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.”