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Cornelli

by Johanna Spyri · English · Gutenberg #6380 · 288,315 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Cornelli

Author: Johanna Spyri


        
Release date: August 1, 2004 [eBook #6380]
                Most recently updated: July 21, 2023

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CORNELLI ***




CORNELLI

By JOHANNA SPYRI





FOREWORD


Many writers have suffered injustice in being known as the author of
but one book. Robinson Crusoe was not Defoe’s only masterpiece, nor
did Bunyan confine his best powers to Pilgrim’s Progress. Not one
person in ten of those who read Lorna Doone is aware that several of
Blackmore’s other novels are almost equally charming. Such, too, has
been the fate of Johanna Spyri, the Swiss authoress, whose reputation
is mistakenly supposed to rest on her story of Heidi.

To be sure, Heidi is a book that in its field can hardly be overpraised.
The winsome, kind-hearted little heroine in her mountain background
is a figure to be remembered from childhood to old age. Nevertheless,
Madame Spyri has shown here but one side of her narrative ability.

If, as I believe, the present story is here first presented to readers
of English, it must be through a strange oversight, for in it we find
a deeper treatment of character, combined with equal spirit and humor
of a different kind. Cornelli, the heroine, suffers temporarily from
the unjust suspicion of her elders, a misfortune which, it is to be
feared, still occurs frequently in the case of sensitive children. How
she was restored to herself and reinstated in her father’s affection
forms a narrative of unusual interest and truth to life. Whereas in
Heidi there is only one other childish figure--if we except the droll
peasant boy Peter--we have here a lively and varied array of children.
Manly, generous Dino; Mux, the irrepressible; and the two girls form
a truly lovable group. The grown-ups, too, are contrasted with much
humor and genuine feeling. The story of Cornelli, therefore, deserves
to equal Heidi in popularity, and there can be no question that it
will delight Madame Spyri’s admirers and will do much to increase the
love which all children feel for her unique and sympathetic genius.

CHARLES WHARTON STORK




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

  I. BESIDE THE ROARING ILLER-STREAM
  II. UP IN THE TOP STORY
  III. NEW APPEARANCES IN ILLER-STREAM
  IV. THE UNWISHED-FOR HAPPENS
  V. A NEWCOMER IN ILLER-STREAM
  VI. A FRIEND IS FOUND
  VII. A NEW SORROW
  VIII. A MOTHER
  IX. A GREAT CHANGE
  X. NEW LIFE IN ILLER-STREAM




CHAPTER I

BESIDE THE ROARING ILLER-STREAM


Spring had come again on the banks of the Iller-Stream, and the young
beech trees were swaying to and fro. One moment their glossy foliage
was sparkling in the sunshine, and the next a deep shadow was cast
over the leaves. A strong south wind was blowing, driving huge clouds
across the sun.

A little girl with glowing cheeks and blowing hair came running through
the wood. Her eyes sparkled with delight, while she was being driven
along by the wind, or had to fight her way against it. From her arm
was dangling a hat, which, as she raced along, seemed anxious to free
itself from the fluttering ribbons in order to fly away. The child now
slackened her pace and began to sing:

  The snow’s on the meadow,
    The snow’s all around,
  The snow lies in heaps
    All over the ground.
      Hurrah, oh hurrah!
    All over the ground.

  Oh cuckoo from the woods,
    Oh flowers so bright,
  Oh kindliest sun,
    Come and bring us delight!
      Hurrah, oh hurrah!
    Come and bring us delight!

  When the swallow comes back
    And the finches all sing,
  I sing and I dance
    For joy of the Spring.
      Hurrah, oh hurrah!
    For joy of the Spring.

The woods rang with her full, young voice, and her song also roused
the birds, for they, too, now carolled loudly, ready to outdo each
other. Laughingly the child sang once more with all her might:

    Hurrah, oh hurrah!
  For joy of the Spring.

and from all the branches sounded a many voiced chorus.

Right on the edge of the woods stood a splendid old beech tree with
a high, firm trunk, under which the child had often sought quiet and
shelter after running about in the sun. She had reached the tree now
and was looking up at the far-spreading branches, which were rocking
up and down.

The child, however, did not rest very long. Over where the wind struck
an open space, it blew as mightily as ever, and the roaring, high up
in the tree-tops, seemed to urge her on to new exertions. First she
began fighting her way against the wind, but soon she turned. Driven
by it, she flew down the steep incline to the path which led down to
the narrow valley. She kept on running till she had reached a small
wooden house, which looked down from a high bank to the roaring mountain
stream. A narrow stairway led up from the ground to the front door of
the little dwelling and to the porch, where on a wide railing were
some fragrant carnations.

The lively little girl now leaped up the steps, two at a time. Soon
she reached the top, and one could see that the house was familiar to
her.

“Martha, Martha, come out!” she called through the open door. “Have
you noticed yet how jolly the wind is to-day?”

A small old woman with gray hair now came out to greet the child. She
was dressed in the simplest fashion, and wore a tight-fitting cap on
her head. Her clothes were so very tidy and clean, however, that it
seemed as if she might have sat on a chair all day for fear of spoiling
them. Yet her hands told another tale, for they were roughened by hard
work.

“Oh, Martha,” the child said, “I just wish you knew how wonderful the
wind is to-day up there in the woods and on the hill. One has to fight
it with all one’s might, otherwise one might be blown down the mountain
side like a bird. It would be so hard then to get on one’s feet again,
wouldn’t it? Oh, I wish you knew what fun it is to be out in the wind
to-day.”

“I think I would rather not know,” said Martha, shaking the child’s
hand. “It seems to me that the wind has pulled you about quite a little.
Come, we’ll straighten you up again.”

The child’s thick dark hair was in a terrible state. What belonged on
the left side of the parting had been blown to the right, and what
belonged on the right side was thrown to the left. The little apron,
instead of being in front, hung down on the side, and from the bottom
of her skirt the braid hung loose, carrying upon it brambles and forest
leaves. First Martha combed the little girl’s hair, then she pulled
the apron into place. Finally she got a thread and needle and began
to mend the braid on the dress.

“Stop, Martha, stop, please!” Cornelli called out suddenly, pulling
her skirt away. “You must not sew, for your finger is all pricked to
pieces. There is only half of it left with those horrible marks.”

“That does not matter; just give me your little skirt,” replied Martha,
continuing her sewing. “This kind of work does not hurt me; but when
I sew heavy shirts for the farmers and the workmen in the iron works
the material is so rough that, as I push the needle in, I often prick
off little pieces of my finger.”

“Why should you have to do that, Martha? They could make their own
shirts and prick their own fingers,” cried Cornelli indignantly.

“No, no, Cornelli; do not speak like that,” replied the woman. “You
see, I am glad and grateful to be able to get work enough to earn my
living without help. I have to be thankful to our Lord for all the
good things he gives me, and especially for giving me enough strength
for my work.”

Cornelli looked about her searchingly, in the little room. It was
modestly furnished, but most scrupulously clean.

“I do not think that God gave you so very much, really, but you keep
everything so neat, and do it all yourself,” remarked Cornelli.

“I have to thank our Lord, though, that I am able to do it,” returned
Martha. “You see, Cornelli, if I had not the health to do everything
the way I like it done, who could do it for me? It is a great gift to
be able to step out every morning into the sunshine and to my
carnations. Then I thank God in my heart for the joy of a new day
before me. There are many poor people who wake up only to sorrow and
tears. They have to spend all day on their sick beds and have many
troubles besides. Can you see now, Cornelli, how grateful I have to
be to our Lord because nothing prevents me from sewing, even if I have
to prick my fingers? But I believe I hear the bell in the foundry. You
know that means supper time, so run back to the house as quickly as
you can.”

Martha knew well enough that she had to remind her little friend about
returning, for often time had been forgotten and Cornelli had had to
be sent for. But now the little girl began to run swiftly down the
incline beside the rushing stream. Soon she came to the large buildings
from which the sound of hissing fires, loud thumping and hammering
could be heard all day. The noise was so great that only the roaring
of the stream could drown it. Here were the works of the great iron
foundry, well known far and wide, since most of those who lived in the
neighborhood found employment there.

Glancing at the large doors and seeing that they were closed, Cornelli
flew by them with great bounds. In an isolated house, well raised above
the stream, lived the proprietor of the foundry. Beautiful flower
gardens were on three sides.

Cornelli approached the open space in front and was soon inside.
Flinging her hat into a corner, she entered the room where her father
was already sitting at table. He did not even look up, for he was
holding a large newspaper in front of him. As Cornelli’s soup was
waiting for her, she ate it quickly, and since her father made no
movement behind his paper, she helped herself to everything else that
was before her.

While she was nibbling on an apple, her father looked up and said: “I
see that you have caught up with me, Cornelli. You even seem to be
further along than I am. Just the same you must not come late to your
meals. It is not right, even if you get through before me. Well, as
long as you have finished, you can take this letter to the post office.
There is something in it which concerns you and which will please you.
I have to go now, but I shall tell you about it to-night.”

Cornelli was given the letter. Taking the remainder of her apple with
her, she ran outside. With leaps and bounds she followed the rushing
Iller-Stream, till the narrow path reached the wide country road. Here
stood the stately inn, which was the post office of the place. In the
open doorway stood the smiling and rotund wife of the innkeeper.

“How far are you going at this lively pace?” she smilingly asked the
child.

“I am only coming to you,” Cornelli replied. She was very much out of
breath, so she paused before adding: “I have to mail a letter.”

“Is that so? Just give it to me and we’ll attend to it,” said the
woman. Holding the hand the child had offered her, she added: “You are
well off, Cornelli, are you not? You do not know what trouble is, do
you, child?”

Cornelli shook her head.

“Yes, of course. And why should you? It does one good to see your
bright eyes. Come to see me sometimes; I like to see a happy child
like you.”

Cornelli replied that she would gladly come again. She really meant
to do so, for the woman always spoke kindly to her. After saying
good-bye, she ran away again, jumping and bounding as before. The
innkeeper’s wife meantime muttered to herself, while she looked after
Cornelli: “I really think there is nothing better than to be always
merry.”

The contents of the letter, which the little girl had taken to be
mailed, were as follows:

ILLER-STREAM, 28th of April, 18--.

MY DEAR COUSIN:

My trip to Vienna, which I have put off again and again, at last has
to be made. As I must leave in the near future, I am asking you the
great favor of spending the summer here to superintend my household.
I am counting greatly on your good influence on my child, who has had
practically no education, although Miss Mina, my housekeeper, has of
course done her best, with the help of our good Esther, who reigns in
the kitchen. Old Martha, a former nurse of my poor dead wife, has done
more than anybody else. Of course one can hardly call it education,
and I have to blame myself for this neglect. As I am so busy with my
affairs, I do not see much of my child. Besides, I know extremely
little about bringing up little girls. There is no greater misfortune
than the loss of a mother, especially such a mother as my Cornelia.
It was terrible for my poor child to lose her at the tender age of
three. Please bring a good friend with you, so that you won’t suffer
from solitude in this lonely place.

Please gladden me soon by your arrival, and oblige

Your sincere cousin,

FREDERICK HELLMUT.

That same evening, when Director Hellmut was sitting in the living
room with his daughter, he spoke of his hope that a cousin of his,
Miss Kitty Dorner, would come to stay in Iller-Stream while he was on
his trip to Vienna. He also told Cornelli to be glad of this prospect.

After a few days came the following answer:

B----, The 4th of May, 18--.

MY DEAR COUSIN:

To oblige you I shall spend the summer at your house. I have already
planned everything and I have asked my friend Miss Grideelen to
accompany me. I am very grateful that you realize how monotonous it
would have been for me to stay alone in your house all summer. You do
not need to have such disturbing thoughts about your daughter’s
education. No time has yet been lost, for these small beings do not
need the best of care at the start. They require that only when they
are ripe enough for mental influences. Such small creatures merely
vegetate, and I am quite sure Miss Mina was the right person to look
after the child’s well-being and proper nourishment. Esther, who you
say is very reliable, too, has probably helped in taking care of the
child as much as was necessary. The time may, however, have come now
when the child is in need of a proper influence in her education.

We shall not arrive before the last week of this month, for it would
be inconvenient for me to come sooner.

With best regards,

I am your cousin,

KITTY DORNER.

“Your cousin is really coming, Cornelli, and I am certain that you are
happy now,” said her father. He had read the letter while they were
having supper. “Another lady is coming, too, and with their arrival
a new delightful life will begin for you.”

Cornelli, who had never before heard anything about this relation of
her father’s, felt no joy at this news. She did not see anything
pleasing in the prospect. On the contrary, it only meant a change in
the household, which she did not in the least desire. She wanted
everything to remain as it was. She had no other wish.

Cornelli saw her father only at meals, for he spent all the rest of
his time in his business offices and in the extensive works. But the
child never felt lonely or forsaken. She always had many plans, and
there was hardly a moment when she was not occupied. Her time between
school hours always seemed much too short and the evenings only were
half as long as she wanted them to be. It was then that she loved to
walk and roam around. Her father had barely left the room, when she
again ran outside and, as usual, down the path.

At that moment the energetic Esther was coming from the garden with
a large basket on her arm. She had wisely picked some vegetables for
the following day.

“Don’t go out again, Cornelli,” she said. “Just look at the gray clouds
above the mountain! I am afraid we shall have a thunderstorm.”

“Oh, I just have to go to Martha,” replied Cornelli quickly. “I must
tell her something, and I don’t think a storm will come so soon.”

“Of course it won’t come for a long while,” called Miss Mina. Through
the open door she had overheard the warning and had stepped outside
to say: “Just go to Martha, Cornelli; the storm won’t come for a long
time, I am sure.”

So the child flew away while Esther passed Miss Mina, silently shrugging
her shoulders. That was always the way it happened when Cornelli wanted
anything. If Miss Mina thought that something should not be done,
Esther always arrived, saying that nothing on earth would be easier
than to do that very thing. Or, if she thought that Cornelli should
not do a thing, Miss Mina always helped to have it put through. The
reason for this was a very simple one: each of them wanted to be the
favorite with the child.

Cornelli, arriving at Martha’s house, shot up the stairs and into the
little room. Full of excitement, she called out: “Just think, Martha,
two strange people are coming to our house. They are two ladies from
the city, and father said that I should be glad; but I am not a bit
glad, for I do not know them. Would you be glad, Martha, if two new
people suddenly came to visit you?”

The child had to take a deep breath. She had been running fast and had
spoken terribly quickly.

“Just sit down here with me, Cornelli, and get your breath again,”
said Martha quietly. “I am sure that somebody is coming whom your
father loves, otherwise he would not tell you to be glad. When you
know them, I am sure you will feel happy.”

“Yes, perhaps. But what are you writing, Martha? I have never before
seen you write,” said the child, full of interest, for her thoughts
had been suddenly turned.

“Writing is not easy for me,” answered Martha, “and you could do it
so much better than I can. It is a long time since I have written
anything.”

“Just give it to me, Martha, and I’ll write for you if you will only
tell me what.” Cornelli readily took hold of the pen and dipped it
into the bottom of the inkstand.

“I’ll tell you about it and then you can write it in your own way; I
am sure that you can do it better than I can,” said Martha, quite
relieved. She had been sitting for a long time with a pen in her hand,
absolutely unable to find any beginning.

“You see, Cornelli,” she began, “I have been getting along so well
with my work lately that I have been able to buy a bed. For a long
time I have wanted to do that, for I already had a table and two chairs,
besides an old wardrobe. Now I have put them all into my little room
upstairs, so that I can take somebody in for the summer. Sometimes
delicate ladies or children come out of town to the country, and I
could take such good care of them. I am always at home and I could do
my usual work besides. You see, Cornelli, I wanted to put this in the
paper, but I do not know how to do it and how to begin.”

“Oh, I’ll write it so plainly that somebody is sure to come right
away,” Cornelli replied, full of zeal. “But first of all, let us look
at the little room! I am awfully anxious to see it.”

Martha was quite willing, so she led the way up a narrow stairway into
the little chamber.

“Oh, how fine it is, how lovely!” exclaimed Cornelli, running, full
of admiration, from one corner to the other. Martha had in truth fixed
it so daintily that it looked extremely pleasing. Around the windows
she had arranged curtains of some thin white material with tiny blue
flowers, and the same material had been used to cover an old wooden
case. This she had fixed as a dainty washstand. The bed and two old
chairs were likewise covered; the whole effect was very cheerful and
inviting.

“Oh, how pretty!” Cornelli exclaimed over and over again. “How could
you ever do it, Martha, or have so much money?”

“Oh no, no, it was not much, but just enough for the bed and a little
piece of material. I got the stuff very cheap, because it was a remnant.
So you really do not think it is bad, child? Do you think that somebody
would like to live here?” Martha was examining every object she had
so carefully worked over.

“Yes, of course, Martha, you can believe me,” Cornelli replied
reassuringly. “I should just love to come right away, if I did not
live here already. But now I shall write, for I know exactly what I
shall say.” Cornelli, running down stairs, dipped her pen into the ink
and began to write.

“But do not forget to say that it is in the country, and tell the name
of the place here, so that they can find me,” said Martha, fearing she
had set Cornelli a very difficult task.

“That is true, I have to say that, too,” remarked Cornelli. When she
had written the ending she began to read aloud: “If somebody should
want a nice room, he can have it with Martha Wolf. She will take good
care of delicate ladies or children and will see that they will be
comfortable. Everything is very neat and there are lovely new blue and
white covers on everything. It is in the country, in Iller-Stream,
beside the Iller-Stream, quite near the large iron works.”

Martha was thoroughly pleased. “You have said everything so clearly
that one can easily understand it,” she remarked. “I could not have
said it myself, you see, for it would have seemed like boasting. Now
if I only knew where to send it for the paper. I do not know quite
what address to write on it.”

“Oh, I know quite well what to do,” Cornelli reassured her friend, “I
shall take it quickly to the post office. Sometimes when I have taken
letters there, I have heard people say to the innkeeper: ‘This must
be put in the paper.’ Then he took it and said: ‘I’ll look after it.’
Now I shall do the same. Just give it to me, Martha.”

Once more the woman glanced through what had been written. It seemed
very strange to her that her name was going to appear in the newspaper,
but, of course, it was necessary.

“No, no, my good child,” she replied, “you have done enough for me
now. You have helped me wonderfully, and I do not want you to go there
for me. But your advice is good and I shall take the paper there
myself.”

“Oh yes, and I’ll come, too,” said Cornelli delightedly. She knew no
greater pleasure than to take a walk with her old friend, for Martha
always discovered such interesting things and could point them out to
Cornelli, telling her many, many things about them. In many places
Martha would be reminded of Cornelli’s mother; then with great
tenderness she would tell the child about her. Martha was the only one
who ever talked to Cornelli about her mother. Her father never spoke
of her; and Esther, who had been in their service for a long time,
always replied when the child wanted to talk to her about her mother:
“Do not talk, please; it only makes one sad. People shouldn’t stir up
such memories.”

“So you are coming, too?” Martha said happily. It was her greatest joy
to take a walk with her small, merry companion. Cornelli hung on her
arm, and together they wandered forth in the beautiful evening. The
storm clouds had passed over, and towards the west the sky was flaming
like fiery gold.

“Do you think, Martha, that my mother can see the golden sky as well
from inside as we see it from the outside?” asked the child, pointing
to the sunset.

“Yes, I am quite sure of that, Cornelli,” Martha eagerly answered. “If
our dear Lord lets his dwelling glow so beautifully from outside, just
think how wonderful it must be inside where the blessed are in their
happiness!”

“Why are they so glad?” Cornelli wanted to know.

“Oh, because they are freed from all sorrow and pain. They are also
glad because they know that every pain or sorrow their loved ones on
earth have to bear is only a means to bring their prayers to Him who
alone can guide them to Heaven.”

“Did my mother pray to Him, too?” asked Cornelli again.

“Yes, yes, Cornelli, you can be sure of that,” Martha reassured her.
“Your mother was a good, pious lady. Everybody should pray to be able
to go where she is.”

The two now reached the post office and gave their message to the
innkeeper and postmaster. When twilight had come and the evening bell
had long ago rung, they wandered back along the pleasant valley road
between green meadows.




CHAPTER II

UP IN THE TOP STORY


One bright morning in May, a portly gentleman, leaning heavily on a
gold-headed cane, was walking up the narrow city street. The houses
here were so high that the upper windows could scarcely be seen from
below. A steep rise in the street caused the gentleman to stop from
time to time to get his breath. Scrutinizing the house numbers, he
said to himself several times: “Not yet, not yet.” Then, climbing up
still higher, he at last reached a house beside whose open door six
bells were hanging.

The gentleman now began to study the names under the bells, meanwhile
gravely shaking his head, for he did not seem to find the name he was
seeking.

