“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 today. 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 today, 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
