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 today,” 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