“Oh dear, at last! and the highest one up, too,” he sighed, while he
entered the house. Now the real climbing began. At first the steps,
though rather high, were white and neat. But after a while they became
dark and narrow, and in the end the way led over worn, uneven steps
to a narrow door. The only standing room was on the last small step.

“Is this a cage?” said the climber to himself, breathing hard and
holding fast to the railing. The thin and creaking steps seemed to him
extremely unsafe. After he had pulled the bell-rope, the door opened,
and a lady dressed in black stood before him.

“Oh, is it you, kind guardian?” she exclaimed with astonishment. “I
am so sorry that you had to come up these winding steps,” she added,
for she noticed that the stout gentleman had to wipe his face after
the great exertion. “I should have been very glad to go down to you,
if you had let me know that you were here.” The lady meanwhile had led
the gentleman into the room and asked him to seat himself.

“As your guardian I simply had to come once to see you,” he declared,
seating himself on an old sofa and still leaning with both hands on
the golden knob of his cane. “I have to tell you, my dear Mrs. Halm,
that I am sorry you moved to town. You should have followed my advice
and lived in a small house in the country. It would have been so much
more practical for you than to live in this garret lodging where you
have no conveniences whatever. I am quite sure that the country air
would have been much better for both you and the children.”

“I could not think about conveniences for myself, when my husband died,
and I had to leave the parsonage, Mr. Schaller,” replied the lady,
with a faint smile. “The country air would naturally have been much
better for my children, especially for my older boy. But he had to
come to town on account of school, and I could not possibly have sent
him away from me, delicate as he is. Besides----”

“There are boarding places in town where such boys are well taken care
of,” the visitor interrupted. “What other reasons did you have?”

“My girls, too, are old enough to learn something which they can make
use of later on,” continued the lady. “You know that this is necessary
and that it is very hard to get such opportunities in the country. I
hope I have persuaded you that coming to town with the children was
not a foolish undertaking. I am extremely glad that you have given me
an opportunity to explain why I did not follow your advice.”

“What are your daughters going to learn?” the gentleman asked abruptly.

“Nika, the elder, paints quite well,” replied the lady, “and Agnes has
a decided talent for music. If both girls are earnest in their studies,
they hope later on to be able to teach; indeed, they are very anxious
to do so.”

“These arts do not bring good returns, even after years and years of
study,” said the gentleman. “It would be much more sensible for the
sisters to busy themselves with dressmaking. They could quickly begin
a business in which they might help each other and make some money.
This would really help both you and your son a great deal. If your boy
is going to study, it will be a long time before he can be independent.”

The parson’s widow looked sadly in front of her without saying a word.

“Please do not misunderstand me. I am only speaking in your and your
children’s interest,” the gentleman began again. “I am very sorry not
to have met your daughters, for they would soon have agreed with me,
if they had heard my reasons. Nowadays young people understand quite
well what it means to make one’s way easily and advantageously. You
can be sure of that.”

“My children may still be a little backward in this knowledge. They
may, through the influence of their parents, still care for the things
which you call the breadless arts,” said the lady with a sigh. “But
I shall make my children acquainted with your ideas and I shall try
to speak to them according to your views, at least as far as I am
able.”

“How old is the eldest? She ought to be old enough to understand my
reasons,” remarked the gentleman.

“Nika is in her fourteenth year. Her education is, of course, still
incomplete in many ways,” replied the lady. “Dino is twelve and Agnes
eleven years old. The latter must first of all complete her compulsory
school years.”

“Still rather young people,” said Mr. Schaller, shaking his head. “I
am sure of one thing, however. The longer their education will take,
the shorter should be the ways to the goal. I am more and more convinced
that my advice is right. If you give your little daughters into the
hands of a clever dressmaker, your moving to the city will have been
of some real use.”

In his great zeal to convince his silent listener, the visitor had not
noticed that a small boy had entered. This little fellow had at first
hidden behind his mother, but, at a sign from her, approached the
gentleman. He noticed the child only when a small fist pushed itself
forcibly into his closed right hand.

“Please forgive the rather aggressive greeting of my small son,” begged
the mother.

“Oh, here is another, still. I knew there was a smaller one,” exclaimed
the dismayed visitor. “Well, boy, what is your name?”

“Mux,” was the reply.

The gentleman looked questioningly at the mother.

“That is the name his brother and sisters have given him and the one
which seems to have remained quite permanently,” she replied. “His
name is really Marcus and he is just five years old.”

“Well, well, and what do you want to be when you grow up, my young
friend?” asked Mr. Schaller.

“An army general,” unhesitatingly replied the small boy. After these
words the gentleman got up.

“It seems to me, my dear Mrs. Halm, that all your children have pretty
high-flown ideas,” he said impressively. “I can only hope that before
long they will learn that in this world it is not possible for everybody
to do what he pleases.”

The mother approved this good wish, but added: “I have to tell you,
though, that Mux has gotten this idea from his favorite book, where
the picture of a general on horseback interests him more than anything
else. This, of course, is a passing impression, like many others.”

“One can never urge proper and successful work too soon nor too often;
please do not overlook that, my friend!” With these words the guardian
ended the interview and, saying good-bye, carefully descended the steep
staircase.

Just then a child was running up the stairs so quickly that it actually
seemed as if she had no need to touch the steps at all. As the gentleman
was taking up all the room, the only space left for a passage was under
the arm with which he held the railing. Here the lithe creature tried
to slip through.

“Stop, stop! Do you not belong to the parson’s widow, Mrs. Halm?” asked
the gentleman, making a barrier with his arm.

“Yes, I belong to her,” was the quick answer. And stooping down still
lower, the small person again tried to pass.

“Just hold still one moment, if you can,” the gentleman now demanded.
“You probably know that I am Mr. Schaller, your guardian. I have just
given your mother some advice, which was meant for your good. You do
not look in the least stupid, so you can help to persuade your mother.
I am sure you can understand what is good for you. Are you the elder?”

“No, the younger one,” came quickly back for answer.

“So much the better. Then the elder will be still more sensible. If
you take my advice you can both contribute to the prosperity of the
whole family.” With these words the gentleman gave the little girl his
hand and went away.

Agnes flew up the rest of the stairs and into the narrow hall. Her
brother Mux was standing expectantly in the open doorway. He did this
every day at the time his brother and sisters were coming home from
school. He loved the change that their coming brought after the quiet
morning.

“A fat gentleman was here and mother said afterward: ‘Oh God!’ and you
can’t play the piano any more,” he reported.

Agnes ran into the next room and as quickly out again. “Where is mother?
Mother, mother!” she called, opening one door after another.

“Here I am, Agnes, but do not be so violent,” sounded the mother’s
voice from the kitchen.

Agnes ran to her. “Mother, what is Mux saying? Is it really true? I
know that Mr. Schaller has been here and that he can tell us what we
have to do. What did he say? Is it really true what Mux has said? Oh,
I’ll never eat again! I don’t want to sleep or do anything any more.
Everything, then, is lost!”

Agnes was frightfully excited. Her cheeks were dark red and her eyes
seemed to shoot forth flashes of lightning.

“But, child, you must not speak this way. Do not get so terribly
excited,” the mother calmly admonished her. “There is no time now to
discuss a subject which we have to talk over quietly. We shall do so
to-night. You know perfectly well that I have the greatest sympathy
for your wishes and ambitions, and that it means as much to me as to
you. As soon as we have a quiet hour together we can talk it all over.”

These words quieted the child. She knew that her mother always shared
every experience with them. In coming to town, mother and daughter had
hoped to be able to carry out their most fervent wish, namely, the
completion of Agnes’ musical education. Agnes could count on her
mother’s help. It was for the happiness of both of them. So Agnes went
out to the kitchen to do her work as usual. Both the sisters always
helped to lighten their mother’s work, for their only servant was quite
a young girl, who did not do much besides run errands.

Mux went back to his former place. He was intensely pleased with the
great effect and excitement his words had produced on Agnes. Hearing
somebody else coming upstairs, he prepared to repeat his speech.

When Nika was near enough to hear him he said: “A fat gentleman has
been here, and when he was gone mother said: ‘Oh God!’ and you are not
to paint any more trees and flowers.”

Nika, not having seen Mr. Schaller, did not understand these words.
Unruffled and silent, she passed Mux and went into the other room,
which disappointed Mux terribly. So when he heard Dino coming up the
stairs, he unloaded his disappointment on him.

“We are not going to have them to-day,” he announced.

“What do you think we will have? What am I supposed to be thinking of,
little guesser?” Dino called out.

“Oh, I know. Whenever you think we are going to have green peas for
lunch, you run up very quickly. You can’t even wait, you love them
so,” Mux asserted. “But we won’t have any to-day, for we are going to
have cabbage instead. There, now you have it!”

“Now come in and we’ll see who makes a worse face about it, you or I!”

With these words Dino took his little brother’s hand, and together
they ran into the room. Very soon afterwards, the family all sat down
to their mid-day meal. On most days the children would be telling their
mother about the happenings of the morning. They would all talk at
once until it was quite hard for her to do them all justice. But to-day
it was different. It seemed as if a storm was in the air; everybody
was silent, and on all faces, except one, heavy clouds seemed to be
resting. Nika sat brooding and staring in front of her, for Agnes had
interpreted to her their little brother’s words. She swallowed very
hard on every mouthful, because she had to swallow a great deal more
besides. Agnes was frowning so that her whole forehead was like one
huge wrinkle. The mother, too, was busy with deep thoughts, as one
could see from her worried expression.

Mux, who generally was extremely talkative, was quietly nibbling on
his dish of cabbage, with many a deep sigh. Dino alone was merry. He
glanced with great expectation from one to the other, and his lunch
did not keep him very busy.

“I am expecting a thunderstorm,” he said, while the quiet was still
unbroken. “Nika is going to let loose the lightning which is flashing
under her lashes, and Agnes will follow with the thunder. After this
I predict a heavy rainstorm, for Mux can hardly keep back his tears
about this cabbage.”

“But you have eaten much less cabbage than I have,” Mux cried out.

“I do this only from moderation, my little man, so that nobody will
get too little.”

“I would answer you about the thunder and the cabbage, Dino, if I had
time,” Agnes at last exploded. “But I have a music lesson at one o’clock
and I have enough to swallow without this horrid cabbage.”

“I only wish you could be more moderate in other things instead of in
eating, Dino,” said the mother with a melancholy smile. “You have
hardly eaten anything, and I heard you cough all night. Your health
worries me dreadfully, Dino. Did you cough much in school this morning?”

“Certainly, mother. But that is nothing to worry about,” Dino replied
merrily. “It always goes away again. My professor said to-day that it
would have been better for me to remain in the pastoral fields of my
native village, than to have sought the dust-laden corners of town.
But I answered: ‘Unfortunately the Latin language does not sprout from
the pastoral fields, professor.’”

“Oh, I hope you did not answer that,” the mother said, quite frightened.

“Oh yes, but only in my thoughts! Please, mother, don’t worry about
me,” Dino implored.

“I am afraid that your professor is right,” the mother said with a
sigh. “But I have a plan which we shall talk over to-night. I shall
also talk over our guardian’s proposal, girls. Please try not to look
so terribly unhappy, for everything is not yet lost.”

“Oh, it will come to that in the end,” said Nika, leaving the room.

“Yes, and much worse, I guess,” said Agnes. Violently pushing her chair
in place, she departed, after thrusting her music into a folder.

“What can be worse than when all is lost?” Dino called after her. “I
know what,” responded Mux knowingly, while Agnes looked back at Dino
as if to say: If I had time I certainly would give an answer to you.

“What is it, wise little man?” asked Dino.

“If she had to eat nothing but cabbage all the time,” replied Mux,
full of a conviction which he seemed to have acquired from his own
experience.

Dino, too, prepared to depart. With a sorrowful look, the mother passed
her hand over the boy’s thick hair. “Please be careful, and do not run
too fast,” she begged. “It’s very bad for you to sit in the cool school
room when you are so overheated. I can scarcely ever see you go, without
anxiety.”

“But I am surely not as sick as that, little mother,” Dino said,
tenderly embracing her. “When somebody has a cough it always goes away
again after a while. That is the way with me. Be merry and everything
will be all right in the end. But I have to go now, it is late,” he
exclaimed.

“But do not hurry so terribly, Dino, there is time enough yet, and
remember what I told you,” she called after him. Then stepping to the
open window, she followed the running boy down the street with her
eyes.

Dino gave Mrs. Halm great anxiety, for he seemed more delicate every
day. Her watchful eye had detected how poor his appetite had been
lately. Despite that, the boy had a very sweet disposition and was
always full of fun. He was always anxious to have everybody in a good
humor, and above all, his mother. Of all the burdens she had to bear,
the trouble about her son’s health was the hardest. One could see this
by the painful expression on her face when she left the window and sat
down beside her work table.

Mux was just repeating a question for the third time, but his mother
did not hear him. Loudly raising his voice he said once more: “Oh,
mother, why does one have to eat what the cows get?”

“What do you mean, Mux? What are you talking about?” she asked.

“I saw it in my picture book. The leaves the cows get are just the
same as those in the kitchen,” he explained none too clearly, but the
mother understood him directly. She remembered how interestedly he had
looked at the cabbage leaves when the girl had brought them home from
market. She also bore in mind a picture in his favorite book, where
a stable boy was shown giving a glossy brown cow splendid green leaves
to eat.

“So you still have the cabbage in your head, Mux?” said the mother.
“You must not be dissatisfied when there are so many poor children who
have to go hungry. While you get bread and good vegetables, they may
be suffering.”

“Oh, can’t we send them the rest of the cabbage?” Mux quickly suggested.

“Come and work on the embroidery I have started for you, Mux. We shall
see who can beat to-day. Perhaps that will clear away your thoughts
about the cabbage. Come and sit beside me, Mux.”

The mother put a little chair beside hers and placed the work in the
boy’s nimble fingers. Now a race with stitches began, and in his zeal
to beat his mother he at last forgot the subject that had troubled him
so much.

The late evening had come and the children’s work for school was done.
Mrs. Halm put the big mending basket away and took up her knitting.
The time had come, when, clustering eagerly about their mother, the
children told her all the troubles and joys of the day.

It was the hardest hour of the day for Mux, for it was his bedtime.
His mother always took him by the hand, to lead him to bed, before she
began to talk with the three elder children. Every evening he put up
a fight, for the wily youngster always thought that by obstinate
resistance he could break the rule. His mother, however, knew well
that his success would only result in dreadful yawns and heavy eyes.

This evening he found himself ready for bed before he had had time to
prepare for his fight. His mother seemed anxious to have him in bed
punctually that night. The boy was always reconciled to his fate when
she sat down a moment beside his bed to hear of anything that might
be troubling him. Mux, knowing that all conversation was irrevocably
closed after his prayers were said, would try every night to prolong
this period.

After Mux had climbed into bed, he said thoughtfully: “Don’t you think,
mother, that if people planted cherries where cabbage now grows
everybody could eat cherries instead of cabbage?”

“We simply have to stop now, Mux,” Mrs. Halm replied to his
astonishment, for he had hoped to start a long conversation.

“Well, Mux, you don’t seem to be able to get over the cabbage to-day.
Go to sleep, for you have talked enough about it.”

Mux knew then that nothing could be done that day, After his evening
prayer and a kiss from his mother, he lay down and was fast asleep
before his mother had even shut the door.

Agnes had just finished her last task and was throwing her books into
a drawer, each more violently than the other. She was still terribly
excited, and as soon as her mother came back to the room, she burst
forth: “Oh, mother, if I am not allowed to study music any more, I
would rather stop learning anything. Why can’t I become a servant girl?
I could do the work well enough. As soon as I have earned enough money,
I’ll buy a harp and then I can wander from house to house, singing and
playing. I can easily live like that. Nobody needs to be a dressmaker.
People can wear petticoats and jackets. That is enough, and those can
be woven. All other children are better off than we are. They can learn
what they please and we can’t learn anything!” An outburst of tears
choked all further words.

During her sister’s speech Nika had been quietly drawing, but she was
holding her head lower and lower over her work without once looking
up. She continued her studies, but her eyes seemed to be filling.
Pushing her work away, she held her handkerchief before her face.

“Oh, children,” said the mother, looking sadly at them, “do not be so
desperate right away. You know that your good is my good as well, and
that I am doing and shall keep on doing everything in my power to
fulfill your ambitions. It would be my happiest joy to have your talents
developed, so that you could devote all your lives to music and
painting. If we should find it impossible, however, dear children, we
must firmly believe that it would not have been for the best, had we
succeeded, for God alone knows which way to lead us.

“Do not lose your confidence in a kind Father in Heaven, for that is
our greatest consolation. He won’t forget us, if we do not forget Him,
and we must remember that He can see further than we can, for He knows
why and where He is leading us. We cannot look into the future, but
later we shall understand it all and realize why we had to bear our
troubles. Out of them will come the greatest blessings.”

“Now let us be happy again and let us sing a song,” said Dino, who
loved to be gay and who liked to see everyone about him merry, too.

“Let us sing:

  If winter’s storms are wild and long
  We know that spring is coming.
  To Agnes, whom I hear rebel,
  This consolation I here tell.”

“Yes, Dino, it is easy enough for you to laugh,” Agnes exclaimed. “You
would probably whistle another tune if you had to become a tailor. But
you can learn and study everything you want to.”

“I shall certainly not study everything,” Dino informed her. “But your
singing is much nicer than your arguing, Agnes, so please begin, and
if you don’t like my song, you can start another.”

“We shall all sing together later on, children,” said the mother. “I
have to speak to you, too, Dino. I am troubled about your cough and
your health. I have looked about for quite a while to find a suitable
place in the country where I could send you. Of course, there are
plenty of places, but I want you to go into some modest house where
you can be looked after. I found a notice in the paper to-day which
might be just what I am looking for. Read it yourself, Dino.”

Dino began to read. “Yes, yes, mother, I must go there,” he said,
shaking with merriment. “I must go to Martha in Iller-Stream. I am
sure that it is very cosy in Martha Wolf’s house, where everything is
so neat and the covers are so fresh.”

The sisters now wanted also to see the notice that made Dino laugh so
heartily. He read the paragraph aloud about Martha Wolf in Iller-Stream
and they all agreed that it would be pleasant there. The mother decided
to write to the woman at once and to take Dino there as soon as
possible.

“Now we shall sing a song to end the day,” she said, sitting down at
the old piano. Every day the children sang an evening song to her
accompaniment. Opening the book she herself started and the three
children took up the song with their pure, fresh voices:

  When bowed with grief,
  Go seek relief
  Of God, our Lord above.


UP IN THE TOP STORY

  Thy need has grown,
  When left alone,
  For great and helping love.
  Before thou’st said,
  Before thou’st prayed,
  He knows thy inmost need.
  And by His care,
  His love so rare,
  From sorrow thou art freed.




CHAPTER III

NEW APPEARANCES IN ILLER-STREAM


In the Director’s house in Iller-Stream reigned great excitement. The
day had come when the two ladies from town were expected to arrive for
their lengthy stay. To celebrate the coming of his guests, the master
of the house had ordered a festive dinner for the middle of the day.
He had been longing for this day, so was in a splendid humor. It was
very important for him to start on his journey right away, and he had
waited only to be able formally to receive his visitors. Also he had
promised his cousin to give the reins of the household into her hands
himself, after which event he had planned to start on his journey.

To Cornelli the preparations for the arrival of the new members of the
household seemed very annoying, everything being different from usual.
She commonly very much enjoyed the prospect of company, for on such
occasions she paid frequent visits to the kitchen, where Esther was
always busy cooking.

As soon as Cornelli appeared in the doorway, Esther would call to her:
“Come and see which you like best, Cornelli; I am sure they are not
so bad.” A small yellow apple tart and a round purple plum cake were
ready for the child to taste, for her visit had been anticipated.
Cornelli always assured the cook that the apple tarts were excellent
and the plum cakes even better.

Then Cornelli would go into the pantry, where Miss Mina was fixing
fruit on the crystal platters. Here many a raisin and almond would
drop beside the plate, and from there find its way into Cornelli’s
pocket. It was pleasant to have a supply whenever she felt like eating.
The housekeeper dropped many nuts on purpose, for she did not want to
be less sought after than her rival in the kitchen.

To-day Esther was flying around the kitchen violently rattling her
pots and pans, and when Cornelli appeared, to see what was going on,
the cook called to her: “Off with you! I have nothing for you here
to-day. The ladies from town must not think that they have to show me
how to cook a good dinner. I’ll show them. Go away and make room here
for me. Make room, Cornelli! I have to fix the vegetables.”

Cornelli ran to the pantry.

Mina was just building up a splendid pile of cookies and almond rings.
“Don’t come rushing in like that, or it will all tumble down,” she
objected. “Don’t come so near to the table; this plate is all ready
and nothing must be missing from it. I won’t have it said that one can
see there is no mistress in this house, and that nobody here knows how
to set a table.”

