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. Malinger 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.