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. When
Gertrude found her thus grieving, she asked kindly what ailed her, and
again and again, she received only this sorrowful answer,

"I want my mother."

Gertrude drew the child tenderly towards her, caressing her, and
promising her that they would all go together some day to join her mother,
who had only gone on before, that she might get strong and well again. And
gradually this second mother grew to take the place of her own, and no
game, no amusement could draw the loving child away from Gertrude's side.
Only Dietrich could succeed in enticing her to go with him now and then.

The lad's love for his mother showed itself in a louder and more
demonstrative manner. He often threw his arms about her neck, crying
passionately,

"My mother belongs to me and to nobody else."

Then Veronica's brows would knit over her flashing eyes, until they formed
a long straight line across her face. But she did not speak. And Gertrude
would put one arm about the boy's neck and the other about the little
girl's, and say,

"You must not speak so, Dietrich. I belong to you both, and you both