“If you are all so stingy to-day, I won’t bother you any more,” said
Cornelli, and with these words she turned around and marched indignantly
out of the house.

That moment, hearing the sound of approaching wheels, and looking down
the road through the open place in front of the house, she spied the
expected carriage with two ladies sitting in it.

“Matthew, Matthew,” she called out, in the direction of the large
stable and the barn. These lay a little distance from the house, and
were hidden by trees.

Matthew was the gardener who looked after the horses, and had also to
superintend all the work done by his assistant in the garden and the
stable. He was Cornelli’s special friend, whom she had known ever since
she could remember, for he had served her grandfather.

He now came from the stable and mysteriously beckoned to her: “Come
here quickly, run fast!” he said. “We’ll still get to the carriage in
time. Only come for a moment.”

Cornelli ran to him, and looking into the stable, saw lying on soft
fresh hay a tiny, snow-white kid. It looked like a toy, but was really
alive.

“Oh, where did it come from, Matthew? Oh, how cunning it is! The white
fine fur is just like silk! Can it walk alone? Can it stand, too, if
it wants to? Oh, just see how friendly it is and how it is rubbing its
little head against me.”

“Yes, but come, now; the carriage is driving up,” Matthew urged. “Come
quickly, you can see it every day. Just think! It was only born to-day.”

The carriage had just driven into the court and Matthew was there the
moment the horses stopped. The Director was there, too; not to lose
any time and yet not be tardy, he had put a watcher at the door to let
him know when the carriage was approaching. The Director was very
polite and lifted his cousin out of the carriage, greeting her heartily.
Then he helped Miss Grideelen to dismount, thanking her warmly for
coming. He told her how glad he was that she had been willing to follow
his cousin into this solitude, for otherwise it would have worried him
to leave her alone so long. He appreciated their great sacrifice in
coming and he hoped that his trip, which was very urgent, would not
keep him away too long.

“Where is your daughter, Frederick?” asked Miss Dorner now.

The Director glanced about.

“I saw her just a moment ago. Where are you, Cornelli?” he called
towards the house.

“Here I am!” It sounded from very near, for Cornelli had hidden behind
her father, so as to inspect the new arrivals without being seen
herself.

“Come forward and speak to your cousin and to Miss Grideelen!” ordered
Mr. Hellmut.

Cornelli gave her hand first to her relative and then to the other
lady, saying to each: “How do you do?”

“You can call me cousin, and this lady is called Miss Grideelen,” said
the cousin, hoping that the child would repeat her greeting and would
call her and her friend by the names she was just told to use in
speaking to them. But the child did not say another word.

The Director now turned towards the carriage, giving Matthew
instructions for the horses. Then everybody stepped into the house and
soon the whole company sat down at the richly laden dinner table. Miss
Mina earned many praises for the deliciously planned meal. When the
afternoon came the host took the ladies around his place, for his
cousin was anxious to become acquainted with everything she had to
take care of.

“Oh, what an abundance of fruit!” Miss Grideelen exclaimed over and
over again. “How many cherry trees and what enormous apple trees! Oh,
what a row of pear trees! You must be able to fill your bins with fruit
in the autumn, Mr. Hellmut! Where do you have room for it all?”

“I do not know about it; my servants take care of that, for I have no
time.”

“It is a great shame, Frederick, that you do not have half a dozen
children. They would help to look after these matters,” the cousin
remarked. “By the way, I wonder where your child is. She does not seem
to be very sociable.”

“I do not know where she is,” replied Mr. Hellmut. “I am generally at
work about this time and Mina probably knows what she is doing. Perhaps
she is busy with her teacher. Cornelli has been alone so much that she
could not get very sociable. That is why I am so grateful to you both
for coming. I am so glad she can at last be in the environment I have
always wanted for her. But what could I do? I have twice taken
governesses into the house, to supply her with proper intercourse and
opportunity for study. The first ran away because she could not stand
the solitude. The second wanted every servant to leave who had been
here before her; Esther was to go, and even Matthew. She told me that
I had to choose between her and the ‘old house-rats,’ as she called
them.

“I showed no desire to send either of them away, and said to her: ‘It
is better for you to go, for when the two have departed, it will
probably be my turn next, as I shall be the oldest house-rat left.’
After that she departed and I had no more courage to go through another
experience. But I knew that it was time for Cornelli to have a lady
of refinement and culture with her. I am sure, dear cousin, that you
can give me some good advice as to her education, as soon as you have
become acquainted with her.”

“I should like to know whom she resembles,” said Miss Dorner; “she
does not seem to resemble either you or your late wife.”

“Do you think so?” replied the father quickly. “Do you really think
so? The child certainly does not need to resemble me, but I have always
hoped that she resembled her mother. I always hoped that this would
increase with the years and that she would grow up to be my wife’s
image. Do you not think that she has Cornelia’s eyes? I think that my
child’s rather straggly mane will in time resemble my Cornelia’s
beautiful brown hair; the child’s hair is very thick and has just the
same color.”

The Director looked imploringly at his cousin. He seemed anxious for
her to agree with him.

Shrugging her shoulders, she replied: “I certainly see no resemblance
between the tousled looking small savage and Cornelia. The latter
always was so lovely in her exquisite neatness. Her eyes always glowed
with happiness and seemed to smile at one from under her beautiful,
wavy brown hair. I am sorry to tell you that your child is not exactly
engaging; she resembles a wild and furious little kitten with bristling
hair. She seems to me to be always making a round back; she looks as
if she wanted to jump at one and scratch.”

“No, no, she does not do that,” the Director assured “The child is not
in the least ill-natured, at least, I do not think so. But I am afraid
that you are right in saying that she does not resemble her mother in
the least. Her education, I mean her lack of education, may have
something to do with it. That is why I am so grateful to you both for
coming here. I am sure that with your influence the child will change
and gain much, and I do not think that it will be hard for Cornelli
to learn.

“I can travel now with a light heart, cousin, for I know that I can
leave my child, the house and the servants in your care. You do not
know in what a difficult position I am sometimes. I ought to go away
frequently, and am not able to do so because there is nobody to take
care of the house for me. The servants have to be kept in good humor,
and the house has to be ruled with authority and judgment. I cannot
thank you enough for making this trip possible for me.”

When they had returned from their walk they separated. Mr. Hellmut had
still plenty of preparations to make for his journey, and the ladies
retired to their rooms to get settled there. At supper everybody met
again. The ladies and their host appeared punctually and dinner was
served at once.

“Where is your daughter? Does she not come to supper, too?” asked Miss
Dorner.

“Yes, of course. Do you know where she is, Miss Mina?” the father
asked.

At that moment the door opened and Cornelli, with cheeks aglow, ran
into the room. She sat down quickly at her seat.

“Did you creep through a hedge?” the cousin asked her.

“No, I was in the hen house,” replied Cornelli.

“That is no reason to look the way you do. Go to your room first and
have your hair combed by Miss Mina. She will also give you some soap,
for this is quite necessary.”

Cornelli glanced at her father. This was something new and she waited
for his approval.

“Quickly, Cornelli! Why do you hesitate?” he admonished her. “You have
to obey your cousin absolutely, for she is taking my place now. I hope
that everybody here understands that clearly,” he added with a glance
at Miss Mina.

The latter wanted to follow the child, but Cornelli called back: “I
can do it myself.”

When the child came back her face and hands were washed very thoroughly,
but her hair looked most peculiar. She had combed it in such a way
that one could not tell what belonged to the left and what to the right
side, what to the front and what to the back.

The cousin laughed and said: “Your head looks like a wind-blown hay
field. To-morrow Miss Mina will part your hair properly for you.”

Cornelli frowned so deeply that her eyes came quite close together.
She did not look up any more from her plate.

Next day quite early the Director departed.

The village of Iller-Stream, where the church and the school house
were, was quite a distance from the iron works. Cornelli could not go
to school there every day because it was much too far. She therefore
had lessons at home, and the teacher her father had chosen came every
morning and taught her in all the necessary subjects. In the afternoon
she was free, except for the work which she had to do for the following
day. That took little time and till now the child had really had a
very free existence. She had always found time for a daily visit to
Martha and a long conversation with her old friend. She could also
wander freely about the lovely beech wood and along the mountain side.
Her time was never parcelled out for her.

There were many wonderful things to find in the fields and woods, and
Cornelli never tired of them as long as the sun was shining. If rain
or snow prevented her from her strolls, she spent her afternoons in
Martha’s cosy chamber. There she had the most pleasant times, for the
old woman’s conversation and tales were for Cornelli a never ending
source of enjoyment.

The teacher had just left the house. Owing to her father’s departure,
there had been plenty of material for sentences in her grammar lesson.
All the child’s answers to his questions had come so promptly to-day
that the teacher had ended his lesson on the stroke of the hour. He
also gave Cornelli special praise for the excellent work she had done.
Then he heartily shook her hand.

The two were the best of friends and the teacher knew his pupil well.
Whenever she was very bright and lively, he would work very hard with
her and in a short time accomplish three times more than usual. In
order not to spoil their mutual pleasure he would let her off most
punctually. But whenever Cornelli was absent-minded and unwilling to
work, he progressed slowly and carefully, treating her as if she were
the least bit weak minded.

He would keep up this procedure till the hand of the clock showed a
quarter, a half, or even three-quarters of an hour more than the set
time for the lessons. Then Cornelli had hardly more than a quarter of
an hour’s time before lunch to run over to the garden, the stable and
the hen house, something she always planned to do. The teacher would
finally stop and say in his most friendly manner: “I had to stay so
long to-day because we did not do half of what we should have done.
You were a little slow in understanding, Cornelli. I hope it will go
better to-morrow, otherwise your lesson might last still longer.”

It always went much better after that, for Cornelli had no inclination
whatever to have such a tiresome performance repeated. After such a
lesson many days went by before she was lazy again. To-day Cornelli
had worked quickly and well, for she wanted to have lots of free time
before lunch. She had not had time to see the little kid since
yesterday. The lesson over, she flew to the stable. Lunch was set for
one o’clock, so there was a whole hour left. Matthew spied the
approaching child and called to her: “Come here, Cornelli! It is just
jumping around.”

Cornelli ran into the stable, where she saw the snow-white kid, hopping
merrily over to its mother and then back again to the hay. It looked
so cunning in its gambols that Cornelli went into perfect raptures.

“Oh, you darling little thing!” she called out, patting its spotless
fur; “I shall fetch a red ribbon for your neck and then we’ll take a
walk together.” The child accordingly ran back to the house, and hunting
about among her things, soon returned with a bright red ribbon which
she tied about the little kid’s neck. Cornelli was perfectly delighted,
for she had never in her life seen a prettier object than the little
creature with its snow-white fur and the red ribbon round its neck,
skipping lightly about. The next moment it lay down in the hay and
looked up happily at Cornelli.

“Can I take it out for a walk, Matthew? Can I harness it to a little
wagon and drive around with it?” asked the child. She had many plans
in her head, one following on top of the other.

“Wait, wait; we have to let it grow first,” replied Matthew
thoughtfully. “The most important thing for it is to grow, for it is
like a baby that has just learned how to walk. It has to stay near its
mother and can only run about near her. When it is bigger, it can take
walks, and when it is strong and big we can harness it and you can
drive it about with two reins in one hand and a long whip in the other.”

Cornelli shouted with joy and patted the kid with new tenderness. She
already pictured to herself the lovely drives that they would have
together.

“Did you hear the bell in the foundry? I am sure it must be time for
dinner. You will have to be a little careful now, Cornelli. Remember
that strange ladies are in the house,” said old Matthew with foresight.
“You can come again this afternoon.”

Cornelli had really heard nothing, for she had been absorbed in her
new pet. She knew that she ought to appear punctually at her meals,
so she left right away. She had also noticed that the ladies were not
buried behind big newspapers, like her father. While running to the
house, she passed a hydrant. There she remembered that she had to wash
her hands, so she held them both under the pipe and rubbed them hard.
Then dipping her face in, she rubbed it, too. She had nothing to dry
herself with except a very small handkerchief.

“Hurry up! The ladies are already at table,” she heard Esther’s voice
urging her from the kitchen window.

Cornelli ran in and saw both ladies already seated at the table. In
front of her was a full soup plate.

“You have to come punctually to your meals. I am sure that you can
hear the loud bell out in the garden,” said the cousin. “But how strange
you look! Half wet arms, a soaking apron and damp feet. Have you been
in the water, or what have you done?”

“I washed my hands under the water pump and I got splashed,” Cornelli
answered.

“Naturally,” remarked Miss Dorner. “There are arrangements in the rooms
for washing hands, which involve no splashing. Go, now, and put on
another apron. You have to be orderly and neat at mealtimes.”

Cornelli departed.

“The child certainly obeys you--that is something,” said Miss Grideelen.
“Since you told her to, she always comes to table properly washed.”

“That is true. But she has the most unheard-of manners,” replied Miss
Dorner.

“How shall one get rid of those and start the child on the right path?
I must ask you to help her in the morning, Miss Mina. Please comb her
hair smoothly and part it the way I told you to.”

“I did it, Miss Dorner, and I do it every morning,” she answered, quite
hurt. “Cornelli’s hair is just like bristles and it is very hard to
braid. When she jumps it all gets tangled again and she jumps every
moment.”

Cornelli now came back and ate her soup. Her seat was beside her cousin
and faced the other lady.

“What is sticking to your dress here?” asked Miss Dorner, looking with
disgust at the little skirt. Something was really hanging from the
bottom. “Can this be hay or straw? It certainly does not look orderly.
I hope you have not come from the stable!”

“Yes, I have,” replied Cornelli.

“How horrid! Indeed, I can even smell it. That is too much!” she
exclaimed. “I am sure your father would not let you go there if he
knew about it.”

“Oh, certainly; he goes himself,” Cornelli retorted.

“Do not reply impertinently. In the case of your father it is quite
different,” explained Miss Dorner. “I want to tell you something which
you must remember. If you are allowed to go to the stable and you enjoy
doing it, you can go. But when afterwards you come to your meals, you
must first go to your room. Get properly washed there and also change
your dress. Be sure not to forget.”

“Yes,” replied Cornelli.

“It is very strange what queer pleasures country children have,”
remarked Miss Grideelen. “Have you no books, Cornelli? Don’t you like
reading better than wandering around and going to the stable?”

“Oh no, I don’t like it better, but I have some books,” replied the
child.

“What are you going to do in the afternoon, when you have no more
lessons to study?” asked Miss Dorner.

“I always go to Martha,” was the reply.

“Who is Martha?” inquired the cousin.

“A woman,” said Cornelli.

“I can guess that,” replied the cousin. “But what kind of a woman is
she?”

“A good one,” answered Cornelli quickly.

“What an answer!” The cousin turned now to Miss Mina: “Who is this
woman? Can the child go to see her? Does anybody here know about her?”
she questioned.

“Oh yes, she is well known here and was here long before I came,” was
Mina’s reply. “She nursed the mistress of this house in her last
illness. She is a very good woman and always looks neat and clean. Our
master likes her well.”

“Now I have really found out something! You must learn to give proper
answers, Cornelli, do you hear?” said the cousin. “You are like a wild
hare which does everything in leaps and bounds. You can go to see the
woman after finishing your work for your teacher. I am sure you must
have some to do for to-morrow.”

Cornelli assented to this, and as soon as the ladies had left the room
to retire to their bedrooms for the hottest hours of the day, she sat
down at her little table in the corner. Here she wrote down a page
with lightning speed, then taking up her book she read her lesson over
and over again till she knew it by heart. Soon she was finished, and
flinging the books into the drawer, she ran out of the house.

“Oh, Martha, I wish you knew how terrible it is at home now since Papa
has gone,” called Cornelli to her old friend, before she had even
reached the top of the stairs. “I just wish Papa was back already and
everything was again as before.”

“What is it, Cornelli, what makes you so cross? Come, sit down here
a while and tell me about it,” said Martha kindly. She put a chair
beside her own at the table where her mending lay neatly sorted out.

“Of course, you can’t understand it, Martha,” Cornelli continued, just
as excited as before. “Here with you everything is always the same and
nobody comes and orders everything to be changed. Now, I am not allowed
to come in any more without getting washed; now, I cannot come out of
the stable without changing my clothes. Then I must not wash my hands
at the hydrant because I get splashed, and, oh, so many new things
have to be done; so different from before.”

“I am sure, Cornelli, that it is not at all bad that things should not
always be the way they were before,” said Martha reflectively. “I
believe that the lady who is related to you wants the same thing from
you that your mother would have wished had she lived. This is very
good for you. Of course, Miss Mina and Esther mean well, but your
relation knows much better what is to be done to make you grow up the
way your mother would have desired. Just think how happy your father
would be if you should resemble your mother and he be reminded of her
every time he looked at you. You well know what great joy that would
be to him.”

Cornelli did know that her father would be very happy then, for he had
made many remarks which she had understood. A short time ago he had
said that his cousin found no likeness between his child and her mother,
and Cornelli had observed the sad expression of his eyes when he had
said it.

Cornelli shook her head. “You said once that my mother was different
from anybody,” she said. “So I can’t ever be like her; you said so
yourself, Martha.”

“Yes, yes, I have said that,” confirmed Martha. “But I have to explain
something to you, Cornelli. If you can’t become exactly like your
mother, you certainly can become more like her than anybody else, for
you are her child, and a child always has something from her mother.
I have seen you look at me just the way she did, with the same brown
eyes; but not when you frown the way you do to-day. You must try to
watch the two ladies very carefully in all they do and in the way they
speak. They are your mother’s kind, and that is why I am so glad that
you can watch their manners and can try to imitate them. You can learn
to resemble your mother in your ways, if you copy the ladies.”

“Yes, I shall do that,” agreed Cornelli. “Just the same, I am not
terribly pleased that they are here and that everything has to be
changed. Oh dear, I have just remembered that I have to be back now
and drink some hot coffee and milk, because Miss Dorner says that the
afternoons are so frightfully long in the country they have to be
interrupted. At that time I always used to get from the garden some
apples or cherries or whatever else there was, and they always tasted
so awfully good. If I only could lengthen my afternoon, which seems
too long to them! I never can do all I plan to do. Good-bye, Martha.”

And with these words Cornelli ran away.




CHAPTER IV

THE UNWISHED-FOR HAPPENS


Esther, the able mistress of the kitchen, was standing in the garden
picking green peas, which hung in clusters from the vines. They had
ripened quickly in the sunny June weather.

“Come down here, Cornelli!” she called. “Just see how many peas there
are! Why do you steal about so quietly nowadays, and why don’t you run
the way you used to?”

“I am not allowed to do anything any more,” replied Cornelli,
approaching her. “Mina is beginning to tell me that I even must not
jump, for it might tangle my hair. I wish I had not a single hair left;
then I could at least run and jump about.”

“No, no, child; that would look too dreadful. Just imagine it! But
don’t get sad on account of that,” Esther consoled her. “Just jump
around as before! Your hair can always be put in order again. Why
haven’t you come into the kitchen lately to see if things taste right?”

“I am not allowed to; Miss Dorner says that is bad manners,” Cornelli
informed her.

“Oh, I see! Well, you might do worse things. However, you must obey!
Yes, you have to obey,” Esther repeated. “Don’t you go to Miss Mina
any more, either, when she fixes the dessert?”

Cornelli shook her head.

Miss Mina had quickly understood the new order that had begun in the
household and accordingly had suited herself to it. When she thought
the ladies would not approve of an old custom, she dropped it quickly,
and Cornelli had soon noticed her change of attitude.

“I don’t care if I never can go to the pantry any more, I don’t care,”
Cornelli exploded now. “She can eat all the things herself which drop
beside the plate. I don’t care. I don’t want anything as long as I can
go to the little kid in the stable; it really is the most cunning
creature in the whole world. Have you seen it yet, Esther?”

“Certainly I have, and why not?” the cook replied. “Matthew took me
out to the stable as soon as it was born. You can certainly go to see
it as long as it is in our own stable. Just go there as much as you
like! Nobody can forbid you that.”

“My teacher is coming,” Cornelli now exclaimed, “and I have to go.”

“Yes, child, but do keep up your spirits. There are lots of pleasant
things still left for you to enjoy. Just wait till you taste the
strawberry tarts I am going to make to-day.”

With these words Esther smacked her lips to express the great succulence
of the promised dish.

“I wouldn’t even care if you baked nettle tarts; I wish I didn’t have
to eat at table and could just eat berries in the garden and drink
milk in the stable.”

Cornelli ran towards the house, for she had forgotten to walk sedately,
as she had been told to do.

While Cornelli had her lessons upstairs in the living room, in the
jessamine arbor both ladies were sitting on a garden bench.

