on my aunt's baby daughter

on my aunt's baby daughter, said the cook, i would never, ever treat someone that way. she was leaning forward over the steam table, forearms resting on the shelf for the plates, looking at us. she was swearing, taking an oath, on the most sacred thing she knew: the precious wriggling girl born of her aunt. she herself is childless. this little girl, unknowing, had become the witness for her utter truthfulness. this baby was her bible. if anyone doubted her word, we were daring to doubt the purity and pricelessness of that baby girl!