The birds at home used to whistle above her in all the trees in just the same way as these in the city.
Oh, how lovely the coming of the spring had always been at home! How wonderful it would be to see all these familiar sights again! At that thought Cornelli ran to the house as fast as she possibly could.

Sitting down beside her ink-well she wrote as follows: DEAR PAPA: I am sure it is more beautiful at home now than anywhere else.

May I come home soon?
I am sure that the violets are out and that everything is getting green in the woods.

Soon there will be lots of flowers in the garden, and later on the roses, and then all the berries and forget-me-nots in the meadows will come out.

I know now that it is nowhere as beautiful as at home.