“Woe to me!” sobbed Hanneh Breineh. “To my bitter luck there ain’t no end. With all my other troubles, the stove got broke. I lighted the fire to boil the clothes, and it’s to get choked with smoke. I paid rent only a week ago, and the agent don’t want to fix it. A thunder should strike him! He only comes for the rent, and if anything has to be fixed, then he don’t want to hear nothing. “Why comes it to me so hard?” went on Hanneh Breineh, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t stand it no more. I came into you for a minute to run away from my troubles. It’s only when I sit myself down to peel potatoes or nurse the baby that I take time to draw a breath, and beg only for death.” Mrs. Pelz, accustomed to Hanneh Breineh’s bitter outbursts, continued her scrubbing. “Ut!” exclaimed Hanneh Breineh, irritated at her neighbor’s silence, “what are you tearing up the world with your cleaning? What’s the use to clean up when everything only gets dirty again?” “I got to shine up my house for the holidays.” “You’ve got it so good nothing lays on your mind but to clean your house. Look on this little blood-sucker,” said Hanneh Breineh, pointing to the wizened child, made prematurely solemn from starvation and neglect. “Could anybody keep that brat clean? I wash him one minute, and he is dirty the minute after.” Little Sammy grew frightened and began to cry. “Shut up!” ordered the mother, picking up the child to nurse it again. “Can’t you see me take a rest for a minute?” The hungry child began to cry at the top of its weakened lungs. “Na, na, you glutton.” Hanneh Breineh took out a dirty pacifier from her pocket and stuffed it into the baby’s mouth. The grave, pasty-faced infant shrank into a panic of fear, and chewed the nipple nervously, clinging to it with both his thin little hands. “For what did I need yet the sixth one?” groaned Hanneh Breineh, turning to Mrs. Pelz. “Wasn’t it enough five mouths to feed? If I didn’t have this child on my neck, I could turn myself around and earn a few cents.” She wrung her hands in a passion of despair. “Gottuniu! The earth should only take it before it grows up!” “Shah! Shah!” reproved Mrs. Pelz. “Pity yourself on the child. Let it grow up already so long as it is here. See how frightened it looks on you.” Mrs. Pelz took the child in her arms and petted it. “The poor little lamb! What did it done you should hate it so?” Hanneh Breineh pushed Mrs. Pelz away from her. “To whom can I open the wounds of my heart?” she moaned. “Nobody has pity on me. You don’t believe me, nobody believes me until I’ll fall down like a horse in the middle of the street. Oi weh! Mine life is so black for my eyes! Some mothers got luck. A child gets run over by a car, some fall from a window, some burn themselves up with a match, some get choked with diphtheria; but no death takes mine away.”