“It would be so pleasant and agreeable here,” said Miss Dorner, “and
my cousin could have such a very charming life, if the child were only
a little different. Don’t you think, Betty, that she has no manners
whatever?”

“Yes, but she has had no training at all.” remarked Miss Grideelen;
“and she may have inherited some qualities from her mother.”

“Oh no, not a single trait! You cannot possibly imagine a greater
difference than between the mother and this child,” Miss Dorner
exclaimed. “Cornelia was full of amiability and gayety. She always
greeted and cheered everyone with her laughing brown eyes. If my cousin
could only have the happiness to see his child resemble her mother the
slightest bit! He was so fond of his wife! He deserves this joy, for
he is a splendid man.”

“It is curious how very different children can be from their parents,”
said Miss Grideelen with regret in her voice. “But I am sure that
something can still be accomplished by educating the child. Many
qualities can be developed that hardly show themselves yet. We ought
to do our best for her, especially for her father’s sake.”

“That is just what I am doing, Betty. Unfortunately, I have had very
little success as yet,” answered Miss Dorner. “But I just hope that
the day will come when I can write her father some pleasant news about
Cornelli, something different from what I feel obliged to send him
now.”

The day had been exceedingly hot, and the ladies retired to their rooms
immediately after dinner, while Cornelli, according to her custom,
obediently did her lessons. Then she disappeared. In the late evening,
when the ladies sat down to supper, it was so warm that Miss Mina was
ordered to open all the windows.

Now Cornelli entered.

“For mercy’s sake, what are you thinking of!” the cousin accosted the
child. “We are nearly perishing with the heat and you put on a fur
dress, which you could wear without a coat in a sleigh ride in the
middle of winter. Why do you do such foolish things?”

Cornelli was really attired very strangely. Her little dress was made
of such heavy, fur-like material that one could see it was meant for
the coldest winter weather, and for someone who disliked much outer
clothing. The child’s cheeks were glowing red, and from the insufferable
heat whole streams of perspiration trickled down her face.

“I have no more dresses left,” she said stubbornly.

“Can you understand it?” asked the cousin, looking at her friend.

“I really think that this is the fifth dress in which I have seen
Cornelli to-day,” answered the friend. “In the early morning I saw her
running across the yard in a dark dress. At breakfast she wore a light
frock and for lunch a red one. I believe that she wore a blue dress
when we had our coffee this afternoon, so this must be the fifth
costume. I was beginning at lunch time to wonder about the frequent
changes.”

“I have to change my dress every time I go to the stable,” Cornelli
said, a little more stubbornly than before.

“How can anybody be so foolish!” exclaimed the cousin now. “I can
understand now why you have no fun and why you always wear an unhappy
face. You must be nearly perished with the heat! Finish your supper
quickly and then go to your room and take off this heavy dress. You
surely have another dress. I must forbid you to go to the stable from
now on! You can see for yourself what comes of it! If only you would
not frown like this, Cornelli. You look exactly as if you had two
little horns growing on your forehead, one on each side. There are
many other and better amusements for you than spending your life in
the stable. Are you able to embroider?”

“No,” Cornelli answered curtly.

“Children of your age ought to be able to, though,” said the cousin.
“But we have not come here to teach you that; have we, Betty? You
probably do not even know how to hold the needle in your hand.”

“Why should it be necessary for Cornelli to learn embroidery just now?”
replied the friend. “She has lovely books that she can read; she has
shown us some herself. Don’t you prefer reading a pretty story to
running about in the stable, child?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Cornelli crossly.

“We must not pay attention to what she says,” remarked Miss Dorner.
“When Cornelli is bored, she will probably turn to her books herself.
Please, Miss Mina, keep an eye on Cornelli. Nonsense like this must
not happen any more.”

When supper was finished, Cornelli went up to her room, and Miss Mina
followed her.

“You certainly don’t need to do such silly things,” she said scoldingly,
as soon as they were on the stairs, where her words could not be
overheard. “I have enough to do nowadays without watching whether you
put on a new dress every few hours.”

“It isn’t my fault,” Cornelli replied morosely. “They ordered me to do
it.”

“They won’t always smell it when you have been to the stable,” scolded
Miss Mina.

“Yes, but they do smell it,” Cornelli retorted, “and even if they
didn’t, I should have to obey. They told me to change every time I go
to the stable.”

“Yes, but now you are told not to go there any more, remember that!--so
your frequent changing will have to stop,” grumbled Miss Mina, while
she was helping Cornelli to take off her hot dress.

“Now I have to clean it, besides! You actually give more work than six
well brought up children.” Miss Mina had never before spoken so roughly
to Cornelli, for she had always been anxious to keep in the child’s
good graces. But she had suddenly ceased to care about that.

Cornelli looked at her with astonishment. The child’s eyes were also
full of something that nobody had ever seen there before. Mina seemed
to understand: “I did not do you any harm,” she said quickly; “what
I have said is only the truth.” With that she left the room.

“If everybody treats me that way I’ll be that way, too,” cried Cornelli
with a furious look. Suddenly taking hold of the dress she had just
taken off she threw it out of the window. After a while Mina returned,
bringing back the dress. Cornelli was sitting on the window-sill crossly
looking down at the yard.

“Look out that the wind doesn’t blow you down, too, like your dress,”
Miss Mina said unpleasantly.

“I don’t care,” Cornelli replied obstinately. “It did not blow down
at all, for I threw it down on purpose.”

“Oh, is this the way you behave? Next time you can get it yourself,”
said Miss Mina, running away indignantly.

Next morning Cornelli was walking across the courtyard, happily talking
to her teacher, whose hand she was holding. During her school hours
she had forgotten all the troubles of the day before, for Mr. Malinger
had been as kind to her as ever. He at least had not changed.

“Could you give me a little rose?” he asked smilingly, while they were
passing the blooming rose bushes. So Cornelli quickly ran from bush
to bush till she had gathered a fine bunch of dark and light, white
and red roses. These she offered to her teacher, warning him not to
prick himself. Then the two parted most cordially.

Cornelli, on coming back, ran swiftly toward the stable. Suddenly,
however, she stood stock still, for she remembered that she was not
allowed to go there any more. No longer could she see the darling
little kid and watch its growth. She would be unable to tell when the
moment had come for it to be hitched to a carriage to be driven about
by her. She might not be allowed even to do that! She hoped, however,
that her father might be back by that time and that then everything
would be different. Cornelli danced with joy at that thought, and her
old gaiety seemed to return. She felt like going to Esther and talking
it all over with her good old friend. The moment the child went into
the house, Miss Dorner stepped out of the living room.

“You have just come in time,” she said, “for I have to show you
something. Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen,” replied Cornelli.

“You have nothing whatever to do in the kitchen and you shall not go
there. I thought you knew that you have to go upstairs before lunch
to fix your hair. But before you go up come in here. I have to tell
you something very important.”

Cornelli followed her cousin into the room. Miss Grideelen was standing
near the window as if she had expected the return of her friend. Leading
Cornelli to the sofa, Miss Dorner pointed to it, saying: “You are sure
to know who has done this and you had better tell me right away.”

On the dark plush coverings were visible distinct marks of dusty shoe
soles. There was no trace of a whole foot, but one could see that
somebody had trampled on the sofa.

“I did not do it,” said Cornelli with sparkling eyes.

“Who in all the house would have done it except you? Please ask yourself
that, Cornelli! There is no question about it at all,” said Miss Dorner.
“It is probably one of your little jokes similar to throwing your
dresses out of the window. I know all about it. Just let me tell you
this! It is the last time that you, a girl of ten years old, will show
such a terrible lack of manners. As long as I am here, you shall not
do it any more. You really should spare your good, sensitive father
such behavior.”

“I have not done it. No, I did not do it, no, no!” Cornelli cried
aloud.

“But Cornelli, only reflect! You are blushing and your conscience is
giving you away,” Miss Grideelen here remarked. “It would be so much
better for you to say humbly: ‘I have done it and I am sorry; I shall
never do it again!’”

“No, no! I have not done it. No, no!” Cornelli cried out louder still.
Her cheeks were glowing red from anger and excitement.

“Do not make such a noise,” ordered the cousin. “One might think there
was an accident. It is not worth while to lose so many words. You
should not have made things worse by denying it; if you had not,
everything would be all settled. You have misbehaved and you shall not
do so any more. Remember!”

“No, I did not misbehave. No, no! And I shall not say yes when it is
not true,” Cornelli now cried, quite beside herself.

“Go to your room, Cornelli, and smooth out your forehead before you
come to dinner. Your little horns are protruding quite plainly when
you act that way. Just look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself
how repulsive you look. If you think that there is anybody in the world
who can still like you when you have black horns on your forehead, you
are mistaken. Go, now, and return with another face.”

Cornelli went.

Reaching her room, Cornelli put her hand up to her brow. Right on her
forehead were two protruding points. Should horns be really growing
there? The child had a sudden horrible fright at this thought. She was
sure that everybody could see them already, for she could feel them
quite distinctly. She could not stand it any longer, so she ran away
to old Martha.

“No, I did not do it, Martha. I never did it,” she called out, running
into the little room. “When I tell them no, no, they ought to believe
that I did not do it. I never, never did it. They shall know it! But
they won’t believe me even if I say it a hundred times and--”

“Stop a little, Cornelli!” said old Martha kindly. “You see, you are
all out of breath. Sit down here on your stool and tell me quietly
what has excited you so. You know that I believe your words. I have
known you since you were small, and I know that what you say is true.”

It was impossible for Cornelli to speak calmly about what had happened,
but it soothed her, nevertheless, to be able to pour out her heart and
to know that Martha believed her. She told of the accusation which had
been brought against her, and how she had not been believed despite
all her assurances. She was certain that both ladies would always
believe for ever and ever that she had done it and had denied it. At
this thought Cornelli again became quite red from excitement and was
on the point of breaking out again. But Martha put her hand on the
child’s shoulder, quietly restraining her.

“No, no, Cornelli, that’s enough,” she said soothingly. “It is only
to your advantage that it is so and not as they have said. You have
been accused wrongly and cannot prove it, but God knows the truth. He
has heard everything. You can be calm and happy and look up to Him
with a clear conscience. You can say to yourself: ‘God knows it, and
I do not need to be afraid or frightened.’ If you had really done wrong
and had denied it, you would have to be afraid that the truth would
be revealed. Then you could not look up calmly to the sky, for you
would be frightened at the thought that up there was One who knew
everything and from whom nothing could be hidden. A wrong accusation
does not stay with us forever. Even if it takes ever so long, it
generally is revealed in the end, and you certainly will not need to
bear it in all eternity, because God already knows how it is.”

Cornelli had really grown calm at the thought that there was One who
knew how it all was. When her trouble began to weigh upon her, she
could always say: “You know it all, dear Father in Heaven, You have
seen and heard everything.”

“If He could only tell them! They would then know it, too. God could
easily do that,” Cornelli said.

“Yes, but that is not the way things happen. We do not know better
than He what is good for us,” Martha said, shaking her head quite
seriously. “If we could rule, everything would come wrong. We never
can see ahead of the hour and we never know what is good for us because
the next moment always brings something we did not know about. Otherwise
we would always be trying to undo what we have strained to do the day
before; we should only make ourselves miserable over and over again.
But if God ordains anything that we do not understand, we must believe
firmly that something good will come out of it. We must be patient,
and if our troubles are too heavy, we must console ourselves and think:
God knows what good will come from it. But we are forgetting the time,
Cornelli. You must hurry home to your dinner, now. I am afraid it is
already late.”

Cornelli’s black frown had disappeared during Martha’s soothing speech,
but now a deep shadow flew across her face.

“Oh, Martha, if I only did not need to go home any more! I hate to go
back and sit at table. I would not mind dying of hunger, if I could
only stay here with you.”

Cornelli, glancing at her home, drew together her brows as if she saw
something frightful there.

“But, child, you must not say such things about your lovely home; it
is wrong to do that,” said Martha, kindly admonishing her. “Just think
how many children have no home at all. How grateful they would be to
God for a home like yours. Go, now, Cornelli, be grateful for all God
has given you and chase away the thoughts that make you sad. Come soon
again and we shall be glad together, for there is always something to
be glad about.”

Cornelli went. While she had been with Martha and had heard her words,
it had really seemed to her that there was no cause for grief. As soon,
however, as she entered the garden and saw the windows of the room
where they were surely already at table, everything that had pressed
heavily on her heart rose again. After all, Martha did not know
everything.

Cornelli was sure that she could never be happy any more. She could
not go in there and she could not eat. She felt as if she could not
swallow anything, for big stones seemed to stick in her throat. If she
would only die from it all! Cornelli thought that that would be best,
for then everything would be over. So she sat down on the lawn behind
the thick currant bushes, where she could not be seen from the house.
Meanwhile, Miss Mina had carried away the sweets and was putting the
fruit course on the table.

“It seems to me that Cornelli does not care if she comes to table a
whole hour late,” said Miss Dorner. “Nothing is to be kept warm for
her, for she does not seem to have learned yet how to respect time and
order. She had better learn it soon.”

Mina went out to sit down for her dinner. Esther had everything ready
and was just putting the dessert in the cupboard.

“That is for Cornelli as soon as she comes home,” she said, sitting
down, too; “the poor child gets enough bitter things to swallow
nowadays.”

“But why shouldn’t she come in time?” asked Mina crossly. “Besides,
she couldn’t possibly eat the whole dessert. We can take our share and
there will be enough left, surely as much as is good for her.”

“I won’t let you have it,” said Esther, firmly pressing her arm to the
table as a sign that she would stay there. “The child must have
something that will help her to swallow all the cross words she hears
all day,” she continued. “What was wrong again this morning, when there
was such a scene in the living room?”

“It was nothing,” replied Mina. “There were a few marks of dust on the
sofa, and the ladies thought that Cornelli had been standing on it.
The child would not admit it and so the ladies kept on accusing her
till Cornelli set up a senseless row.”

“I really think, Miss Mina, that you could have given an explanation,”
said Esther with a sly smile. “If one has to wind up the clock, it is
quicker to jump up on the sofa than to push the heavy thing away. When
one wears tight lace boots in the early morning, one can’t take them
off easily, eh, Miss Mina?” With these words Esther glanced at the
neat little boots that Mina was stretching out comfortably under the
table.

“Well, what was there so terrible about that?” retorted Mina pertly.
“The sofa won’t be spoiled on account of that, and besides, I have to
clean it myself.”

“I only think you could have said a word, before the ladies accused
the child of having lied to them and before she nearly had a fit over
the injustice. She made such a noise that one could hear it all over
the house! It went right through me.”

“Oh, pooh! it was not as bad as that,” asserted Mina; “the child has
long since forgotten the whole thing. That is the way with children.
One moment they make a horrible noise and the next they go out of the
door and forget about it. Why should one bother?”

“It used to be different,” said Esther smilingly, “Miss Mina could not
be obliging enough to the child then. Things are all done for other
people now and not for those of the house.”

“Those of the house!” repeated Mina mockingly. “It won’t be long before
you, too, will be singing another tune. When the new lady of the house
gives orders in the kitchen you will have to obey, too.”

Esther dropped her spoon. “For goodness sake, what are you saying?”
she exclaimed. “Who should have thought of such a thing? Whom do you
mean, the cousin or the other one?”

“Well, I can’t tell that exactly,” replied the maid. “Our master has
not discussed that with me, but one must be dumb not to see what is
going on and why the ladies came here. After all, one wants to know
what one is going to do. That two have come, is the surest sign of
all, for we shall be supposed not to suspect.”

“For goodness sake,” said Esther again, “what a discovery! I am sure
it must be the relation, for she already rules the house. I tell you
one thing, though, Miss Mina, that I shall keep on singing the same
tune I have been singing for the last twelve years in this house, and
I don’t care who is going to rule. You can believe me.”

“Oh, we shall see about that, Esther,” said Mina with a superior air.
She got up, now, to see if the ladies needed anything.

Waking up from a sound sleep, Cornelli did not remember where she was.
She was lying on the lawn behind the currant bushes. She remembered
at last how she had come back at lunch time from Martha’s cottage and
how she had suddenly felt weary and sleepy. She must have dropped down
and gone to sleep.

It was evening and there was no more sunshine on the grass, but the
sky was still light, although it was beginning to grow dark. Cornelli
suddenly had a longing she had never known before. She felt as if she
had to eat and taste everything about her, the bushes and the leaves,
the flowers, and especially the unripe plums on the tree above her.
Oh, if she only had a piece of bread! Cornelli got up quickly and ran
towards the house.

“Come quickly, Cornelli,” Esther called to her through the open kitchen
window; “they are just sitting down to supper; you have come just in
time.”

Cornelli flew to her room and, pulling out a thick shawl from among
her things, tied it around her head. Then, running to the dining room,
she sat down at her accustomed seat.

“So you have come again,” said Miss Dorner, who had just settled down,
too. “A well brought up child should at least say good evening when
she enters the room after a long absence.”

“Good evening,” said Cornelli, after which she finished her soup with
unusual haste.

“Where do you come from after all this time?” asked the cousin.

“From the garden,” was the reply.

“That is quite possible, but where were you before that?”

“With Martha,” Cornelli answered.

“If you could only learn to answer more pleasantly!” remarked Miss
Dorner, “it would be to your own advantage, for you do not have many
pleasing things about you; it would only make you more attractive, and
you really should strive to become so.

“Next time you want to stay so long at this woman’s house you have to
ask my permission. I absolutely forbid you to stay away so long without
asking me, do you hear? You deserve to be scolded for your long absence
to-day, but I shall not say anything further. But why do you look so
pitiful! What is the matter? Have you a toothache?”

“No,” Cornelli quickly gave forth.

“Have you a headache?”

“No.”

“What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You shall never again set up such a masquerade when there is nothing
the matter with you, Cornelli,” said the cousin scoldingly. “Why do
you put this shawl around your head? Are you trying to look like an
untidy gypsy? Don’t ever come to table that way again! Betty, have you
ever seen the like? Can you understand this behavior from a sensible
child?”

The friend just shook her head.

“Perhaps Cornelli does it because she does not know what else to do.
She does not seem to desire a proper occupation,” she replied.

When Cornelli came down to breakfast next day, she had taken off the
shawl, but she still looked very odd.

“You look exactly like a savage from New Zealand,” said the cousin.
“Do you think you are improving your appearance by plastering your
hair all over your face?”

“No,” said Cornelli fiercely.

“Neither do I,” said the cousin. “I cannot make you out at all. What
will you put on next, I wonder, when your hair is brushed away?”

“My fur cap,” replied Cornelli, according to the truth.

“I never heard such nonsense,” exclaimed Miss Dorner. “I really think
that the child is capable of doing that. She will probably pull it
down over her head to her nose when the temperature is eighty. I have
never seen such a child. What shall I do with her?”

Cornelli really looked as if she did not know how well brought up
European girls usually wore their hair. From the middle of her head
thick uneven strands of dark hair hung down over her forehead and deep
into her eyes. The hair was not hanging loose, but was firmly glued
to her skin. Her intention seemed to be to keep it there to prevent
it from being blown away.

“You look positively repulsive and no person on earth will want to
look at you if you go around like that. This may teach you to give up
your terrible obstinacy! Nothing else can be done with you.”

With these words the cousin rose and left the room. Miss Grideelen
promptly followed.

That evening a letter was sent to Cornelli’s father:

  ILLER-STREAM,
  July 20th, 18--.

  MY DEAR COUSIN:

  Your affairs are going brilliantly, for your manager is splendid. I
  can also inform you that perfect order reigns in your house, your
  garden and the stable. Your place is perfectly magnificent; it abounds
  in fruit and vegetables and lovely flowers. I should never have
  imagined this possible years ago, when I wandered about here with my
  friend Cornelia.

  I am coming now to the principal subject of this letter, which is less
  pleasant. I do not understand how your daughter has gotten her
  disposition. She does not either resemble you, with your fresh and
  open manner, or Cornelia, with her merry, pliant disposition, which
  won every one’s heart. The child has a dull and sullen nature, a
  roughness of manner and an unheard-of stubbornness. I can do nothing
  for her, at least not by anything I say. But I have decided to leave
  physical or other punishment to you. I shall do all I can by good
  example and admonishment as long as I am here. My friend is supporting
  me faithfully. I do not dare raise in you the hope that the child will
  ever make you happy. A rebellious nature like hers is sure to get
  worse from year to year. I hope, however, that the success of all your
  ventures will give you the satisfaction that your home life cannot
  give you.

  Your faithful cousin,

  KITTY DORNER.




CHAPTER V

A NEWCOMER IN ILLER-STREAM


Old Matthew was raking the gravel paths in the garden when Cornelli
stepped out of the house and slowly approached. She held a book in her
hand and now sat down on the bench under the hazel bush. Laying the
book on her lap, she watched Matthew while he cleaned up the paths.
Looking up he said: “Come with me, Cornelli, and let us go over to the
stable together, for you have not been there for a long time. You
should see how the little kid is growing.”

