Cornelli Part 10

"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 a.s.sured 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 to-day," 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 pa.s.sionately, 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 love. She always runs away as soon as she possibly can."

"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 to-day. 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 a.s.sured 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 n.o.body had written any books, then n.o.body 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 to-day, 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 n.o.body in the world will ever like me. I know that it is true, and I only wish n.o.body 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 what they say, they would love you as well as everybody else does."

"No, no, Martha, you don't know how it is," Cornelli said, quite frightened. "I'll do everything they say, but I can never push my hair away, for then it would be worse still and everybody could see it."

Martha shook her head.

"I do not know what you mean, Cornelli. Please come to me just as often as you can. I shall always love you more than anybody who might ever come here. If you did not come, it would hurt me dreadfully. Then I would rather not have the rector's son here, glad as I am now that he is coming."

"All right, Martha, then I shall come," Cornelli promised. "We can easily be alone together in the kitchen, for I want to see you alone.

I shall not come on Monday, for that is the day they arrive. On Tuesday, though, I'll come. Then we'll go together to the kitchen."

Martha promised this and Cornelli went home in the same way as she had come. Not once did she run to the meadow to pick forget-me-nots or other flowers that were sparkling there.

When Monday came, she was wondering if a carriage would arrive with a proud city boy and a lady with a high feather hat, both of whom would look down on her with disdain. Cornelli settled down beside the garden fence, for from there she could conveniently survey the road. But she saw no carriage, though she watched through both the morning and the afternoon. She really was very glad, for she was quite sure that n.o.body had arrived. Next day when the time came for her to be free, she walked over to Martha's little house.

"Oh, I am so glad that n.o.body has come. Now I can be alone with you and don't have to go to the kitchen--"

Cornelli had said these words on entering, but she suddenly stopped.

A boy she had never seen sat at the table in the room and Martha was just clearing away the supper things. So he had come after all and had even heard what she had said. Oh, it was dreadful! But the boy was laughing.

Cornelli wanted to withdraw quickly, but the boy called out: "Please come in and let us get acquainted. Mrs. Martha has already told me about you. Just come in," he continued, when he saw that Cornelli still hesitated. "If you want to be alone with Mrs. Wolf I can easily go to my own room."