“Do you want to come with me, Cornelli?” he asked, walking over to the bench where she was sitting. “I am just going to harness the horses. Your father is coming at eleven o’clock and I am going to drive down to the lake to meet him. Come with me! Our brown fellows will be sure to trot well, for they have had a long rest. Come along! It will be fun, I know.”
Cornelli shook her head.
“No?” said Matthew with disappointment. “I was sure you would not let slip a chance of driving gaily out into the bright morning to meet your father. Shall I get you down some pears? No pears, either?” Matthew went away, shaking his head. “If our master only had half a dozen boys and as many girls, how nice it would be here on the place. Then such splendid pears would not be hanging sad and forgotten on the trees.” Then he added, in a murmur: “Not even to care about driving with such horses!”
Soon afterwards, Mr. Maelinger arrived, for it was time for Cornelli’s lessons. Most of the time the teacher sat beside his pupil shaking his head. He really needed all his patience to endure the total indifference she showed in all her tasks. To-day it was again the same.
The two hours passed, and the carriage which was bringing home her father had just driven up in front of the house. Mr. Maelinger was filled with astonishment, for his pupil, instead of jumping up happily and running away to greet her father, looked shyly through the window and did not budge.
“You can go, Cornelli; your father is here! We have finished our work,” he said, and with these words departed.
Cornelli had heard her father coming into the house and had heard the ladies’ joyful words of welcome. She crushed a tear that had begun to trickle down her cheek and went over to the room where her father had just entered.
“How are you, child? Have you come at last?” the father called gaily to her. “But how strange you look, Cornelli!” he went on with a changed voice. “What is it?” Cornelli had silently given him her hand and was shyly looking down.
“What has happened to you? How odd you look! I hardly know you any more! Push away all that gypsy-like hair from your face! Why don’t you look at me pleasantly? Why do you keep looking away? For months I have been looking forward to this home-coming to my little daughter, who, I had hoped, would have gained much. So this is the way I am to find you, Cornelli.”
Full of sorrow and anger, the father was gazing at the little girl. She had turned away and had not said a word. Her face, half hidden by the horrible hair strands, seemed to be covered by a gray cloud which threatened to break out in a violent rain.