Cornelli merely shook her head and gave no answer. Matthew looked over
at the child a few more times, but said no more.

Esther, carrying a large basket, now arrived. As she was going to the
vegetable garden she called over to the child: “You must have a
specially nice book to be sitting there so quietly, Cornelli.”

Cornelli shook her head.

“No?” laughed Esther. “All right, then, come with me and I’ll show you
how many yellow plums there are going to be this year; the whole tree
is full and they are already beginning to ripen.”

“I don’t care,” said Cornelli.

“No?” laughed Esther. “All right, then, plums,” Esther exclaimed. “And
our large juicy pears are beginning to get ripe, too. Don’t you want
to come and see how long it will be before they are ripe?”

“No,” was the reply.

Esther now went her ways. A short time after that Matthew joined her.
“What is the matter with the child, Esther,” he asked. “She is so
changed! One can hardly recognize any more our gay and friendly
Cornelli. And why does she have her hair hanging into her face that
way? One absolutely does not know her any more.”

“That is just what I say,” Esther replied. “I really can’t understand
it. One hardly ever sees the child, and if one does meet her somewhere,
she scarcely says a word. She never sings or laughs the way she used
to, and she always wears such a terribly unhappy expression that it
fairly makes one’s heart ache. How happy the child used to be!

“They say that she needs to be educated, and it may be so; but since
she is getting an education she is absolutely changed, and not for the
better. However, things may go well again when her education is
finished.”

“She misses her mother,” said Matthew. “It is awfully hard on a little
one to grow up without a mother, for she needs her at every step. It
is so easy when you have a mother to whom you can tell your joys and
troubles.”

“One might think that you still run to your mother whenever anyone
does you harm, Matthew,” said Esther, a little mockingly.

“I should love to,” Matthew assured her. “I know what my mother meant
to me and so I am always sorry for every child that has none. One can
see how it is with our master’s child; nothing is of any good to her
as long as she has no mother.”

Matthew went away, looking once more with pity at Cornelli, who was
sitting quite motionless on the bench. The book by now was lying on
the ground.

Soon afterwards Mr. Maelinger entered the garden and neared the house,
but Cornelli intercepted him.

“I could not come at 9 o’clock to-day,” he said, “but I think one hour
is better than none, so am here now, at 11 o’clock. I hope you have
spent a pleasant, useful morning.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Cornelli drily.

“But you have a fine book in your hand. It is sure to have something
nice in it. What is it all about?”

“I do not know,” replied Cornelli.

“Let us go to our work now. Your reading does not seem to have impressed
you much, so let us hope for a better result from our lesson.”

The teacher entered the house with his pupil, and they were just getting
settled in their accustomed places when he said: “It seems to me,
Cornelli, that your hair hangs a little too much over your face. It
must be very uncomfortable. Could not this be changed?”

“No, I can never change that, never, never,” Cornelli said passionately,
tightly pressing down the hair on her forehead. “Oh, really! But this
is no affair of mine,” said the teacher calmly. “Only it seems to me
a rather disfiguring manner of wearing the hair. You would feel much
more comfortable without these weeping-willow-like hangings in front
of your eyes.”

Cornelli was still pressing both her hands against her forehead, as
if the teacher might try by force to straighten up her hair. But he
now began the lesson quite peacefully.

When the ladies were leaving the room after lunch, the cousin said to
the child: “You are not going to run off again immediately, Cornelli.
You must begin a proper and orderly existence. When your work is done
you can read one of your many lovely books. You have enough time after
our coffee hour to take walks and to pay visits.”

As usual the work was soon finished. Afterwards Cornelli sat down on
the garden bench. Just as before, she put the book in her lap, and it
soon fell to the ground. Cornelli peeped about her, at the trees and
at the ground, but she did not really seem to see them.

At coffee time Cornelli punctually appeared at table and quickly gulped
down everything that was poured out for her, as if it were a medicine
that simply had to be swallowed. Afterwards she sat there frowning,
for she had to remain at her seat till the ladies got up; she had
learned this custom from her cousin.

“Don’t always frown and make such horns! One can see them quite plainly
even through your curtains,” said Miss Dorner. “It won’t be long before
you can go away.”

At last the ladies got up to go into the garden. Cornelli sneaked out
behind them, turned unseen around the corner of the house, and walked
across the meadow to the path.

“To sit here under the hazel bush and read a fine book is really a
pleasure not many children have,” said Miss Dorner, sitting down on
the bench. “For this alone you should be grateful, instead of frowning
and sulking all day, Cornelli--yes! But where has she gone again?” the
lady interrupted herself, glancing around.

“She disappeared as soon as we came out,” her friend answered. “Isn’t
Cornelli really peculiar? She never says a friendly word and never
gives a single sign of childish love. She always runs away as soon as
she possibly can.”

“I am so sorry for her father, who must long for a pleasant family
life,” Miss Dorner continued. “He will never have this by the side of
his only daughter, who seems to become more unfriendly and stubborn
every day. Others in the house have noticed it, too, so Mina tells me.
Oh, what a life it will be here in two or three years. My poor cousin
with his beautiful estate! What good is that to him?”

“Many things can happen in two years that can’t be foretold, Kitty,
and that can change a household entirely,” replied the other lady.
“For the benefit of your cousin let us hope that this may come true.”

Cornelli was not leaping or running, but was quietly creeping along
the edge of the path. She was staring at the ground, without once
looking up at the merry birds which were whistling above her. Not once
did she glance to right or left in the meadows, though they were full
of red daisies and blue forget-me-nots which Cornelli ordinarily loved
to pick.

Martha saw the approaching child. She came out with a worried face and
full of sympathy asked: “What is wrong with you, Cornelli? Can you
never again be merry?”

“No, not any more,” replied Cornelli, entering Martha’s little chamber
and sitting down on the stool which her old friend had put for her in
the usual place. Cornelli’s words did not come rapidly and angrily any
more, as they had done before. With a deep sigh she added: “I only
wish I had never learned to read.”

“What! But child, what an idea,” exclaimed Martha, “what a foolish
wish! You should realize what it means to want to find out something
and not be able to. One has to begin over and over again, and nothing
helps one. That is what happened to me to-day. If you don’t help me
I won’t ever understand it. I often wish I could read and write as
fast as our Cornelli does. It is a great gift to be able to read and
write easily, and everybody who can’t do it knows that well. Don’t you
like the pretty books your father has given you?”

“No, I don’t. They are pretty, but awfully tiresome, Martha,” Cornelli
assured her. “There are all kinds of stories and descriptions in them
of famous people and discoveries. Father said that he used to love
them when he was young, but he was probably different from me. Now I
can’t run to the stable any more, nor into the woods as I feel like
doing; now I have to sit around all the time and read a book. Oh, I
wish nobody had written any books, then nobody would have to read
them.”

“But Cornelli, I do not think that this would suit everybody,” Martha
said. “Please help me to read a letter I got to-day, and then you will
see what an advantage it is to be able to read. I need your help, for
I do not understand what is wanted of me.”

Cornelli, taking up the letter, was quite willing to help her dear old
friend.

“Who wrote it?” asked the child.

“That is just the thing I cannot read,” Martha answered. “I only know
that it comes from town, but I cannot guess who could possibly write
to me from there.”

Cornelli began to read the letter aloud. It was an inquiry as to whether
the spare room had yet been taken, and if Mrs. Wolf could take care
of a boy of twelve years for a few weeks. He did not need special care,
as he was not exactly ill; but the boy undoubtedly was not very strong.
Good air and fresh milk were the chief things he needed. If no refusal
came, the boy would arrive in the middle of July. It was signed: Nika
Halm, rector’s widow.

“Oh, how easily you read. It seems to go all of itself,” said Martha
admiringly, when Cornelli had finished. “I never could have made it
out so well. Just think how proud I can be that a rector’s wife will
bring her son to me. Oh, I’ll take the best care of him, and I must
ask Matthew to let him have some milk from the cows every morning and
evening. Isn’t it too bad it is not a girl; then you would have a
playmate. But you will entertain each other just the same. Are you not
a little bit glad that he is coming?”

“No, not a bit,” Cornelli returned curtly. “I know quite well that he
won’t have anything to do with me, and I know why, too. I do not care
whether it is a boy or a girl. I don’t want him.”

“But Cornelli, you never used to be that way. You used to be so friendly
and bright with everybody. What has happened to you?” asked Martha,
quite grieved. “You do not look about you with bright eyes and your
hair hangs too low on your face. Can’t I push it back a little?”

Martha, fetching a comb, was going to touch Cornelli’s hair, when
Cornelli hindered her by crying out: “No, Martha, leave it! It has to
stay that way all my life.”

“Oh, no, I won’t believe that. Why should your face be half covered
up? One can hardly recognize you,” Martha said regretfully. “What do
the ladies say about it?”

“Miss Dorner says that I am the most obstinate being in the whole
world, and that no one can ever set me right,” was Cornelli’s truthful
information. Then she added: “She says that no child on earth looks
as ugly as I do and that nobody in the world will ever like me. I know
that it is true, and I only wish nobody were coming to you; then I
could always be alone with you.”

“Cornelli, I am quite sure that you would do right in obeying the
ladies,” said Martha. “If you did what they say, they would love you
as well as everybody else does.”

“No, no, Martha, you don’t know how it is,” Cornelli said, quite
frightened. “I’ll do everything they say, but I can never push my hair
away, for then it would be worse still and everybody could see it.”

Martha shook her head.

“I do not know what you mean, Cornelli. Please come to me just as often
as you can. I shall always love you more than anybody who might ever
come here. If you did not come, it would hurt me dreadfully. Then I
would rather not have the rector’s son here, glad as I am now that he
is coming.”

“All right, Martha, then I shall come,” Cornelli promised. “We can
easily be alone together in the kitchen, for I want to see you alone.
I shall not come on Monday, for that is the day they arrive. On Tuesday,
though, I’ll come. Then we’ll go together to the kitchen.”

Martha promised this and Cornelli went home in the same way as she had
come. Not once did she run to the meadow to pick forget-me-nots or
other flowers that were sparkling there.

When Monday came, she was wondering if a carriage would arrive with
a proud city boy and a lady with a high feather hat, both of whom would
look down on her with disdain. Cornelli settled down beside the garden
fence, for from there she could conveniently survey the road. But she
saw no carriage, though she watched through both the morning and the
afternoon. She really was very glad, for she was quite sure that nobody
had arrived. Next day when the time came for her to be free, she walked
over to Martha’s little house.

“Oh, I am so glad that nobody has come. Now I can be alone with you
and don’t have to go to the kitchen--”

Cornelli had said these words on entering, but she suddenly stopped.
A boy she had never seen sat at the table in the room and Martha was
just clearing away the supper things. So he had come after all and had
even heard what she had said. Oh, it was dreadful! But the boy was
laughing.

Cornelli wanted to withdraw quickly, but the boy called out: “Please
come in and let us get acquainted. Mrs. Martha has already told me
about you. Just come in,” he continued, when he saw that Cornelli still
hesitated. “If you want to be alone with Mrs. Wolf I can easily go to
my own room.”

Cornelli felt that it was very nice of the boy not to resent her words
and to be willing to give place to her. She therefore entered. Martha
had already put a chair in readiness for her and greeted her heartily.

“I expected you, Cornelli,” she said. “Just sit down here a little
with our guest. His name is Dino Halm and he already knows your name.
I am sure you will have a good time together. I’ll go up in the meantime
and if you need me you can find me in the room upstairs.”

Martha, thinking that the children could get acquainted better if they
were left alone, had planned to unpack her new arrival’s things while
they were together. She put his belongings neatly away in the wardrobe
and the drawers in order to make him feel at home in his tidy little
chamber.

“Why did you think that we did not come?” asked Dino as soon as Martha
had left the room and Cornelli was sitting beside him silently.

“Because I did not see the carriage,” she replied.

“The carriage? Well, I can believe you,” said Dino. “We walked more
than an hour, in fact, nearly two, before we got here from the station.
Do you just hop into a carriage when you go to the station?”

“Yes, I do; I always go there with Papa,” replied Cornelli.

“But where do the horses always come from?” Dino wanted to know.

“From our stable,” was the answer.

“Have you your own carriage and two horses of your own, just to be
able to drive about?” Dino questioned, full of astonishment.

“Yes, we have the two brown ones and six others to carry away the iron
from the foundry.”

“Good gracious, eight horses!” Dino exclaimed. “You are lucky to be
able to sit in a carriage with your father and drive around!”

“Can’t you do that?” asked Cornelli.

“Never in my life,” Dino replied in a voice full of conviction. “First
of all, I do not have a father. Besides that, we do not own a stable
and horses. How lucky you are! Have you anything else in the stable?”

“Oh yes, lots more. Six cows and a large gray stable cat,” Cornelli
informed him. “Then there is an old nanny goat and a young snow white
kid, about whose neck I tied a red ribbon. You are going to drink milk
from our cow, did you know that?”

“Oh, I shall love to do that!” Dino exclaimed. “Do you think I’ll be
allowed to go to the stable and look at the horses?”

“Certainly you will; Matthew will love to show them to you, and Martha
will willingly let you go. If I only could go with you!” And Cornelli
uttered a deep sigh.

“Well, I should think you certainly could do that, when the stable
belongs to you. Who would hinder you, I’d like to know?” Dino said.
“Do you know what we’ll do? We’ll hitch the little kid to a cart. Won’t
that be lovely? It can pull you and I shall be the coachman. I once
saw such a little carriage on a promenade in town.”

Cornelli had already had that thought herself, but she knew now that
she could never again go to the stable. It was suddenly clear to her
that she could not run about as before and that she could not be happy
any more. The chief reason for it all was clear to her, the reason
that prevented her from being carefree and bright as in the old times.
She did not answer, but gave forth a profound sigh, profounder than
the one she had uttered before.

“Why do you sigh, as if you had to carry a mountain about with you--a
load that keeps you from going forward? Why do you do it?” asked Dino.

“I can’t tell anyone. You couldn’t, either, if you had the trouble I
have,” replied the little girl.

“Oh, yes, I could. There is nothing in the world I couldn’t tell,”
Dino asserted. “If you can’t confide in other people, you can always
tell your mother, for she can always smooth everything out for you.
Just go to her and tell her about it. That will relieve you and
everything will come right.”

“Yes, and now I can say what you said to me before. You are lucky and
much luckier than I am,” said Cornelli with a trembling voice. “I never
can go to my mother because I have none. Now you see how well off I
am! I am sure you would never exchange with me, would you?”

Dino looked quite frightened.

“I did not know that you had no mother,” he said, full of pity. In his
mind he saw his own mother, the way she looked at him, so full of love
that it always lightened his heart whenever anything troubled him. And
poor Cornelli had to miss all that!

Even the stable with the horses, the large garden with all the fruit,
about which Martha had told him so much, appeared to him now in a
different light.

Full of decision he said: “No indeed, I would not change with you.”

But a great pity for the motherless child welled up in Dino’s heart
and he longed to be her protector. He could understand now why Cornelli
looked so strange; he had even noticed it as soon as he had seen her.
There was no mother to fix everything the way it should be.

“We’ll try to be friends, Cornelli! But you must push your hair back
from your forehead first of all; one can hardly see your eyes. Nobody
wears hair like that. I don’t see how such long hair can stay there
without blowing off. What on earth did you paste it on with?”

“With glue,” replied Cornelli.

“How nasty! Come, I’ll cut it all off, and then your eyes and your
forehead will be clear. You can hardly see that way.”

Dino had seized the scissors that were lying beside Martha’s work
basket, but Cornelli, struggling against him with both hands, fairly
screamed: “Let it be. It has to be that way. Put the scissors away!”

“I won’t hurt you. But don’t scream so loud!” said Dino quietly, putting
down the scissors again. “I only wanted to do you a favor. If my two
sisters, Agnes and Nika, could see you, they would laugh at you; they
would not like the way you pasted on those locks.”

“I know that. But they do not need to see me at all,” said Cornelli
crossly. “Nobody needs to see me. I know that nobody likes me, but I
don’t care.”

With these words Cornelli ran away. Dino was terribly astonished and
stood looking at the door through which Cornelli had disappeared without
even a word of farewell.

When Martha again entered the little room and was looking at Cornelli’s
empty chair, Dino said: “What a queer child she is. I never thought
she would be so unfriendly.”

He related how they had passed the time together and how Cornelli had
suddenly run off without even saying good-bye. He had not wanted to
offend her.

Martha shook her head and said: “Cornelli never was that way before.
I am so worried about her, for she is absolutely changed. You must not
think that she is queer and runs away like that and suddenly gets
cross. She never was that way at all; this is something new. If I only
could hear her sing and laugh again as of old. I hoped that her old
gaiety would come back with such a good playfellow as you are. Maybe
it will; after all, this is only the first day of your acquaintance.

“I am sure Cornelli will not come back to me,” said Dino, still quite
puzzled. “She ran away so full of anger.”

When Cornelli had exclaimed, “I don’t care,” it probably was not true.
On reaching home she quietly stole to her room. Sitting down on a
stool, she put her head in both hands and began to cry bitterly.




CHAPTER VI

A FRIEND IS FOUND


Cornelli had not appeared at Martha’s cottage for quite a number of
days, and so Martha was filled with grief and anxiety. There were many
reasons for this. First of all, she loved the child as if she had been
her own and missed her daily visits terribly. She also knew that there
was something the matter with Cornelli and that this was the reason
why she did not come. From the time the child was small, she had run
over to her old friend every single day and had told her everything.
Martha was also sorry for her guest’s sake that Cornelli stayed away.
She had told Dino how merry and bright the child could be and how he
would enjoy her as a daily companion. Now it had all come to nothing.

In the meantime Dino and Martha had become firm friends, and the old
woman was very eager to make everything cosy and comfortable for her
polite and friendly housemate. After his daily walks and after he had
done his school work conscientiously, Dino loved always to sit down
beside Martha. Then she would talk to him and tell him many things
which Dino loved to hear.

She generally told about Cornelli’s father and mother, for Martha had
known the latter as a small child. Before long, though, she would
always begin to talk about Cornelli, for she never tired of that
subject. She assured Dino that she had never known a more bright or
amusing little girl. Dino always assured her that he could not believe
this and when Martha even asserted that Cornelli was more attractive
than any child she had ever seen, Dino laughed.

“She looks exactly like a little owl,” he always said. “One can hardly
see her eyes. I should love her to come again, though,” he added, for
he was curious to see Cornelli when she was funny and bright, as Martha
described her.

When Dino had gone to his room that evening, Martha quickly put on a
better apron, took the big shawl from her cupboard, and putting it on
her shoulders, went quietly out of the house and over to the Director’s
residence. She looked up at the kitchen windows and saw a light there,
as well as in the room that overlooked the garden. On entering the
kitchen Martha saw Esther and Miss Mina sitting down to a plentiful
supper. The latter was just getting up to answer a bell which had rung
in the dining room, but Esther offered the empty seat to her old
acquaintance.

“Sit down, Martha. I am sure you have earned a rest, the same as I
have,” she said, and with these words moved three platters and a bottle
over to the new arrival. “Just take it. There is a lot left and I am
glad when it is gone, for then I can plan something new for to-morrow.”

“Thank you, Esther,” Martha replied. “I have already eaten supper. It
is very nice of you to invite me to share it with you, but I really
can’t.”

“How can you refuse? I simply won’t have it. Anybody can eat what I
cook, even the Emperor of Russia himself. I am sure you are not yet
quite as mighty as that,” Esther proceeded eagerly, loading a plate
with macaroni and stewed plums.

“Please, Martha, don’t make a fuss; just eat this and drink this glass
of wine. I don’t know why you shouldn’t. Why shouldn’t you eat supper
twice, if it is good?” Martha did not dare to refuse Esther’s offering
any more, so she began to eat her second supper, which was much more
abundant than the first had been.

“What brings you here so late, Martha; what is it?” asked Esther
curiously, for this visit was quite unusual.

“I was going to ask you something, Esther, and I thought that I would
interfere less with your work in the evening than at any other time,”
Martha answered. “Cornelli, who used to come to me every day has not
been to see me all week. I thought that the ladies might have objected
to her going to such a humble old woman as I am. I could understand
that well enough. Do you think they have?”

“Oh no, they don’t object at all,” Esther replied. “Miss Mina has told
them that our master thinks well of you. But you have no idea how
changed the child is in all her ways. One hardly knows her any more.
Three or four times a morning she used to come running in and out of
the kitchen. She was always singing and flying about the garden like
a little bird, at all hours of the day.

