The teacher entered the house with his pupil, and they were just getting settled in their accustomed places when he said: “It seems to me, Cornelli, that your hair hangs a little too much over your face. It must be very uncomfortable. Could not this be changed?”
“No, I can never change that, never, never,” Cornelli said passionately, tightly pressing down the hair on her forehead. “Oh, really! But this is no affair of mine,” said the teacher calmly. “Only it seems to me a rather disfiguring manner of wearing the hair. You would feel much more comfortable without these weeping-willow-like hangings in front of your eyes.”
Cornelli was still pressing both her hands against her forehead, as if the teacher might try by force to straighten up her hair. But he now began the lesson quite peacefully.
When the ladies were leaving the room after lunch, the cousin said to the child: “You are not going to run off again immediately, Cornelli. You must begin a proper and orderly existence. When your work is done you can read one of your many lovely books. You have enough time after our coffee hour to take walks and to pay visits.”
As usual the work was soon finished. Afterwards Cornelli sat down on the garden bench. Just as before, she put the book in her lap, and it soon fell to the ground. Cornelli peeped about her, at the trees and at the ground, but she did not really seem to see them.
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.”