CHAPTER IV
THE UNWISHED-FOR HAPPENS
Esther, the able mistress of the kitchen, was standing in the garden picking green peas, which hung in clusters from the vines. They had ripened quickly in the sunny June weather.
“Come down here, Cornelli!” she called. “Just see how many peas there are! Why do you steal about so quietly nowadays, and why don’t you run the way you used to?”
“I am not allowed to do anything any more,” replied Cornelli, approaching her. “Mina is beginning to tell me that I even must not jump, for it might tangle my hair. I wish I had not a single hair left; then I could at least run and jump about.”
“No, no, child; that would look too dreadful. Just imagine it! But don’t get sad on account of that,” Esther consoled her. “Just jump around as before! Your hair can always be put in order again. Why haven’t you come into the kitchen lately to see if things taste right?”
“I am not allowed to; Miss Dorner says that is bad manners,” Cornelli informed her.
“Oh, I see! Well, you might do worse things. However, you must obey! Yes, you have to obey,” Esther repeated. “Don’t you go to Miss Mina any more, either, when she fixes the dessert?”
Cornelli shook her head.
Miss Mina had quickly understood the new order that had begun in the household and accordingly had suited herself to it. When she thought the ladies would not approve of an old custom, she dropped it quickly, and Cornelli had soon noticed her change of attitude.
“I don’t care if I never can go to the pantry any more, I don’t care,” Cornelli exploded now. “She can eat all the things herself which drop beside the plate. I don’t care. I don’t want anything as long as I can go to the little kid in the stable; it really is the most cunning creature in the whole world. Have you seen it yet, Esther?”
“Certainly I have, and why not?” the cook replied. “Matthew took me out to the stable as soon as it was born. You can certainly go to see it as long as it is in our own stable. Just go there as much as you like! Nobody can forbid you that.”
“My teacher is coming,” Cornelli now exclaimed, “and I have to go.”
“Yes, child, but do keep up your spirits. There are lots of pleasant things still left for you to enjoy. Just wait till you taste the strawberry tarts I am going to make to-day.”
With these words Esther smacked her lips to express the great succulence of the promised dish.
“I wouldn’t even care if you baked nettle tarts; I wish I didn’t have to eat at table and could just eat berries in the garden and drink milk in the stable.”
Cornelli ran towards the house, for she had forgotten to walk sedately, as she had been told to do.
While Cornelli had her lessons upstairs in the living room, in the jessamine arbor both ladies were sitting on a garden bench.
“It would be so pleasant and agreeable here,” said Miss Dorner, “and my cousin could have such a very charming life, if the child were only a little different. Don’t you think, Betty, that she has no manners whatever?”
“Yes, but she has had no training at all,” remarked Miss Grideelen; “and she may have inherited some qualities from her mother.”
“Oh no, not a single trait! You cannot possibly imagine a greater difference than between the mother and this child,” Miss Dorner exclaimed. “Cornelia was full of amiability and gayety. She always greeted and cheered everyone with her laughing brown eyes. If my cousin could only have the happiness to see his child resemble her mother the slightest bit! He was so fond of his wife! He deserves this joy, for he is a splendid man.”
“It is curious how very different children can be from their parents,” said Miss Grideelen with regret in her voice. “But I am sure that something can still be accomplished by educating the child. Many qualities can be developed that hardly show themselves yet. We ought to do our best for her, especially for her father’s sake.”“That is just what I am doing, Betty. Unfortunately, I have had very little success as yet,” answered Miss Dorner. “But I just hope that the day will come when I can write her father some pleasant news about Cornelli, something different from what I feel obliged to send him now.”
The day had been exceedingly hot, and the ladies retired to their rooms immediately after dinner, while Cornelli, according to her custom, obediently did her lessons. Then she disappeared. In the late evening, when the ladies sat down to supper, it was so warm that Miss Mina was ordered to open all the windows.
Now Cornelli entered.
“For mercy’s sake, what are you thinking of!” the cousin accosted the child. “We are nearly perishing with the heat and you put on a fur dress, which you could wear without a coat in a sleigh ride in the middle of winter. Why do you do such foolish things?”
Cornelli was really attired very strangely. Her little dress was made of such heavy, fur-like material that one could see it was meant for the coldest winter weather, and for someone who disliked much outer clothing. The child’s cheeks were glowing red, and from the insufferable heat whole streams of perspiration trickled down her face.
“I have no more dresses left,” she said stubbornly.
“Can you understand it?” asked the cousin, looking at her friend.
