into the house, yet Greta saw both sometimes at the cottages where she took back or gathered the clothes. Her eyes devoured them while she waited, and if she edged near some table she could read a few lines. Once a woman asked her if she liked to read, and on the girl’s reply that she did, she handed her one of the newspapers. “We’ve read that. It’s several days old, for we have to get our papers by mail, but the news is fairly late.”