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."