“Good gracious!” he exclaimed on the morning after the ladies’ departure, “what correspondents have you in town, Cornelli? Here is a letter for you.” Cornelli, looking up from her cup, glanced incredulously at the letter. “It is really for you. Listen! Miss Cornelli Hellmut, Iller-Stream, Iron Foundry,” the father read. “Here it is!” Cornelli opened the letter under great suspense and read: DEAR CORNELLI: Only think! I am ill and have to lie in bed. The doctor has forbidden me to read and write, so this letter will be very short. It is very tiresome to be sick, for my sisters are in school all day. Mama always has a lot to attend to and Mux is still a very useless little fellow. Could you not come here and pay me a little visit? I should love to see you and should enjoy hearing all about Iller-Stream. You could tell me all about good old Martha, whom I love nearly as much as a grandmother, about your little kid and Matthew, the horses and everything else, and especially about yourself. I always had such a good time with you that I should be terribly pleased if you came to visit me. Please come very, very soon! Your faithful friend, DINO. When Cornelli was folding up the letter again, her father said: “Can I read it, too?” Cornelli promptly handed him her letter. “What friend is this that wants you to come to visit him?” the father asked with astonishment. “I expect you to cry immediately, though, for you might have to go to town.” “Oh, no, Papa, I really would love to see him,” said Cornelli. “It is Dino, who stayed with Martha this summer.” The father put down his spoon from pure surprise and looked wonderingly at his daughter. “How strange you are, Cornelli!” he said finally. “Now you suddenly want to visit a strange family. You only know this boy and you do not hesitate about it and are not even shy about appearing in your present condition.” “Dino knows me well and knows that I would come to see him alone. He will arrange everything for me so that I won’t have to see his mother or his sisters. He knows everything,” was Cornelli’s explanation. “That has no sense at all,” the father said curtly, and gathering up his papers he went away. Soon afterwards he entered Martha’s little house. “Here I am again. I wonder what you will say to me?” he called to the surprised old woman. “Here is a letter with an invitation which came for Cornelli to-day. It is from a boy who stayed with you. Who is he? Who are his parents?”