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 today 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 goodbye, 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 today, 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
