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 Cornell, 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."