“Who picked all the fine berries and the yellow plums, the juicy, dark
red cherries from the young trees over there, so that it was a pleasure
to see her? Cornelli, of course! And now she won’t even look at
anything. All the berries are dried up by now and spoiled, and the
fine cherries, too. The yellow plums, also, are lying under the tree
by the dozen. They are only meant for children; the ladies won’t bother
about them and one can’t cook them, either. So they fall down and lie
there, and Cornelli never raises her head when she goes by them.”

Martha was much too modest to say how she would have loved to have a
little basket full of plums for her young boarder. She never could
give him any fruit and she knew how he would enjoy some. But as long
as he was staying with her she could not do it, for that would seem
as if she were begging for herself.

“Yes, Esther,” she said after a while, “I certainly have noticed how
changed Cornelli is. I pray to the Lord that everything will come right
in the end. Of course, it is hard for the child to get used to a new
life right away. But it surely will be good for her to have somebody
looking after her bringing-up.”

Esther shrugged her shoulders significantly at this, but said nothing.
“Is the child still in her room or has she gone out, Esther, do you
know? I wanted to tell her to come again to see me, as long as the
ladies don’t object.”

Esther did not need to answer. At that moment Cornelli came stealing
quietly down the hall. When she saw Martha a ray of sunshine passed
across her face and she greeted the old woman.

“I came to see if you were ill,” said Martha. “What keeps you from
coming to see me, Cornelli? The time has passed so slowly without you,
child,” she added, holding Cornelli’s hand affectionately.

“With me, too,” said Cornelli hoarsely.

“Please come to-morrow and every day, the way you used to,” Martha
begged.

“No, I won’t come,” Cornelli answered.

“Why not, Cornelli?” Martha asked, full of dismay.

“Because the boy is there. I don’t like him and he does not like me,”
Cornelli stated.

Martha now eagerly told Cornelli of the falsehood of this assertion.
She told her how Dino had asked after her every day and had hoped that
she would come again. It was awfully dull for him to be alone all day
without a playmate. Martha was quite sure that it had not been Dino’s
fault that she did not like him. The boy had nothing at all against
her, for he was asking every day that she come back.

“Tell me, Cornelli,” Martha said finally, “why don’t you like the boy?
He is so nice!”

“I’ll come to see you to-morrow,” was Cornelli’s answer, and it
sufficed. Quite happily Martha said good-bye, making Cornelli repeat
her promise that she would spend some time next day with her old friend
and the new boarder.

Next day Cornelli actually arrived at Martha’s cottage at the accustomed
time. Martha was standing by her carnation pots on the porch, ready
to greet the visitor who was approaching.

“Dino is so glad that you are coming, Cornelli,” she said, offering
her hand as greeting. “He has just returned from drinking milk. Look,
here he comes!”

Dino had heard the arrival of Martha’s expected friend and opening the
door had stepped out. “Why have you not come for so long?” he asked,
giving Cornelli his hand. “I waited for you every day.”

Cornelli gave no answer. Entering the room together they sat down just
as they did the first day of their acquaintance. Martha went out,
because she knew that the children would get along better alone, and
she was very anxious for the two to become good friends.

“Your small white kid is growing more cunning every day,” said Dino.
“You should see it when it bounds about so gaily.”

“I don’t care if I see it again or not. Nothing matters at all to me,”
Cornelli returned in a most unfriendly manner.

“No, this is not true,” said Dino, laughing kindly. “When one talks
that way it shows that one cares a great deal and that one is full of
bitter thoughts, just because one can’t have what one wants. I know
that very well; I do exactly the same thing.”

Cornelli was so astonished by Dino’s knowledge in the matter that she
gazed at him dumfounded.

“Oh, yes, I know how it is,” he repeated. “But you do not need to be
bitter, because you lead the finest life anyone possibly could. I
always think so each morning and evening when I go over to the stable
to drink my milk. What a wonderful garden you have! I never saw such
fruit. A whole tree full of plums and all the berries on the bushes!
And then the two fine horses that are kept separately in your stable
for you. Matthew has told me that your father drives with you every
week and that you can have everything in the house and in the garden,
for you are the only child.”

“Oh, if only there were twelve or twenty children in the house, then
everything would be different,” Cornelli broke forth passionately.
“But I am always alone and never can say a word to anybody. And if one
is made so that everybody hates and despises one, and if no one in the
whole world can help one and everything gets worse all the time---You
do not know how it is. I only wish I could die right away--” Here
Cornelli burst into sudden tears. Putting her head on the table she
sobbed violently.

Dino looked quite frightened; he had never intended to make Cornelli
sad and he could not understand what she had said. But he remembered
that she had no mother and so he could understand her tears, for that
was dreadfully sad. That seemed more cause for tears than that she was
an only child.

The thought filled him with deep compassion for her, and he said softly:
“Come, Cornelli! It is terribly sad that you have no mother, but you
must not think that therefore you are all alone and nobody wants to
help you. I’ll be your friend and I’ll help you, but you must tell me
what troubles you. I do not understand from what you have said. Please
explain it all to me.”

“No, I can’t do that, I can’t tell anyone,” Cornelli said between her
sobs.

“Oh, yes, you can. Don’t cry any more and I’ll help you. I can surely
find a way. Please tell me.”

Dino took Cornelli’s hand and gently pulled it away from her eyes.

“No, no, I can’t,” she said timidly.

“Oh, yes, you can. First of all, we’ll push your hair away. It is all
sticking to your forehead and your eyes; you can hardly see.” Dino
pushed the hair away as much as he was able; but it was still hanging
down and sticking fast.

“Oh, now you’ll see it, and then you’ll make a great noise, I know,”
Cornelli exclaimed desperately.

“I do not see anything except that you look a thousand times better
that way than with these thick, drooping fringes all over your face,”
said Dino.

“No, let them be! I know exactly how it is,” cried Cornelli, making
an effort to push her hair back again. “Only you won’t say it, because
you want to be my friend. But I know it and everybody can see it and
hate me.”

“But Cornelli, why are you crying?” said Dino, full of astonishment.
“I don’t know what you mean and I am sure you are imagining something.
You must be, for one often does.”

“No, I’m not, and there are people who can see it. You must not think
that I imagine something, Dino; otherwise I would not be so frightened
that I often cannot go to sleep for a long, long while. I have to think
and think all the time. I know that it will get worse and worse and
that I won’t be able to cover it up in the end. Then there won’t be
a single person in the world who does not hate me when he looks at me.
You, too, will hate me then, I know.”

“I swear to you right now that I shall not hate you, whatever should
appear,” Dino exclaimed enthusiastically. “Just tell me for once and
all what you mean. Please do it, for I might be able to help you and
give you some advice. Just tell me, for you know now that I will remain
your friend in spite of everything that might turn up.”

Cornelli still hesitated.

“But will you still be my friend later on, when everything is still
more changed and nobody else will be my friend?” she asked persistently.

“Yes, I promise; and here is my hand!” said Dino, giving the little
girl a hearty handshake. “You can see that I really mean it, for what
one has promised that way, one can never take back. Now you can be
sure that I shall always be your friend.”

Cornelli’s face lit up with joy. It was obviously a great comfort to
her to have a friend who would remain so for all time.

“So now, I’ll tell you what it is. But you must promise not to tell
anyone in the whole, wide world about it, as long as you live.”

Dino promised, giving his hand again for solemn assurance.

“Look, here on both sides of my forehead,” said Cornelli now, hesitating
a little and pushing the fringes of hair out of her face, “I have two
large bumps, they grow all the time and especially when I frown. I
have to make a cross face all the time, for I cannot be jolly any more
and can never laugh again. So the bumps keep on growing and in the end
they will be just like regular horns. Then everyone will hate me, for
nobody else has horns. I can do nothing now but hide them, but in the
end they will come through and then my hair won’t hide them any more.
Then everybody can see it and people will despise me and children will
be sure to throw stones after me. Oh!”

Cornelli again put her head on her arms and groaned in her great
trouble. Dino had listened, full of astonishment. He had never before
heard anything like that.

“But, Cornelli,” he said, “why do you frown all the time, if the bumps
grow when you do it? It would be so much better if you would think of
funny things and would try to laugh. If you always made a pleasant
face they would perhaps go away entirely.”

“I can’t! I can’t possibly do it,” Cornelli lamented. “I know that I
make a horrid face and that I am so ugly that nobody wants to look at
me. Whenever anybody looks at me I have to make a cross face, for I
know that everybody thinks how horrid I look. I never can be happy any
more, because I have to think all the time about that terrible thing
on my head, and that it is getting worse. And I can’t help it and can
do nothing. You don’t know how it is. As long as I live I have to be
that way, and everybody will hate me. You could not laugh any more,
either, if you were like that.”

“You should try to think of quite different things and then you would
forget it. Later on it would probably seem quite different to you. You
keep on thinking about it all the time and so you believe in it more
and more. Get it out of your head, then it will be sure to get better,”
said Dino, who could not quite understand it. “Come, I’ll tell you a
story that will change your thoughts. Once upon a time there was an
old copper pan---See, you have laughed already!”

“Oh, that will be a fine kind of story--about an old copper pan!”
Cornelli said.

“It certainly is a fine story,” Dino assured her; “just listen: She
had a step-brother who was a wash boiler--you see, you have laughed
again! That’s the way! So they went together to Paris, where there was
a revolution.”

“What is a revolution?” Cornelli asked, quite thrilled.

“See how the story interests you!” said Dino, thoroughly pleased. “You
have no more wrinkles on your forehead, because you are listening well.
Didn’t I guess what you have to do? I’ll go on now. You call it a
revolution when nobody wants to remain in their old places and
everything goes to pieces.”

“What do you mean by going to pieces? Do you mean it the way chairs
begin to go to pieces when the glue comes off and the legs get loose
and shaky?”

“Just that way,” Dino assented. “When all laws and orders begin to go
to pieces like chairs, when the glue is off and everything crashes and
tumbles down; do you understand?”

“Yes. And what happened?” Cornelli wanted to know.

“The travellers liked that well,” Dino continued, “for they were full
of discontented thoughts. The copper pan had thought for a long time
that she wanted to be something else. She was tired of cooking greasy
food and of all the time being full of soot at the bottom; she wanted
to be something better. The wash boiler had similar thoughts. He thought
he would be much better off as a nice tea kettle. He thought how nice
it would be to stand on a fine table, so he wanted to get away from
the laundry.

“When they came to the revolution they joined in it, too. They became
quite famous making speeches, for they both could talk very well. The
wash boiler had learned it from the washer women, and the copper pan
from the cook. So they were both asked what they wanted to become. The
copper pan wanted to become an ice box; she wanted to sparkle outside
with fine wood and inside with splendid ice. The wash boiler wanted
to become a fine tea kettle and be able to stand on a finely laid-out
table. So they both became what they had wished.

“But the copper pan, who had been used to the cosy fire, began to shake
and freeze when the ice filled her whole inside. Her teeth were
chattering while she looked about to see if she could discover a little
fire anywhere. But nobody ever brought any burning spark near her. She
suffered the bitterest hunger besides, because she had been used to
quite different nourishment from fat morsels roasting in her insides.
Now she had to swallow little lumps of ice and nothing else. She was
not a bit pleased with shining outside and in, for she had to think
all the time: how terrible it is to starve and freeze to death.

“The tea kettle meanwhile was standing on a beautifully set table.
Many splendidly dressed young ladies and gentlemen were sitting around
him and drinking tea out of fine china cups, and eating from lovely
gold-rimmed plates. The tea kettle felt flattered and said to himself:
‘Oh, now I can be anybody’s equal.’ But one of the ladies said: ‘I can
smell tar soap and I think it comes from this tea kettle. I wonder
what that means?’ Her neighbor laughed and said: ‘I noticed it long
ago. I hope it has not been used for washing stockings.’ So they looked
at the kettle and sniffed and turned up their noses with disdain.

“The tea kettle lost his assurance, for he knew quite well that many
hundreds of stockings had been boiled inside of him. The poor thing
had never guessed that the smell of tar soap would stick to him in his
new shape. He felt very cramped and uncomfortable in the society he
was in, and was possessed with the thought of getting away and returning
to the place where he had been comfortable and had been held in high
esteem, for he had really been a first-rate boiler.

“Then suddenly the revolution ceased. The lady of the house who owned
the ice box said: ‘I do not want the horrible ice box any more, which
they have exchanged for my good old ice box. All the ice that comes
out of it tastes of onion soup.’ The copper pan had always cooked this
soup better than any other. ‘Lulu, throw it out to the old iron heap,’
said the lady. So Lulu, the butler, and Lala, the maid, took the ice
box and with terrible might threw her down on the scrap heap, where
old iron, bones and dirt lay in the back yard.

“The ice box felt that all her limbs were giving way and that everything
was going to end badly. She lamented: ‘Oh, if only I had not joined
the revolution! If I had only stayed at home by the cosy fire! Oh, if
only---’ And with that she cracked completely.

“On the same day the young lady on whose table the kettle was standing
said: ‘Now I have had enough of this horrid tar-soap boiler. I want
a genuine tea kettle and not an imitation. Away with this thing!’ So
the butler took the kettle and dashed him down to the heap of rubbish
in the yard. It was the same rubbish heap where his step-sister had
been thrown, and in his fall he broke his own and his step-sister’s
last bones. Then he exclaimed in bitter pain: ‘Oh, if only I had not
joined the revolution! Oh, if I were only home in the peaceful, steaming
laundry.’ Then he was completely smashed by the old muskets that were
used in the revolution and that had been thrown down on top of him.
And this is the end of the story.”

“Yes, they were right. If only they had not joined the revolution!”
Cornelli said sympathetically.

“Yes, and I am right, too,” Dino cried triumphantly. “Just see how
much it helped you to forget your curious bump affair. You have no
more wrinkles on your forehead and you have pushed all your hair away.
You look entirely different; I hardly know you now.”

Cornelli in very truth had been so eager in listening to the story
that with one quick motion she had pushed the hanging curtains out of
her eyes. She had been anxious not to miss a word, and the hair had
bothered her very much. Her whole face had become bright and changed
during the thrilling tale.

“Just look at yourself!” Dino encouraged her, taking a little mirror
from the wall and holding it in front of the little girl.

“No, no, I do not want to see it!” she cried out. In the same moment
she had pulled her hair back again over her eyes, and on her forehead
appeared a lot of wrinkles.

“Don’t get so excited!” said Dino, putting back the mirror. “But I am
awfully glad to know a way to help you. I shall do it every day, but
you must promise to come regularly. I am sure you’ll forget everything
else that worries you, and in the end you’ll forget about it and so
be gay again.”

Cornelli shook her head. “No, you can’t prevent it from getting worse,”
she said, covering her forehead with more hair. However, she took
Dino’s hand as a promise to come again, for she had enjoyed her visit
very much and was looking forward to repeating it.

From that day on, Cornelli wandered over to Martha’s little house as
she had always done. The old woman cried with joy when she heard the
child’s merry laughter after all that time, for it had been a great
grief to her to see the bright child so terribly changed. She loved
to leave the children by themselves, for then they always seemed to
enjoy themselves best. From time to time she heard their happy laughter;
it thrilled her with joy, and she never wanted to interrupt it. She
had seen how Cornelli behaved when listening to one of Dino’s stories;
the little girl was as eager as if she were experiencing it all herself.
In her burning zeal she would fling back her hair, her eyes would
sparkle as in days gone by, and a brightly laughing face would regard
the story teller. Everything else was forgotten for the time; but if
something reminded Cornelli of her own life and troubles, all sunshine
was suddenly gone from her face, her forehead clouded up, and the
horrible sticky hair was again hanging over her eyes.

So Martha always tried to leave the children undisturbed. She had many
hopes for Cornelli on account of this daily intercourse with the
charming boy, whose clear brow was never troubled and who could so
quickly drive away the clouds from his friend’s face.

As soon as Cornelli left the little house and was approaching her own
garden, everything changed back to the old condition. Martha, looking
after the child, could always see the fearful looking hair that so
strangely disfigured the little girl’s pretty face. Then she would
sigh deeply and would say to herself: It seems like a disease, but who
can help her? Oh, if our blessed lady had seen her child so terribly
disfigured!

Cornelli was very much surprised when she found that Saturday evening
had come again, for the last two weeks had flown by very fast.

She ran through the garden. Under the plum tree lay the last fully
ripened dark gold plums. Cornelli picked them up; they were really
splendid, but they had given her no pleasure that year. She took them
with her and put them on Martha’s table.

“Oh, what fine yellow plums! I am sure they taste as sweet as honey,”
exclaimed Dino. “Are they from your garden? When the sun shines on
them in the morning, all the branches seem to sparkle with reddish
gold like a Christmas tree.”

“Yes, they are from the tree. Do you want to eat them?” asked Cornelli.

“With pleasure. But you must eat some, too,” said Dino.

“No, I don’t want to,” Cornelli replied. “Just try whether they are
good. If you do not like them, you can leave them or give them to the
birds.”

“Oh, but there is nothing that tastes as sweet and splendid as these
golden plums!” cried Dino, while he was slowly eating one after another.

“What a shame! I wish I had known how much you like them; you really
ought to have told me,” Cornelli said. “There are none left on the
tree and they are the last that were lying on the grass. But very soon
we’ll have the best juicy pears--they are perfectly delicious, I think,
even better--and then I’ll bring you some every day.”

“Yes, it certainly would be great to have a pear feast with you every
day,” said Dino, looking admiringly at the last reddish plum before
he ate it. “It is easy enough for you, Cornelli. You can stay right
here under the pear tree, but I have to go away. I’ll have to spend
my time behind the school house walls, regretting all that I have
lost.”

“But you are not going away,” said Cornelli with dismay.

It had never occurred to her that this happy companionship could ever
end.

“Yes, I have to. If I could, I would stay here much longer with our
good friend Martha. She is better than anybody I know except my mother,
and she takes care of me as if I were a silkworm.”

“Yes, and when you go, everything is over,” said Cornelli, speaking
as if Dino were her enemy. Her eyes glowed at him from under her hair
and she seemed to be accusing him of some bitter wrong. She now turned
away, as if to say: Now I do not want to hear of anything more. But
Dino understood her sudden anger.

“No, Cornelli,” he said soothingly, “just the opposite will happen.
It is not over at all, because it has only just begun. I have planned
with Martha to-day that I shall come again next summer and the summer
after and every year after that, till we are both old and gray.”

But Cornelli only saw the immediate future before her and what was going
to happen now; she could not look so far ahead.

“Yes, but it is so long till next year, that you are sure to forget
all about me a hundred times,” she said crossly, as if she were chiding
her companion.

“No, I won’t do that,” said Dino quietly. “I won’t forget you once,
least of all a hundred times. I’ll prove it to you, Cornelli. Let us
still have a good time together and enjoy the four remaining days that
I can stay here. Let us look forward, also, to the time when I shall
come again. Just think how much the kid will have grown by then! We
shall be able to drive together. I’ll be the coachman and you’ll be
the lady in the carriage. That will be splendid!”

But Cornelli could no longer be really gay. She always saw the moment
before her when Dino had to say good-bye, and when all their fun would
be over. The morning really came fast enough when she had to take leave
of him in Martha’s cottage. After Dino had driven away, Cornelli buried
her head in her arms and cried piteously. Martha, too, was heavy of
heart, and sat beside her, crying quietly.

That same evening when dinner was done and Cornelli got up from table
to leave the room, the cousin said: “You have not said a single word
to-day, Cornelli. You seem to get worse instead of better! Ought your
father find you worse on coming home than when he left?”

“Good-night,” said Cornelli hoarsely, and left the room without once
looking up.

“There is nothing to be done with her; you can see it for yourself,
Betty. You have thought that we could still produce a change for the
better,” said Miss Dorner, after Cornelli had shut the door behind
her. “What have we accomplished with our best efforts? We have tried
hard enough for her father’s sake. How terrible it will be for him to
live alone with her again! Instead of cheering his lonely life, she
will only cause him worry and trouble. And what a sight she is! Have
you ever seen an obstinacy equal to hers in all your life?”

“No, never,” replied the friend. “It actually seems as if all the
helpful words we have spoken had the opposite effect with her. Whenever
we told her how terrible she looked, the disfiguring hair fringes
always seemed to get worse. I should like to know what one could do
to break her stubborn will. Maybe great severity would do it or bringing
together Cornelli and other children; they might cure her by laughing
at her.”

“I do not believe so, for nothing seems to help,” Miss Dorner concluded.
“My cousin himself, when he comes back, shall decide what to do with
her. But I know that one thing is certain: whatever will be done, she
will never be a joy to her father.”




CHAPTER VII

A NEW SORROW


Autumn had come, and all the fruit trees in Mr. Hellmut’s garden were
laden with gorgeous fruit. Bright red apples and golden pears were
shining through the green branches; dark blue plums, honey sweet, fell
here and there from the deeply weighted trees. Whoever passed the
garden had to stand still and look, full of wonder, at this great
abundance, and many a person was tempted to leap over the hedge and
get one of the golden pears as a prize.

