Aunty could surely never have eaten sugar in her childhood, for she had
the most beautiful white teeth. She took great care of them, and she did not
sleep with them at night! - said Rasmussen the brewer. We children knew
that this was said in malice, but Aunty said he did not mean anything by it.
One morning, at the breakfast table, she told us of a terrible dream she
had had during the night, in which one of her teeth had fallen out.
“That means,” she said, “that I shall lose a true friend!”
“Was it a false tooth?” asked the brewer with a chuckle. “If so, it can only
mean that you will lose a false friend!”
“You are an insolent old man!” said Aunty, angrier than I had seen her
before or ever have since.
She later told us that her old friend had only been teasing her; he was the
finest man on earth, and when he died he would become one of God's little
angels in heaven.
I thought a good deal of this transformation, and wondered if I would be
able to recognize him in this new character.
When Aunty and he had been young, he had proposed to her. She had
settled down to think it over, had thought too long, and had become an old
maid, but always remained his true friend.
And then Brewer Rasmussen died. He was taken to his grave in the most
expensive hearse and was followed by a great number of folks, including
people with orders and in uniform.
Aunty stood dressed in mourning by the window, together with all of us
children, except our little brother, whom the stork had brought a week
before. When the hearse and the procession had passed and the street was
empty, Aunty wanted to go away from the window, but I did not want to; I
was waiting for the angel, Rasmussen the brewer; surely he had by now
become one of God's bewinged little children and would appear.
“Aunty,” I said, “don't you think that he will come now? Or that when the
stork again brings us a little brother, he'll then bring us the angel