“I really think that this is the fifth dress in which I have seen Cornelli to-day,” answered the friend. “In the early morning I saw her running across the yard in a dark dress. At breakfast she wore a light frock and for lunch a red one. I believe that she wore a blue dress when we had our coffee this afternoon, so this must be the fifth costume. I was beginning at lunch time to wonder about the frequent changes.”
“I have to change my dress every time I go to the stable,” Cornelli said, a little more stubbornly than before.
“How can anybody be so foolish!” exclaimed the cousin now. “I can understand now why you have no fun and why you always wear an unhappy face. You must be nearly perished with the heat! Finish your supper quickly and then go to your room and take off this heavy dress. You surely have another dress. I must forbid you to go to the stable from now on! You can see for yourself what comes of it! If only you would not frown like this, Cornelli. You look exactly as if you had two little horns growing on your forehead, one on each side. There are many other and better amusements for you than spending your life in the stable. Are you able to embroider?”
“No,” Cornelli answered curtly.
“Children of your age ought to be able to, though,” said the cousin. “But we have not come here to teach you that; have we, Betty? You probably do not even know how to hold the needle in your hand.”
“Why should it be necessary for Cornelli to learn embroidery just now?” replied the friend. “She has lovely books that she can read; she has shown us some herself. Don’t you prefer reading a pretty story to running about in the stable, child?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Cornelli crossly.
“We must not pay attention to what she says,” remarked Miss Dorner. “When Cornelli is bored, she will probably turn to her books herself. Please, Miss Mina, keep an eye on Cornelli. Nonsense like this must not happen any more.”
When supper was finished, Cornelli went up to her room, and Miss Mina followed her.
“You certainly don’t need to do such silly things,” she said scoldingly, as soon as they were on the stairs, where her words could not be overheard. “I have enough to do nowadays without watching whether you put on a new dress every few hours.”
“It isn’t my fault,” Cornelli replied morosely. “They ordered me to do it.”
“They won’t always smell it when you have been to the stable,” scolded Miss Mina.
“Yes, but they do smell it,” Cornelli retorted, “and even if they didn’t, I should have to obey. They told me to change every time I go to the stable.”
“Yes, but now you are told not to go there any more, remember that!—so your frequent changing will have to stop,” grumbled Miss Mina, while she was helping Cornelli to take off her hot dress.
“Now I have to clean it, besides! You actually give more work than six well brought up children.” Miss Mina had never before spoken so roughly to Cornelli, for she had always been anxious to keep in the child’s good graces. But she had suddenly ceased to care about that.
Cornelli looked at her with astonishment. The child’s eyes were also full of something that nobody had ever seen there before. Mina seemed to understand: “I did not do you any harm,” she said quickly; “what I have said is only the truth.” With that she left the room.
“If everybody treats me that way I’ll be that way, too,” cried Cornelli with a furious look. Suddenly taking hold of the dress she had just taken off she threw it out of the window. After a while Mina returned, bringing back the dress. Cornelli was sitting on the window-sill crossly looking down at the yard.
“Look out that the wind doesn’t blow you down, too, like your dress,” Miss Mina said unpleasantly.“I don’t care,” Cornelli replied obstinately. “It did not blow down at all, for I threw it down on purpose.”
“Oh, is this the way you behave? Next time you can get it yourself,” said Miss Mina, running away indignantly.
Next morning Cornelli was walking across the courtyard, happily talking to her teacher, whose hand she was holding. During her school hours she had forgotten all the troubles of the day before, for Mr. Maelinger had been as kind to her as ever. He at least had not changed.
“Could you give me a little rose?” he asked smilingly, while they were passing the blooming rose bushes. So Cornelli quickly ran from bush to bush till she had gathered a fine bunch of dark and light, white and red roses. These she offered to her teacher, warning him not to prick himself. Then the two parted most cordially.
Cornelli, on coming back, ran swiftly toward the stable. Suddenly, however, she stood stock still, for she remembered that she was not allowed to go there any more. No longer could she see the darling little kid and watch its growth. She would be unable to tell when the moment had come for it to be hitched to a carriage to be driven about by her. She might not be allowed even to do that! She hoped, however, that her father might be back by that time and that then everything would be different. Cornelli danced with joy at that thought, and her old gaiety seemed to return. She felt like going to Esther and talking it all over with her good old friend. The moment the child went into the house, Miss Dorner stepped out of the living room.
“You have just come in time,” she said, for I have to show you something. Where are you going?”
“To the kitchen,” replied Cornelli.
“You have nothing whatever to do in the kitchen and you shall not go there. I thought you knew that you have to go upstairs before lunch to fix your hair. But before you go up come in here. I have to tell you something very important.”
