When we had been about ten days at Salzbrun, a sad thing happened. Little Gretchen, the smiling _Madchen_ who used to fill up, from the spring which Frau Schimpf and I frequented, the glasses handed to her by the drinkers, was missing one morning; a stranger was in her place, and presently the story flew from mouth to mouth that the poor child had been knocked down by a runaway horse the previous evening; her leg was broken, and broken badly. Anna, who had come to do her work, said the little maiden was in sore pain, but brave and patient, and that the Herr Doctor had shaken his head and looked very grave about the accident. The morning sunshine shone less bright than usual that day to many who heard the tale, for Gretchen's modest behavior and pleasant courtesy had made her a favorite with all her customers. The livery music of the band failed to inspirit us, and when Emmie and I had taken our compulsory walk, and fetched in little paper bags the rolls that were to serve for our breakfast, we sat down sadly and gravely enough, at a little table under the shady trees, to drink our coffee. "Can't we do anything for Gretchen, uncle?" "We can give her some money," I suggested; "doctors cost more than she can afford, poor child." Just then Frau Schimpf, who was breakfasting at a table near us, and with whom Emmie had occasionally exchanged a few words, turned round and said something to her in German. And then followed a conversation, in the course of which my niece learnt fuller particulars of the recent accident. It appeared that Gretchen was the eldest child of a large family, and the only member of it besides the mother capable of earning anything. That mother was a widow, herself too delicate to be able to work much; and now the poor girl's weekly wage must cease, for she could never be well enough this summer to resume her post. "Even if she ever does get well enough," continued the German lady. "I have seen the Herr Doctor only this last half-hour, and he says her injuries are so severe he cannot yet tell whether she may not have to lose her leg, and then what would become of them? Gretchen, even with a wooden leg, would not be able to stoop fast enough to fill the visitors' glasses another season, and what else could she do? Besides," added the good woman reflectively, "a wooden leg is expensive; it wears out--you have to buy another. Gretchen is young; she may live long enough to need a dozen wooden legs before she dies, to say nothing of sticks and crutches." And as Emmie translated to me this dolorous suggestion, Frau Schimpf finished her repast and walked away.