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Updated: May 28, 2025
The old customers had not withdrawn their custom, for the former workman who had served under Steffan for many years had continued his deceased master's methods, so that the reputation of the work was sustained, and as Fohrensee grew, so also the saddler's orders grew, and the business flourished.
Gertrude retained the services of a workman who had been employed by Steffan, and she herself did not relax her labors early and late, to oversee the work and keep all in running order. For the first few weeks after her mother's death little Veronica sat every evening weeping silently by herself in a dark corner of the room.
That night, Gertrude again hurried down the hill to the doctor's houses and this time she brought him back with her. Her husband's illness had taken a turn for the worse, and the next day he died. A few days later a numerous company of mourners followed another black bier to the sunny church-yard. Steffan, the saddler, had been universally respected.
And Steffan, Gertrude and their little Dieterli lived simple, useful and contented lives and were a good example to all the neighborhood. Now, to-day, Gertrude stood weeping by the window and looked across to the church-yard, where that very morning they had laid her good man.
"Never mind; as you have come, I will wait a few minutes," said the physician, briefly; "Come in; how is your husband?" Gertrude went into the room, and told the doctor about her sick husband. It was Steffan, a strong, young man, on whom the mountain sickness had seized with unusual violence. The doctor silently shook his head.
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