Cornelli followed her cousin into the room. Miss Grideelen was standing near the window as if she had expected the return of her friend. Leading Cornelli to the sofa, Miss Dorner pointed to it, saying: “You are sure to know who has done this and you had better tell me right away.”
On the dark plush coverings were visible distinct marks of dusty shoe soles. There was no trace of a whole foot, but one could see that somebody had trampled on the sofa.
“I did not do it,” said Cornelli with sparkling eyes.
“Who in all the house would have done it except you? Please ask yourself that, Cornelli! There is no question about it at all,” said Miss Dorner. “It is probably one of your little jokes similar to throwing your dresses out of the window. I know all about it. Just let me tell you this! It is the last time that you, a girl of ten years old, will show such a terrible lack of manners. As long as I am here, you shall not do it any more. You really should spare your good, sensitive father such behavior.”
“I have not done it. No, I did not do it, no, no!” Cornelli cried aloud.
“But Cornelli, only reflect! You are blushing and your conscience is giving you away,” Miss Grideelen here remarked. “It would be so much better for you to say humbly: ‘I have done it and I am sorry; I shall never do it again!’”
“No, no! I have not done it. No, no!” Cornelli cried out louder still. Her cheeks were glowing red from anger and excitement.
“Do not make such a noise,” ordered the cousin. “One might think there was an accident. It is not worth while to lose so many words. You should not have made things worse by denying it; if you had not, everything would be all settled. You have misbehaved and you shall not do so any more. Remember!”
“No, I did not misbehave. No, no! And I shall not say yes when it is not true,” Cornelli now cried, quite beside herself.
“Go to your room, Cornelli, and smooth out your forehead before you come to dinner. Your little horns are protruding quite plainly when you act that way. Just look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself how repulsive you look. If you think that there is anybody in the world who can still like you when you have black horns on your forehead, you are mistaken. Go, now, and return with another face.”
Cornelli went.
Reaching her room, Cornelli put her hand up to her brow. Right on her forehead were two protruding points. Should horns be really growing there? The child had a sudden horrible fright at this thought. She was sure that everybody could see them already, for she could feel them quite distinctly. She could not stand it any longer, so she ran away to old Martha.
“No, I did not do it, Martha. I never did it,” she called out, running into the little room. “When I tell them no, no, they ought to believe that I did not do it. I never, never did it. They shall know it! But they won’t believe me even if I say it a hundred times and——”
“Stop a little, Cornelli!” said old Martha kindly. “You see, you are all out of breath. Sit down here on your stool and tell me quietly what has excited you so. You know that I believe your words. I have known you since you were small, and I know that what you say is true.”
It was impossible for Cornelli to speak calmly about what had happened, but it soothed her, nevertheless, to be able to pour out her heart and to know that Martha believed her. She told of the accusation which had been brought against her, and how she had not been believed despite all her assurances. She was certain that both ladies would always believe for ever and ever that she had done it and had denied it. At this thought Cornelli again became quite red from excitement and was on the point of breaking out again. But Martha put her hand on the child’s shoulder, quietly restraining her.
“No, no, Cornelli, that’s enough,” she said soothingly. “It is only to your advantage that it is so and not as they have said. You have been accused wrongly and cannot prove it, but God knows the truth. He has heard everything. You can be calm and happy and look up to Him with a clear conscience. You can say to yourself: ‘God knows it, and I do not need to be afraid or frightened.’ If you had really done wrong and had denied it, you would have to be afraid that the truth would be revealed. Then you could not look up calmly to the sky, for you would be frightened at the thought that up there was One who knew everything and from whom nothing could be hidden. A wrong accusation does not stay with us forever. Even if it takes ever so long, it generally is revealed in the end, and you certainly will not need to bear it in all eternity, because God already knows how it is.”
Cornelli had really grown calm at the thought that there was One who knew how it all was. When her trouble began to weigh upon her, she could always say: “You know it all, dear Father in Heaven, You have seen and heard everything.”
“If He could only tell them! They would then know it, too. God could easily do that,” Cornelli said.
“Yes, but that is not the way things happen. We do not know better than He what is good for us,” Martha said, shaking her head quite seriously. “If we could rule, everything would come wrong. We never can see ahead of the hour and we never know what is good for us because the next moment always brings something we did not know about. Otherwise we would always be trying to undo what we have strained to do the day before; we should only make ourselves miserable over and over again. But if God ordains anything that we do not understand, we must believe firmly that something good will come out of it. We must be patient, and if our troubles are too heavy, we must console ourselves and think: God knows what good will come from it. But we are forgetting the time, Cornelli. You must hurry home to your dinner, now. I am afraid it is already late.”
