“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 stepsister had been thrown, and in his fall he broke his own and his stepsister’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