Cornelli, staring in front of her, was sitting on the bench under the
hazel nut tree. Matthew was just approaching from the stable; he wore
his best coat, and one could see that something special was going on.

“Do you want to come with me, Cornelli?” he asked, walking over to the
bench where she was sitting. “I am just going to harness the horses.
Your father is coming at eleven o’clock and I am going to drive down
to the lake to meet him. Come with me! Our brown fellows will be sure
to trot well, for they have had a long rest. Come along! It will be
fun, I know.”

Cornelli shook her head.

“No?” said Matthew with disappointment. “I was sure you would not let
slip a chance of driving gaily out into the bright morning to meet
your father. Shall I get you down some pears? No pears, either?” Matthew
went away, shaking his head. “If our master only had half a dozen boys
and as many girls, how nice it would be here on the place. Then such
splendid pears would not be hanging sad and forgotten on the trees.”
Then he added, in a murmur: “Not even to care about driving with such
horses!”

Soon afterwards, Mr. Maelinger arrived, for it was time for Cornelli’s
lessons. Most of the time the teacher sat beside his pupil shaking his
head. He really needed all his patience to endure the total indifference
she showed in all her tasks. To-day it was again the same.

The two hours passed, and the carriage which was bringing home her
father had just driven up in front of the house. Mr. Maelinger was
filled with astonishment, for his pupil, instead of jumping up happily
and running away to greet her father, looked shyly through the window
and did not budge.

“You can go, Cornelli; your father is here! We have finished our work,”
he said, and with these words departed.

Cornelli had heard her father coming into the house and had heard the
ladies’ joyful words of welcome. She crushed a tear that had begun to
trickle down her cheek and went over to the room where her father had
just entered.

“How are you, child? Have you come at last?” the father called gaily
to her. “But how strange you look, Cornelli!” he went on with a changed
voice. “What is it?” Cornelli had silently given him her hand and was
shyly looking down.

“What has happened to you? How odd you look! I hardly know you any
more! Push away all that gypsy-like hair from your face! Why don’t you
look at me pleasantly? Why do you keep looking away? For months I have
been looking forward to this home-coming to my little daughter, who,
I had hoped, would have gained much. So this is the way I am to find
you, Cornelli.”

Full of sorrow and anger, the father was gazing at the little girl.
She had turned away and had not said a word. Her face, half hidden by
the horrible hair strands, seemed to be covered by a gray cloud which
threatened to break out in a violent rain.

“We shall talk it all over later, Frederick,” said the cousin. “Let
us first enjoy and celebrate the happy hour of your return and let us
keep all troublesome thoughts away.” With these words, Miss Dorner led
her cousin to the dining room, where the table was festively set with
all the good dishes Esther knew were her master’s favorites.

The Director’s thoughts, however, were so troubled that even the festive
meal could not dispel them. He barely touched the food that was offered,
for he could not take his eyes off his only child. She sat in front
of him with bowed head, and only now and then looked up at him, quite
shyly. The meal did not go through in a very festive spirit. It was
noticeable that Mr. Hellmut had to force himself to the few words he
spoke. His thoughts were elsewhere and were of a very disturbing nature.
He got up from the table, as soon as possible, and hurried away.

“He is going over to the works,” said Miss Dorner to her friend,
following him with her eyes. Cornelli, too, had left the room as soon
as her father had gone. “I think it has upset him more than I thought
it would. He has to give vent to his excitement a little, and I hope
that seeing the workmen over there will help him to get over his
impression. I hope he will hear there many new and pleasant things--of
much work and good business. It is hard for him to carry on his endless
work for the sake of such a child, don’t you think so? But it can’t
be changed.”

After a while the Director came back again. He did not look much soothed
or pleasantly surprised by what he had just heard. The ladies now sat
down again to drink a cup of coffee with him.

“They have spoiled many things for me over there,” said the Director,
sitting down beside them. “Even if it should mean considerable loss,
I can bear it, but I cannot stand the way Cornelli has changed. What
a frightful sight she is, and how dumb and stupid she has grown. She
did not show the slightest sign of pleasure at my coming and has not
said a single word since then. She has hardly even looked at me and
only sits there as if her existence were a real misfortune--I cannot
stand it. What has happened to the child?” In his excitement Mr. Hellmut
jumped up and paced about the room.

“Nothing has happened to the child; at least, we know of nothing, do
we, Betty?” said Miss Dorner. “We have both tried to teach her good
manners, for we found that she lacked them sadly. We did it chiefly
on your account. Sorry as I am to say it, Frederick, I have to tell
you that the child’s disposition is so terribly obstinate one can
hardly do anything with her. The more we fought against it and tried
to bring her on the right path, the worse it got and the more she would
insist on having her way.

“What have we not said against this terrible disfigurement! And all
for nothing! The more we said, the more Cornelli would pull her hair
into her eyes. So I gave it up, for I saw that only physical punishment
would help in such a case and I wanted to leave that to you; I did not
come into your house for that. I do not even dare to decide if that
would help. I have really never in all my life seen such a stubborn
child. I shall certainly admire anybody who can bring her to rights.”

The director had marched up and down the room with restless steps. Now
he suddenly stood still.

“But good gracious!” he exclaimed, “there must certainly be a way to
help a child of ten years. Are there no means except chastisement to
bring up a young creature like her? What an abominable thought! I will
not believe such a thing! Can you give me no advice? What could I do?
Ladies surely know how to educate a little girl. Something simply has
to be done right away. I am to blame for my neglect and for leaving
her too long in the wrong hands. Oh, what would my Cornelia say if she
could see her child?” Mr. Hellmut threw himself down in his chair and
put his hands before his face.

“Please calm yourself, Frederick! It is not your fault at all, for you
can’t fight against her disposition,” the cousin said soothingly. “We
have thought of a way of helping the child. You might send her to a
boarding school in town where there are a great many children and young
girls. Children often help each other by rubbing up against one another
and by noticing each other’s faults and mistakes.”

“Do you think that this might help Cornelli?” asked the father
doubtfully. “Cornelli is not used to being rubbed against and laughed
at.”

“For that reason it would make a still deeper impression on her,”
answered the cousin. “You can believe me when I say that this may be
the only means to break her obstinacy, and I am not sure that even
this will help. If such a school can’t break her will, nobody on earth
can reform her; you can believe me, Frederick.”

“She is still very young to be sent away from home,” said the father,
full of pity. “But I fear that you are right. She could not get better
here, only worse, and so it will probably have to be. Do you know of
a boarding school you could recommend?”

The cousin answered that she knew of one, and offered to take the
necessary steps as soon as she was again at home. Miss Dorner hoped
in vain that her cousin’s humor would change and that he would become
again the merry and sociable companion of old days. He tried with all
his might to be entertaining when they met at table; but he always had
to glance at his little girl, who sat at her place dumb and seemingly
afraid even to glance about her. A deep shadow always came across his
features, and one could see that it was hard for him to mingle in the
general conversation.

Miss Dorner at last had enough of his unfriendly attitude. As a last
means to break it and to shake him up a little, she said to him on the
third day after his arrival: “It seems to me, Frederick, that you are
too much occupied even to remember your duties as a host. We are
thinking of going back to town. Are you willing?”

“I understand your decision absolutely,” Mr. Hellmut answered politely.
“You are right in telling me that I am the most unpleasant host that
could be found, but I hope you understand that the change in Cornelli
has spoiled everything for me and has only filled me with the thought
of how to help her. I hope very much that you will visit my house again
at a pleasanter time. You can order the carriage whenever you want it.”

The cousin had not expected this answer. “You go entirely too far,
Frederick,” she said angrily. “How can a man sacrifice everything and
change all his ideas for the sake of such a child?”

“You seem to forget that it is my Cornelia’s and my only child,”
answered the Director. “But we shall not talk about it any more, because
we could not understand each other. I am so grateful for your goodwill
that I do not want to cause you any anger at the end.”

Two days later the carriage stood before the door. Both ladies stepped
in and Mina stepped in after them. The latter had known so well how
to make herself liked by them that they were taking her to town, for
Mina had wished to become a maid in the city to get away from country
people. One of the ladies was to take her as chambermaid, but it had
not been settled yet which of them would do so.

Esther was terribly indignant because Mina was leaving a good house
for no reason whatsoever. Since Esther had been managing in the
Director’s home she had always felt the honor of the house to be her
own. Full of resentment, she was standing behind her master, who was
shaking hands as a last farewell.

Miss Mina was looking towards the other side, where Cornelli stood:
“Won’t you even give me your hand? This is not very friendly of you.
That is just the way you are,” she said to the child in a low voice.

Now Esther broke forth: “Miss Mina,” she called out as loudly as she
could, “please be so kind as to tell the ladies on the trip who left
the dusty marks on the sofa by standing on it. They were not from a
child’s shoe.”

Mina blushed a deep scarlet and Miss Dorner, full of astonishment,
looked at her glowing face. She expected a fitting retort, but none
came.

“Go ahead, Matthew,” Miss Dorner ordered excitedly. She did not desire
a further explanation.

Mr. Hellmut had moved away.

Cornelli now took Esther’s broad hand inside both her own and pressed
it hard. A ray of joy flitted over her features, the first after a
long, long time. “Oh, I am so glad that you said that, Esther; I am
more glad than you can think,” she said eagerly. “If you had not said
that, they would have thought all their lives that I had done it and
denied it. But how does Mina know who did it?”

“She knows, because she did it herself,” Esther replied.

“Oh, oh! So she did it with her own feet,” Cornelli exclaimed. “It is
better that she has gone then. We’d rather be left alone here, wouldn’t
we, Esther, just you and I?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the cook, full of satisfaction. “Just tell your
father that I do not mind double work, but that I do mind deceitful
ways.”

Cornelli had not spoken to her father since he had come back. She was
shy before him, because she realized that the sight of her displeased
him. She was, however, quite sure that she could never change and
always had to be like that. She was also certain that he would only
abhor her more if he ever found out what was hidden under her locks
of hair. She therefore went slowly and hesitatingly towards his room
in order to give him Esther’s message. In former times she had always
run to him gaily, whenever she had something to tell him. Since then
things had changed.

“It will never again be that way,” she said to herself. The thought
seemed to weigh so heavily on her that she suddenly stood still. At
that moment her father opened the door in front of which she stood.
“Oh, here you are, Cornelli,” he said delightedly. “Did you want to
pay me a little visit? We have really hardly seen each other. Come in
here! I was just going to get you, for I want to speak with you.”

Cornelli entered, not saying a word and avoiding her father’s glance.

“Come, Cornelli,” he said, leading her through the room and sitting
down beside her. “I have something to tell you that will make you very
happy. You have changed so much during my absence and so little to
your advantage that something has to be done for your education. It
is high time. I shall take you to a boarding school in town, where you
can be with many other children and young girls. You will have the
chance to learn many things from them and to make friends with many.
You will be sure to change there, then you can return to bring your
father joy. I cannot enjoy you now, for I do not know what ails you.
It may be better after you get some education. I expect to take you
away next week.”

Cornelli’s face became snow white from sudden terror. First she uttered
no sound, but soon she burst into violent tears.

“Oh, Papa,” she sobbed, “leave me at home! I’ll be good. Oh, don’t
send me to town to so many children! Oh, I can’t, I can’t. Oh, Papa,
don’t send me away!”

Mr. Hellmut could not bear to see Cornelli’s tears and still less to
hear her supplications. “But for her own good it has to be,” he said
to himself to strengthen his resolution. Cornelli’s lamentations were
too much for him and he rushed away.

Several hours later, the time had come for supper and he returned from
the iron foundry.

Esther came to meet him: “Oh, I am glad that you have come, Director,”
she said excitedly. “When I went up to Cornelli just now she was crying.
I wanted her to taste some of the little plum cakes she usually likes
so much, but the poor child only shrieked: ‘Oh, leave me here, leave
me here!’ Oh, Mr. Hellmut, what if Cornelli should get sick and die?”

“Nonsense, Esther,” he returned; “children do not die from obstinacy.”

The master of the house had tried to speak harshly, but he did not
quite succeed. He ran straight upstairs to Cornelli’s room and saw the
child on her knees in front of the bed. Her head was pressed into the
pillows and she cried as if her heart was breaking.

“Oh, don’t send me away, don’t send me away!” she cried as soon as he
entered.

He saw that Cornelli was trembling all over from fear and excitement.
“I cannot endure this,” he said to himself, and seizing his hat ran
out of the house.

Martha was sitting in her peaceful little chamber, busy with her mending
and thinking about Cornelli. She was wondering what would happen now
that she was again left alone with her father. She wondered if the old
days would come back, or if something new was going to be done for
Cornelli’s education. The door was suddenly flung open and Mr. Hellmut
entered.

“Oh, Martha, I do not know what to do,” he said to her in a perturbed
manner. “You simply have to help me. You knew my wife and you know my
child and love her; and besides, she is attached to you. Tell me what
has come over her. Since when has she been so frightfully stubborn?
Was the child always that way, or has she only grown more stubborn
lately? Have you noticed how she has changed in my absence?”

“There is nothing so very much the matter with Cornelli, Mr. Hellmut.
Cornelli is not an ill-natured child, I am sure of that. But won’t you
take a seat, Director?” Martha interrupted her speech, placing a chair
now here and now there for her visitor, who was running excitedly to
and fro. But he refused, for he was too restless to settle down.

“It was really a very abrupt and sudden change for the child, and it
was hard for her to have everything so different all at once,” Martha
said. “Even an older child might have become shy under those conditions,
and Cornelli is still very young. It is hard for a small plant to have
too much done for it all at once and too suddenly; it has to have time
to develop, and the better the plant the more carefully it should be
tended.”

“I hope you are not trying to insinuate that it was not good for
Cornelli to at last get into the right hands,” said Mr. Hellmut,
standing still in the middle of the room. “I have to reckon it as a
great blessing that she was thrown with ladies of culture and
refinement, who could awaken in her everything that was good, noble
and fine, and could teach her many things. My Cornelia would have done
this herself, above all others, for she was in all those things the
most striking example. The child has not a trace of her, not even in
her looks; everything is lost that used to remind me of her.”

“Oh, Mr. Hellmut, if I might be allowed to say anything else, I would
only add one word,” Martha replied calmly. “I have always found that
a little love goes further than many good rules. I know that a young
child can be frightened by harsh words more than grown-up people
realize. Afterwards they cannot understand the cause of the shy behavior
which is the result. Cornelli has not lost her mother’s eyes, only one
cannot see them under her hanging fringes.”

“Yes, that’s it, Martha, this horrible disfigurement, this obstinacy
which holds fast to it all. The shy, spiritless manner, the absolutely
changed ways of the child hurt and worry me so. It takes away all my
joy and all my courage and paralyzes all hope for the future. It has
absolutely spoiled my life.”

The visitor had gotten more and more stirred up as he went on. “So I
shall help her in the only way I know of: I shall send her to a boarding
school. I just told her about it and she acted as if she were absolutely
desperate. I simply cannot look upon her terrible despair. I actually
feel as if my Cornelia could have no peace in Heaven if she heard her
child’s supplications.”

“Oh, Director, if you could only keep Cornelli at home for a little
while, so that she could calm down,” Martha said humbly. “Cornelli has
had to go through so many new experiences lately that it would be good
for her to stay quietly at home for a while. In the meantime you could
get her more accustomed to the idea of leaving home, so that it would
not scare her so dreadfully. I promise to do all I can too, Mr. Hellmut.
I will tell her pleasant things about the school and the nice children
that she might meet there.”

“That is a fine idea, Martha,” Mr. Hellmut said, a little more calmly.
“Please do all you possibly can to make the idea pleasant and desirable
to the child. Do not forget, Martha, that you are my only help.”

After these words Mr. Hellmut went away.

“Oh, the good kind Director!” said Martha, following him with her eyes.
“What help can old, stupid Martha be to him, I wonder. But I shall
certainly do whatever I can.”

Arrived at home, Mr. Hellmut went straight up to Cornelli’s room. She
was still kneeling at her bed in the same attitude, and still crying
bitterly.

“Get up, Cornelli, and stop crying,” he said. “I meant well with you,
but you did not understand me. You shall stay at home for the present;
later on you may feel differently about it. You can go to Martha
to-morrow. Listen well to her words, for she is your best friend.”

Cornelli could not have heard a more consoling word. It sounded so
hopeful after all the horrible news about going away.

“Can’t I go to Martha right away?” she said longingly.

“Yes, you can, Cornelli,” replied her father, “but you have not eaten
anything yet.”

“That does not matter,” said Cornelli, already running down the stairs.

At last Cornelli was running again. She flew quickly up the little
stairs and into Martha’s room.

“I have to go away, Martha, but not right away. Papa says that I have
to go,” the child called out on entering. “Papa told me to come to
you; I think it was because I cried all the time and he wanted me to
stop. But I won’t stop, unless you promise to help me to stay at home.
I do not want to go to all the strange children. I couldn’t stand it;
oh, no, I couldn’t! Oh, it would be dreadful. Please help me, Martha,
help me!” The terrible fear in Cornelli’s voice and the sight of her
swollen eyes went straight to Martha’s heart.

“Come and sit down on your little stool the way you used to in the old
times, Cornelli,” she said lovingly, “and I’ll tell you something that
will help and console you. It has helped me, too, and still does when
trouble comes. You see, Cornelli, I once had to go through a terrible
sorrow just as great as yours is to-day. I had to give a child I loved
back to God. So I cried, as loudly as you are crying and even louder:
‘No, I can’t do it, I can’t!’ The more I fought against it, the more
terrible I felt, till in the end I even thought I should despair. So
I cried out in my heart: ‘Can nobody help me?’ And then I suddenly
knew who could do it. I knelt down and prayed to God: ‘Oh, give me
help, for thou alone canst do it!’”

“Can I stay here if I pray like that, Martha? Will God help me right
away?” asked Cornelli eagerly.

“Yes, He will surely help you the way He knows is best for you,
Cornelli. If it should be good for you to go away and you ask your
Father in Heaven for help, He will bless your life away from home, so
that it won’t be as hard as you have feared. If you pray to Him, you
will get the firm assurance that nothing will be hard for you, because
you have His help in everything you do. God is sure to ordain everything
in such a wise way that happiness will come to you in the end.”

“Did you have to give Him your child after all?” Cornelli wanted to
know.

“Yes, God took it to Himself,” Martha answered.

“And could you get happy again, Martha?”

“Yes, yes. The pain was very great, but I was consoled by the thought
of my child’s peace. I knew how many ills he had been spared. God gave
me the assurance that He meant well with both of us. With that thought
I could grow happy again.”

“I want to go home, now,” said Cornelli, suddenly getting up. It seemed
as if something were drawing her away.

“Yes, go now, child, and think of what I told you!” said Martha,
accompanying her.

“Yes, I will,” said Cornelli. She ran home quickly, because the desire
to get to her room was urging her on.

Cornelli had never prayed so earnestly and heartily as she did that
day. Kneeling beside her bed, she confided all her sorrow to her Father
in Heaven, and begged Him to make her happy once more.




CHAPTER VIII

A MOTHER


When Mr. Hellmut sat down to his coffee in the morning he always found
letters and newspapers on the breakfast table.

“Good gracious!” he exclaimed on the morning after the ladies’
departure, “what correspondents have you in town, Cornelli? Here is
a letter for you.”

Cornelli, looking up from her cup, glanced incredulously at the letter.

“It is really for you. Listen! Miss Cornelli Hellmut, Iller-Stream,
Iron Foundry,” the father read. “Here it is!”

Cornelli opened the letter under great suspense and read:

DEAR CORNELLI:

Only think! I am ill and have to lie in bed. The doctor has forbidden
me to read and write, so this letter will be very short. It is very
tiresome to be sick, for my sisters are in school all day. Mama always
has a lot to attend to and Mux is still a very useless little fellow.
Could you not come here and pay me a little visit? I should love to
see you and should enjoy hearing all about Iller-Stream. You could
tell me all about good old Martha, whom I love nearly as much as a
grandmother, about your little kid and Matthew, the horses and
everything else, and especially about yourself. I always had such a
good time with you that I should be terribly pleased if you came to
visit me. Please come very, very soon! Your faithful friend,

DINO.

When Cornelli was folding up the letter again, her father said: “Can
I read it, too?”

Cornelli promptly handed him her letter.

“What friend is this that wants you to come to visit him?” the father
asked with astonishment. “I expect you to cry immediately, though, for
you might have to go to town.”

“Oh, no, Papa, I really would love to see him,” said Cornelli. “It is
Dino, who stayed with Martha this summer.”

The father put down his spoon from pure surprise and looked wonderingly
at his daughter.

“How strange you are, Cornelli!” he said finally. “Now you suddenly
want to visit a strange family. You only know this boy and you do not
hesitate about it and are not even shy about appearing in your present
condition.”