Cornelli’s black frown had disappeared during Martha’s soothing speech, but now a deep shadow flew across her face.
“Oh, Martha, if I only did not need to go home any more! I hate to go back and sit at table. I would not mind dying of hunger, if I could only stay here with you.”
Cornelli, glancing at her home, drew together her brows as if she saw something frightful there.
“But, child, you must not say such things about your lovely home; it is wrong to do that,” said Martha, kindly admonishing her. “Just think how many children have no home at all. How grateful they would be to God for a home like yours. Go, now, Cornelli, be grateful for all God has given you and chase away the thoughts that make you sad. Come soon again and we shall be glad together, for there is always something to be glad about.”
Cornelli went. While she had been with Martha and had heard her words, it had really seemed to her that there was no cause for grief. As soon, however, as she entered the garden and saw the windows of the room where they were surely already at table, everything that had pressed heavily on her heart rose again. After all, Martha did not know everything.
Cornelli was sure that she could never be happy any more. She could not go in there and she could not eat. She felt as if she could not swallow anything, for big stones seemed to stick in her throat. If she would only die from it all! Cornelli thought that that would be best, for then everything would be over. So she sat down on the lawn behind the thick currant bushes, where she could not be seen from the house. Meanwhile, Miss Mina had carried away the sweets and was putting the fruit course on the table.
“It seems to me that Cornelli does not care if she comes to table a whole hour late,” said Miss Dorner. “Nothing is to be kept warm for her, for she does not seem to have learned yet how to respect time and order. She had better learn it soon.”
Mina went out to sit down for her dinner. Esther had everything ready and was just putting the dessert in the cupboard.
“That is for Cornelli as soon as she comes home,” she said, sitting down, too; “the poor child gets enough bitter things to swallow nowadays.”
“But why shouldn’t she come in time?” asked Mina crossly. Besides, she couldn’t possibly eat the whole dessert. We can take our share and there will be enough left, surely as much as is good for her.”
“I won’t let you have it,” said Esther, firmly pressing her arm to the table as a sign that she would stay there. “The child must have something that will help her to swallow all the cross words she hears all day,” she continued. “What was wrong again this morning, when there was such a scene in the living room?”
“It was nothing,” replied Mina. “There were a few marks of dust on the sofa, and the ladies thought that Cornelli had been standing on it. The child would not admit it and so the ladies kept on accusing her till Cornelli set up a senseless row.”
“I really think, Miss Mina, that you could have given an explanation,” said Esther with a sly smile. “If one has to wind up the clock, it is quicker to jump up on the sofa than to push the heavy thing away. When one wears tight lace boots in the early morning, one can’t take them off easily, eh, Miss Mina?” With these words Esther glanced at the neat little boots that Mina was stretching out comfortably under the table.
“Well, what was there so terrible about that?” retorted Mina pertly. “The sofa won’t be spoiled on account of that, and besides, I have to clean it myself.”
“I only think you could have said a word, before the ladies accused the child of having lied to them and before she nearly had a fit over the injustice. She made such a noise that one could hear it all over the house! It went right through me.”
“Oh, pooh! it was not as bad as that,” asserted Mina; “the child has long since forgotten the whole thing. That is the way with children. One moment they make a horrible noise and the next they go out of the door and forget about it. Why should one bother?”
“It used to be different,” said Esther smilingly, “Miss Mina could not be obliging enough to the child then. Things are all done for other people now and not for those of the house.”
“Those of the house!” repeated Mina mockingly. “It won’t be long before you, too, will be singing another tune. When the new lady of the house gives orders in the kitchen you will have to obey, too.”
Esther dropped her spoon. “For goodness sake, what are you saying?” she exclaimed. “Who should have thought of such a thing? Whom do you mean, the cousin or the other one?”
“Well, I can’t tell that exactly,” replied the maid. “Our master has not discussed that with me, but one must be dumb not to see what is going on and why the ladies came here. After all, one wants to know what one is going to do. That two have come, is the surest sign of all, for we shall be supposed not to suspect.”
“For goodness sake,” said Esther again, “what a discovery! I am sure it must be the relation, for she already rules the house. I tell you one thing, though, Miss Mina, that I shall keep on singing the same tune I have been singing for the last twelve years in this house, and I don’t care who is going to rule. You can believe me.”
“Oh, we shall see about that, Esther,” said Mina with a superior air. She got up, now, to see if the ladies needed anything.
