“Yes, perhaps. But what are you writing, Martha? I have never before seen you write,” said the child, full of interest, for her thoughts had been suddenly turned. “Writing is not easy for me,” answered Martha, “and you could do it so much better than I can. It is a long time since I have written anything.” “Just give it to me, Martha, and I’ll write for you if you will only tell me what.” Cornelli readily took hold of the pen and dipped it into the bottom of the inkstand. “I’ll tell you about it and then you can write it in your own way; I am sure that you can do it better than I can,” said Martha, quite relieved. She had been sitting for a long time with a pen in her hand, absolutely unable to find any beginning. “You see, Cornelli,” she began, “I have been getting along so well with my work lately that I have been able to buy a bed. For a long time I have wanted to do that, for I already had a table and two chairs, besides an old wardrobe. Now I have put them all into my little room upstairs, so that I can take somebody in for the summer. Sometimes delicate ladies or children come out of town to the country, and I could take such good care of them. I am always at home and I could do my usual work besides. You see, Cornelli, I wanted to put this in the paper, but I do not know how to do it and how to begin.” “Oh, I’ll write it so plainly that somebody is sure to come right away,” Cornelli replied, full of zeal. “But first of all, let us look at the little room! I am awfully anxious to see it.” Martha was quite willing, so she led the way up a narrow stairway into the little chamber. “Oh, how fine it is, how lovely!” exclaimed Cornelli, running, full of admiration, from one corner to the other. Martha had in truth fixed it so daintily that it looked extremely pleasing. Around the windows she had arranged curtains of some thin white material with tiny blue flowers, and the same material had been used to cover an old wooden case. This she had fixed as a dainty washstand. The bed and two old chairs were likewise covered; the whole effect was very cheerful and inviting. “Oh, how pretty!” Cornelli exclaimed over and over again. “How could you ever do it, Martha, or have so much money?” “Oh no, no, it was not much, but just enough for the bed and a little piece of material. I got the stuff very cheap, because it was a remnant. So you really do not think it is bad, child? Do you think that somebody would like to live here?” Martha was examining every object she had so carefully worked over. “Yes, of course, Martha, you can believe me,” Cornelli replied reassuringly. “I should just love to come right away, if I did not live here already. But now I shall write, for I know exactly what I shall say.” Cornelli, running down stairs, dipped her pen into the ink and began to write.