We have moved. Papa says that with you in America and Johann in the army, we could no longer afford such a house.
After our move we had a fire. I was getting up from the table when I banged my head against the petroleum lamp. It fell on me and flames covered my arm. Mama snatched up the porridge and poured it over me. Papa rolled me in a blanket.
My arm is still tender but healing. Until it is better, I cannot play my violin. Since I sound so horrid without you, little is lost.
Tell brother William hello from me. Papa boxed my ears when I said William looks like Chancellor Bismarck!
Dein Bruder,
August
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