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 to make you look festive to-day and get rid forever of everything that disfigures you.”

The mother had already begun to smooth out the child’s thick hair.

“Oh no, oh no, please don’t do it!” Cornelli cried out, “then everything will be lost. I want to go home, oh, I must go home! Oh, they will all laugh at me and they won’t like me any more. Oh, you don’t know how it is.”

“I know everything, dear child,” the mother said quietly. “Dino has told me everything. Don’t you know, child, that I love you? You know, Cornelli, that I would not do anything that might hurt you the least bit, or that would not help you. I want to free you from an error, Cornelli.”

“No, no, it is not an error, surely not,” Cornelli called out in her great anxiety. “My cousin said it and Miss Grideelen said it, too. They saw it, and I know it. Oh, please don’t brush my hair away.”

“Cornelli,” the mother went on calmly, “the ladies told you they saw little horns on your forehead, that got bigger every time you wrinkled up your brow. You are afraid that