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.