“Dino knows me well and knows that I would come to see him alone. He
will arrange everything for me so that I won’t have to see his mother
or his sisters. He knows everything,” was Cornelli’s explanation.

“That has no sense at all,” the father said curtly, and gathering up
his papers he went away.

Soon afterwards he entered Martha’s little house.

“Here I am again. I wonder what you will say to me?” he called to the
surprised old woman. “Here is a letter with an invitation which came
for Cornelli to-day. It is from a boy who stayed with you. Who is he?
Who are his parents?”

This question made Martha fairly overflow with praises of the boy. She
told Mr. Hellmut that she had never known a boy who was so polite and
friendly to simple folks as this boy had been; he had been well brought
up, had the most refined and charming manners, and was well educated,
and at the same time so simple and childishly devoted to old, plain
Martha. She had never read letters like the mother’s letter to her
son, so beautiful, affectionate and elevating. He had always read them
to her, and she had had to cry every time from sheer emotion. She had
never before seen as beautiful linen as the boy had worn, and it had
all been his two sisters’ work.

“Martha,” the Director finally interrupted her, “according to your
account, it would be a great blessing for my daughter to spend even
a day in such a family.”

“If you would really take her there, Director, I certainly would be
happy--ah! I would not know a greater happiness.”

Martha had to wipe her eyes, she was so stirred.

“You shall know it, Martha. We’ll go tomorrow, and on the same evening
you shall hear an account of all that happened.” With these words the
Director seized her hand, and after shaking it heartily, departed.

“Get everything ready, Cornelli! We are going to town to-morrow,” he
called to his daughter, who sat on the garden bench quietly thinking.
“Esther shall call you early, at six o’clock.”

“Indeed, I shall,” came Esther’s voice through some open window. She
was a good sentinel, for she always seemed to know what was going on
in the house and its immediate neighborhood.

Early next morning the two shiny brown horses were trotting down the
valley. They had to go for four full hours, but that seemed a pure
pleasure to them; the longer they ran, the more spirit they seemed to
get, and Matthew had to keep them from galloping all the time.

In her corner Cornelli meditated as to how she could tell the maid at
her arrival that she wanted to visit no one but Dino, and wanted to
be taken straight to his room. She planned also to forbid Dino to call
his sisters and his mother, for she wanted to see him alone. She would
pay Dino a long visit and then steal quietly away without being noticed.
She was also reflecting about everything she wanted to tell her friend.
First of all, she had to tell him that the news had at last come out
regarding who had been standing on the sofa. She had told him all about
this deep grief she had borne for so long.

So they came to town much sooner than Cornelli had ever thought
possible. The carriage was already halting before the hotel where her
father usually stopped, and Cornelli jumped down.

“Shall I come back again in four hours, Papa?” she asked. “I can find
my way alone, for Dino has described it to me.”

“Stop, stop! That is not the way; I am coming, too,” the father said.

Cornelli was quite sorry not to be able to start off alone, for that
had been her plan. Now everything was quite different.

As Dino had written his exact address in his letter and the Director
knew his way about town very well, they passed quickly from street to
street till they reached a narrow little lane. Here stood the house
they had been seeking. When finally four high stairs had been climbed,
the Director stood on the highest narrow step where the door took up
half of the standing room.

“If the inhabitants correspond to their dwelling place, we shall
probably not remain here very long,” he said, looking up doubtfully
at the inconvenient entrance.

“Dino does not correspond,” said Cornelli quickly. She had not quite
understood her father’s words, but felt them to be an attack on her
friend.

“Climb up there, Cornelli, and pull the bell-rope!” he commanded. “When
the door is open I’ll probably find room to stand there, too.”

Cornelli obeyed. A slender girl a good deal taller than Cornelli opened
the door and looked with surprise at the new arrivals through a pair
of dark and serious eyes. Cornelli retreated suddenly.

“Well, what I see is not very dreadful,” the Director said, stepping
forward.

“How do you do, child. Is your mother at home, and can I speak to her
a moment?”

The girl who had opened the door was Nika. With great politeness she
led the gentleman to a room and informed him that she would go at once
to fetch her mother, who was with her sick brother.

Upon her polite invitation the Director followed her, and settled down
in an arm-chair. He looked about him with astonishment at the small
but scrupulously neat room, which was decorated with several charming
pictures.

When Nika neared the door, Cornelli said to her in a low voice: “I
want to visit Dino.”

“Come, I’ll show you the way,” came a small voice from behind the door.
It was Mux, who had quickly hidden there to peep with curious eyes at
the new arrivals. He came out and seizing Cornelli’s hand, pulled her
away with him. The mother had heard the stranger’s voice and at this
moment entered from an adjoining chamber.

“She does not correspond, either, as Cornelli puts it,” the Director
said to himself with a smile. He rose and introduced himself. “Following
your son’s summons, Mrs. Halm, I have brought you my daughter,” he
said. “She can stay a few hours with her sick friend, if that suits
you, and then she can join me again at my hotel.”

“I am so much obliged to you for the great favor of bringing her. My
son has looked forward so much to this visit. We all know and love
Cornelli already from what he has told us about her. She has been so
kind to him and has entertained him so well when he was alone in
Iller-Stream that she has earned his and my sincere thanks. Could I
not beg of you to leave Cornelli here for a few days, or at least for
all of to-day?”

“You are very kind, Mrs. Halm,” he replied, quite astonished to hear
that his shy, unfriendly child should have furnished the boy any
entertainment. “Those are just polite words,” he said to himself, but
aloud he added: “I am afraid that it won’t be possible, for my child
would not stay. She is very shy and has all kinds of peculiar habits,
as you probably have noticed from her looks. Your daughter certainly
looks different.”

“I shall not keep Cornelli here against her will, of course, but may
I hope to have your permission if the child should want to stay?”

The rector’s widow had such a pleasing manner that it was hard to
refuse her anything. The Director therefore gladly assented, for it
was his wish as well as hers.

“Certainly, Mrs. Halm, I shall joyfully give it,” he assured her. “What
could please me more than to have my daughter in surroundings like
these? But I am perfectly certain that Cornelli will desire to go back
with me. Just the same, I want to thank you sincerely for your great
kindness; it will help her to spend even a single day in your charming
household.”

The Director said farewell and departed. At the entrance door down
stairs a school girl, carrying her schoolbag and books, ran towards
him so violently that a collision could not be avoided, so the Director
opened his arms wide and caught Agnes in them. Agnes always approached
everything like a wind storm. She could not behave otherwise. The
Director laughed heartily and so did Agnes.

“I am sure you belong to Mrs. Halm, too,” he said, looking with pleasure
at the lively face with the wide-open, bright eyes. How nice and trim
everything was about her!

“Yes, indeed,” she replied quickly, and ran away.

“What a happy mother, what a happy woman!” said the Director to himself.
“And to compare my child to such children. I cannot bear it! Such
children, and mine beside them!”

Dino had told his mother about his experiences in Iller-Stream and
especially of his acquaintance with Cornelli. He had also related to
her the child’s strange trouble, but she had had to give her promise
to keep it to herself. It did not seem wrong to Dino to tell his mother,
because she always knew everything he knew. When the invitation had
been sent to Cornelli, Mrs. Halm had seriously told the children not
to make any remarks about Cornelli’s hair in case she should come. She
had told them not to show any surprise if Cornelli wore her hair in
a rather strange fashion and not to notice it further; that was the
way the mother wished it to be.

Little Mux was very much pleased at having a new companion. He looked
upon her as an old acquaintance, for Dino had talked so much about
her. First he took her to see the kitchen.

“But I am sure Dino does not sleep here,” said Cornelli, surprised.

“No, this is the kitchen; there are no beds here,” Mux asserted. “But
I shall show you first why Agnes cried one whole hour to-day, or perhaps
it was two.” And Mux led his new friend to a whole pile of apple peels
which lay in a bucket. “Isn’t Agnes stupid to cry when we get good
apple tarts afterwards.”

“But why did she cry?” asked Cornelli, full of sympathy. She knew
exactly what it was like when one simply had to cry.

“We don’t know,” retorted Mux.

“But why does the maid not peel the apples?” asked Cornelli again.

“There is no maid, except block-headed Trina,” Mux informed her.

“Who is block-headed Trina?” Cornelli wanted to know.

“She has to help; she is small and fat,” Mux described her. “Mama has
to show her how to cook, and she has to fetch what we need and always
brings the wrong thing. So Dino says: ‘We really must send block-headed
Trina away.’ And then Mama says: ‘Trina has to live, too.’ And then
she is not sent away after all.”

Cornelli had great sympathy for Agnes, who apparently had a secret
trouble like her own; she did not have to be afraid of her, as she was
of the proud sister who had received her.

“I am sure, Mux, that your other sister never cries. Are you not afraid
of her?” asked Cornelli.

“Not the least little bit,” replied the little boy. “She often makes
a face, though, as if she wanted to cry and a thousand, thousand times
she begins to when nobody knows why. I don’t know why, either, for she
doesn’t tell me.”

Immediately Cornelli’s great shyness of Nika changed into great pity.
If Nika could not even talk about her sorrow, she might have the deepest
sorrow of all.

“Now we shall go to Dino,” she said, hurrying to the door which the
little boy had pointed out to her.

“But wait! I shall first show you our big picture book. You’ll love
it,” Mux assured her. “There is something in it that looks just like
you; it is an owl that has rags over its eyes like you. But you must
not talk about it, because Mama has forbidden it.”

“No, no, I don’t want to see the book. Please take me to Dino now,”
Cornelli urged.

Mux pulled Cornelli away from the kitchen at last and, not far from
there, opened a door.

“Are you coming at last, Cornelli?” Dino cried to her. He was sitting
up in bed. He glanced happily at his approaching friend, and Cornelli,
too, felt deep joy at seeing him again. The hours she had spent with
him had been the only happy ones she had had all summer. Quickly sitting
down by his bed, she began to relate to him everything that had happened
in Iller-Stream since his departure. Dino asked many questions that
Cornelli had to answer, and the time went by they knew not how.

Mux had disappeared. As long as he could not have his new friend’s
whole attention, he preferred to find out what was being prepared for
dinner in the kitchen.

Now the mother entered the room.

“I have hardly seen you yet, dear child,” she said, taking Cornelli’s
hand, “but I thought I would leave you and Dino undisturbed for a
little while. You must have many things to talk over about your
experiences and friends in Iller-Stream. Dino has looked forward so
much to your visit. Please come to lunch now. Dino has to sleep a
little while afterwards, and then you can go back to him again, if you
wish.”

A difficult moment had now come for Cornelli. She had secretly hoped
that she would be able to spend all day alone with Dino, and that
nobody else would notice her. Now she had to sit at table with Dino’s
mother and sisters. Mux, however, was her consolation; he seemed so
confiding and so friendly. She had felt immediately to her great
discomfort how different and how horrible she looked in comparison
with these charming children. When she had stood in front of Nika, who
was so very pretty, she felt sure that the elder girl must be filled
with disgust at the sight of her, even if she did not show it. Mux had
seen her peculiarity immediately and had remarked upon it. And now
Agnes would be there, too.

That Agnes, as well as the proud-looking Nika, had a secret sorrow
made Cornelli feel as if there were a bond between them. This gave her
a little courage to follow Dino’s mother, who was waiting in the
doorway. When Cornelli entered Agnes was standing, full of expectation,
in the middle of the room. Going up to the visitor, she shook her hand.

“I am so glad you came, Cornelli,” she said with animation. “Dino has
talked so much about you that we, too, wanted to meet you.”

“I want to sit beside you,” said Mux, dragging his chair to Cornelli’s
side.

“Just stay where you are! That is my seat,” Agnes cut him short. She
could not be misunderstood, for she pushed back the chair and Mux quite
vigorously.

The mother had again gone out to the kitchen, so he could not get her
help, which made him very angry.

“Yes, yes, you always want to order everybody around all the time,”
he cried out furiously, “and you even broke somebody on the wheel,
once.”

Now the mother entered.

“Oh, Mama, Mux is saying such frightful things. Shouldn’t he go to
bed?” Agnes called to her.

Mux was just gathering up his strength to fight against this proposed
punishment, when the mother cut short their quarrel.

“No, no,” she said kindly. “To-day Cornelli is here for the first time
and it is a feast day for us. Mux shall not go to bed, but he must sit
down quietly in his chair and say grace; then all will be well.”

Mux was soon calmed by the soothing words and the good soup’s delicious
odor which penetrated his nostrils. So he said grace in quite a
tolerable manner. Cornelli had been very much touched by his desire
to sit beside her. She was anxious to do him a favor, too, and she
tried to think of something that might please him.

Directly after lunch Nika and Agnes had to hurry off to school again
and the mother had to supervise Trina’s work, so Mux was entrusted
with the task of entertaining Cornelli for a little while. That suited
him exactly.

“Now, I’ll show you that Agnes has really broken a man on the wheel,”
he said triumphantly.

“But I don’t believe it, Mux. And why should the man have held still?”
asked Cornelli.

“You can read it here. See, it is written there!” said Mux, placing
his picture book on Cornelli’s lap and pointing to a splendid colored
picture. “Read what is written here,” he directed. “Dino once read it
aloud to me and then I knew it.”

Cornelli read aloud: “Agnes orders Rudolph von Warth to be bound to
the wheel.”

“Now you see it,” Mux said complacently.

Cornelli did not quite know what the picture was supposed to mean, so
she began to read the story that explained it. She read more eagerly
each instant, for it was described so vividly that she had to consume
one page after another.

“Now you know it,” said Mux a little impatiently. “Now look at the goat
wagon.”

“But Mux,” Cornelli said eagerly, “it is quite a different Agnes, it
is a queen. You must never think any more that your sister has done
such a dreadful thing.”

“Oh, but look at the goat wagon, now,” begged Mux, a little
disappointed.

“Why is the child here crying on the road? Just look how he is pressing
his hands up to his eyes! Oh, he is so unhappy! Do you know why?”

Mux shook his head.

“Then I have to read it quickly,” said Cornelli. She became so absorbed
in the story that she did not notice how Mux was pulling her and urging
her to stop reading; he even shook the book.

The mother came into the room now and said: “Dino has shortened his
rest a little, for he is longing to see you again, Cornelli. Will you
come?”

Cornelli immediately shut the book, for she was extremely glad to go
to her friend. She felt some regret, however, at having to leave the
story unfinished; she would have loved to know what happened further.

“So you like the book? It was the joy of all my children from the
oldest to the youngest,” said the mother. Cornelli’s regretful glance
at it had not escaped her. “You can look at it again later on, for we
still have lots of time.”

But Cornelli had to talk over so many things with Dino that the time
had passed before they had thought it possible, and it was not long
before Mux came running with the message that supper was ready. The
meal had to be early because Cornelli had to leave immediately after
it.

“Oh, what a shame!” said Cornelli, jumping up because she knew her
father did not like to wait.

“Bring mother here, Mux,” said Dino, and the little one departed.
“Wouldn’t you like to stay with us a few days, Cornelli? It would be
so nice. Wouldn’t you like to? Oh, I think you would!” said Dino
eagerly.

Cornelli had quite a strange sensation. She hardly dared to say yes;
it seemed so incredible to her that everybody in the house should be
so friendly to her and really want her to stay. But that probably would
not last if she remained and they got to know her better. Soon the
mother came in with Mux. The little boy had heard Dino’s last words
to Cornelli and had already announced to his mother that Cornelli was
sure to stay, because Dino would not let her go.

“Oh, I am so glad that you have settled it all between you! I am so
pleased that you are going to stay, Cornelli,” she said, full of joy.
“I was just going to propose it to you, and I am so glad that Dino has
persuaded you. Your father has already given me his permission and all
I have to do is to let him know right away. Now you can stay quietly
together, for there is no hurry about supper.”

The mother immediately wrote to Mr. Hellmut, and soon after that, fat
little Trina was running over to the hotel.

Cornelli had again settled down beside Dino with a mixed feeling of
wonderful delight and fear. He noticed her timidity.

“Oh, yes, Dino, I love to stay with you and Mux,” she assured him.
“Your mother is so good to me, too, but I am afraid of your two sisters.
I have to think of poor little block-headed Trina all the time, when
she does everything wrong and does not know how to do otherwise; you
all despise her for it and she can’t help it. I know what it is like
to be so block-headed.”

Dino had to laugh a little.

“Why do you suddenly think of our Trina?” he asked. “Do not worry about
her, for mother is very good to her. Just be happy, Cornelli, and do
not imagine all kinds of things about block-headed Trina.”

Cornelli did not say another word, but Dino noticed that she kept on
thinking just the same. After a while the mother came to announce that
it was time for Dino’s rest. The prospect of seeing each other again
on the following day was a great consolation to them both.

Then Cornelli and the mother went back to the room where the sisters
were sitting at their school work. Mux was bending over his picture
book, hatching out new ideas, no doubt. Just then the half grown Trina
entered with a basket on her arm. While she was passing Nika’s chair,
her basket got caught on it. Pulling violently to free it, she turned
the chair around quite suddenly.

“You are getting more awkward every day, Trina,” Nika said crossly.

Cornelli blushed. She felt as if these words were meant for her as
well. She must be just as awkward in Nika’s eyes as Trina was. The
latter failed to excuse herself and from embarrassment became more
clumsy in her movements. Cornelli understood this perfectly; that was
what she always did, she knew it quite well.

“Now we shall have supper,” said the mother, “and when the children’s
work is done we shall all sing together. Don’t you sing, too, Cornelli?”

“I probably do not know the songs, and so I can’t sing,” she replied
shyly.

After supper Mux fled back to Cornelli with his book. He wanted to
renew his conversation with her, but his mother had a different plan.

“Give your book to Cornelli, for it is time for you to retire,” she
said. “You can join us again to-morrow.”

Mux departed reluctantly.

When his mother was firmly leading him away, he was still able to call
to Cornelli: “Be sure not to go till I come back!”

Cornelli felt quite frightened when her confiding little friend had
gone. Now for the first time she was left alone with the two sisters.
She wondered what would happen. But nothing happened. They were both
so deeply occupied with their work that they did not even raise their
heads. Cornelli now remembered the lovely story book. She had already
begun a story and she simply had to know how it would end. So she began
to read. As soon as she finished one story, a new wonderful picture
would lead her to another story.

Suddenly some splendid music sounded close beside her, and Cornelli
started. Agnes was sitting at the piano close to her side and playing.
Cornelli could not read any more, for Agnes played one lovely tune
after another as quickly and easily as if it did not cause her any
trouble. She knew from Dino that Agnes was not much more than a year
older than she was. She listened with admiration to the beautiful
melodies that were pouring forth from the instrument. Finally the
mother returned. She had made her nightly visit to Dino and had had
several things to say to him.

“Mama,” Agnes called to her eagerly, “I am playing all the merry pieces
I know to-night, for I have just finished my long composition.”

“You are right, Agnes. And how are you getting along with your painting,
Nika?” asked the mother.

Nika replied quite sadly that she had hoped to finish it that day, but
the days were very short now and she could not paint by lamp light.
Her mother should see how little her work still lacked.

“If I had one hour more of daylight, I could finish it,” she sighed.

Nika placed a large painting under the bright lamp. It somewhat
resembled the beautiful pictures which decorated the walls of the room.
The colors in it were perfectly wonderful, and Cornelli had never
before seen such a lovely picture. Sparkling crimson roses were hanging
down an old wall and dense ivy was creeping up between them with shiny
green leaves. An old oak tree was stretching large gnarled branches
over the decayed wall, and below, a clear stream was peacefully flowing
out to a meadow, where glowing red and blue flowers seemed to greet
it joyfully.

Cornelli stared at the lovely picture; she had never seen anything
like this glittering stream, the painted trees and flowers; one seemed
to hear the murmuring of the brook, far, far away through the meadow.
It was all so full of life! And to think that Nika had painted it!
Cornelli felt as if a deep, deep gulf lay between her and the two
sisters, a chasm that separated her from them forever.

The two sisters seemed to stand before her like two splendid creatures,
full of beauty and fine gifts, while she stood there a stupid, awkward,
block-headed Trina, whom nobody on earth ever could possibly love.
Mrs. Halm gave Nika great encouragement by praising her work and urging
her to begin promptly next day.

Then she sat down at the piano, for they always concluded their evening
with a song.

Cornelli remained still. The rector’s wife urged her to join them, but
Cornelli had had too many impressions that day to be able to sing. She
knew quite well the old evening song that they were singing, for Martha
had taught it to her long ago, but she felt as if she could not utter
a note.

At the end of the song Agnes suddenly exploded: “Oh, mother, that is
nothing at all. When you are hoarse and Dino is in bed, our singing
is frightful. Nika only squeaks like a little chicken with a sore
throat.”

“Well, then one has t

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