“Writing is not easy for me,” answered Martha, “and you could do it so much better than I can. It is a long time since I have written anything.”
“Just give it to me, Martha, and I’ll write for you if you will only tell me what.” Cornelli readily took hold of the pen and dipped it into the bottom of the inkstand.
“I’ll tell you about it and then you can write it in your own way; I am sure that you can do it better than I can,” said Martha, quite relieved. She had been sitting for a long time with a pen in her hand, absolutely unable to find any beginning.
“You see, Cornelli,” she began, “I have been getting along so well with my work lately that I have been able to buy a bed. For a long time I have wanted to do that, for I already had a table and two chairs, besides an old wardrobe. Now I have put them all into my little room upstairs, so that I can take somebody in for the summer. Sometimes delicate ladies or children come out of town to the country, and I could take such good care of them. I am always at home and I could do my usual work besides. You see, Cornelli, I wanted to put this in the paper, but I do not know how to do it and how to begin.”
“Oh, I’ll write it so plainly that somebody is sure to come right away,” Cornelli replied, full of zeal. “But first of all, let us look at the little room! I am awfully anxious to see it.”
Martha was quite willing, so she led the way up a narrow stairway into the little chamber.
“Oh, how fine it is, how lovely!” exclaimed Cornelli, running, full of admiration, from one corner to the other. Martha had in truth fixed it so daintily that it looked extremely pleasing. Around the windows she had arranged curtains of some thin white material with tiny blue flowers, and the same material had been used to cover an old wooden case. This she had fixed as a dainty washstand. The bed and two old chairs were likewise covered; the whole effect was very cheerful and inviting.
“Oh, how pretty!” Cornelli exclaimed over and over again. “How could you ever do it, Martha, or have so much money?”
“Oh no, no, it was not much, but just enough for the bed and a little piece of material. I got the stuff very cheap, because it was a remnant. So you really do not think it is bad, child? Do you think that somebody would like to live here?” Martha was examining every object she had so carefully worked over.
“Yes, of course, Martha, you can believe me,” Cornelli replied reassuringly. “I should just love to come right away, if I did not live here already. But now I shall write, for I know exactly what I shall say.” Cornelli, running downstairs, dipped her pen into the ink and began to write.
“But do not forget to say that it is in the country, and tell the name of the place here, so that they can find me,” said Martha, fearing she had set Cornelli a very difficult task.
“That is true, I have to say that, too,” remarked Cornelli. When she had written the ending she began to read aloud: “If somebody should want a nice room, he can have it with Martha Wolf. She will take good care of delicate ladies or children and will see that they will be comfortable. Everything is very neat and there are lovely new blue and white covers on everything. It is in the country, in Iller-Stream, beside the Iller-Stream, quite near the large iron works.”
Martha was thoroughly pleased. “You have said everything so clearly that one can easily understand it,” she remarked. “I could not have said it myself, you see, for it would have seemed like boasting. Now if I only knew where to send it for the paper. I do not know quite what address to write on it.”
“Oh, I know quite well what to do,” Cornelli reassured her friend, “I shall take it quickly to the post office. Sometimes when I have taken letters there, I have heard people say to the innkeeper: ‘This must be put in the paper.’ Then he took it and said: ‘I’ll look after it.’ Now I shall do the same. Just give it to me, Martha.”
Once more the woman glanced through what had been written. It seemed very strange to her that her name was going to appear in the newspaper, but, of course, it was necessary.
“No, no, my good child,” she replied, “you have done enough for me now. You have helped me wonderfully, and I do not want you to go there for me. But your advice is good and I shall take the paper there myself.”
“Oh yes, and I’ll come, too,” said Cornelli delightedly. She knew no greater pleasure than to take a walk with her old friend, for Martha always discovered such interesting things and could point them out to Cornelli, telling her many, many things about them. In many places Martha would be reminded of Cornelli’s mother; then with great tenderness she would tell the child about her. Martha was the only one who ever talked to Cornelli about her mother. Her father never spoke of her; and Esther, who had been in their service for a long time, always replied when the child wanted to talk to her about her mother: “Do not talk, please; it only makes one sad. People shouldn’t stir up such memories.”
“So you are coming, too?” Martha said happily. It was her greatest joy to take a walk with her small, merry companion. Cornelli hung on her arm, and together they wandered forth in the beautiful evening. The storm clouds had passed