Waking up from a sound sleep, Cornelli did not remember where she was. She was lying on the lawn behind the currant bushes. She remembered at last how she had come back at lunch time from Martha’s cottage and how she had suddenly felt weary and sleepy. She must have dropped down and gone to sleep.
It was evening and there was no more sunshine on the grass, but the sky was still light, although it was beginning to grow dark. Cornelli suddenly had a longing she had never known before. She felt as if she had to eat and taste everything about her, the bushes and the leaves, the flowers, and especially the unripe plums on the tree above her. Oh, if she only had a piece of bread! Cornelli got up quickly and ran towards the house.
“Come quickly, Cornelli,” Esther called to her through the open kitchen window; “they are just sitting down to supper; you have come just in time.”
Cornelli flew to her room and, pulling out a thick shawl from among her things, tied it around her head. Then, running to the dining room, she sat down at her accustomed seat.
“So you have come again,” said Miss Dorner, who had just settled down, too. A well brought up child should at least say good evening when she enters the room after a long absence.”
“Good evening,” said Cornelli, after which she finished her soup with unusual haste.“Where do you come from after all this time?” asked the cousin.
“From the garden,” was the reply.
“That is quite possible, but where were you before that?”
“With Martha,” Cornelli answered.
“If you could only learn to answer more pleasantly!” remarked Miss Dorner, “it would be to your own advantage, for you do not have many pleasing things about you; it would only make you more attractive, and you really should strive to become so.
“Next time you want to stay so long at this woman’s house you have to ask my permission. I absolutely forbid you to stay away so long without asking me, do you hear? You deserve to be scolded for your long absence to-day, but I shall not say anything further. But why do you look so pitiful! What is the matter? Have you a toothache?”
“No,” Cornelli quickly gave forth.
“Have you a headache?”
“No.”
“What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.”“You shall never again set up such a masquerade when there is nothing the matter with you, Cornelli,” said the cousin scoldingly. “Why do you put this shawl around your head? Are you trying to look like an untidy gypsy? Don’t ever come to table that way again! Betty, have you ever seen the like? Can you understand this behavior from a sensible child?”
The friend just shook her head.
“Perhaps Cornelli does it because she does not know what else to do. She does not seem to desire a proper occupation,” she replied.
When Cornelli came down to breakfast next day, she had taken off the shawl, but she still looked very odd.
“You look exactly like a savage from New Zealand,” said the cousin. “Do you think you are improving your appearance by plastering your hair all over your face?”
“No,” said Cornelli fiercely.
“Neither do I,” said the cousin. “I cannot make you out at all. What will you put on next, I wonder, when your hair is brushed away?”
“My fur cap,” replied Cornelli, according to the truth.
“I never heard such nonsense,” exclaimed Miss Dorner. “I really think that the child is capable of doing that. She will probably pull it down over her head to her nose when the temperature is eighty. I have never seen such a child. What shall I do with her?”
Cornelli really looked as if she did not know how well brought up European girls usually wore their hair. From the middle of her head thick uneven strands of dark hair hung down over her forehead and deep into her eyes. The hair was not hanging loose, but was firmly glued to her skin. Her intention seemed to be to keep it there to prevent it from being blown away.
“You look positively repulsive and no person on earth will want to look at you if you go around like that. This may teach you to give up your terrible obstinacy! Nothing else can be done with you.”
With these words the cousin rose and left the room. Miss Grideelen promptly followed.
That evening a letter was sent to Cornelli’s father:
July 20th, 18—.
My Dear Cousin:
Your affairs are going brilliantly, for your manager is splendid. I can also inform you that perfect order reigns in your house, your garden and the stable. Your place is perfectly magnificent; it abounds in fruit and vegetables and lovely flowers. I should never have imagined this possible years ago, when I wandered about here with my friend Cornelia.
I am coming now to the principal subject of this letter, which is less pleasant. I do not understand how your daughter has gotten her disposition. She does not either resemble you, with your fresh and open manner, or Cornelia, with her merry, pliant disposition, which won every one's heart. The child has a dull and sullen nature, a roughness of manner and an unheard-of stubbornness. I can do nothing for her, at least not by anything I say. But I have decided to leave physical or other punishment to you. I shall do all I can by good example and admonishment as long as I am here. My friend is supporting me faithfully. I do not dare raise in you the hope that the child will ever make you happy. A rebellious nature like hers is sure to get worse from year to year. I hope, however, that the success of all your ventures will give you the satisfaction that your home life cannot give you.
Your faithful cousin,