The Wizard of Oz: Chapter 19

The Wizard of Oz.
Capter 19. Attacked by the Fighting Trees.


The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye,
and they all shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers,
who had walked with them as far as the gate. When the Guardian of
the Gate saw them again he wondered greatly that they could leave
the beautiful City to get into new trouble. But he at once
unlocked their spectacles, which he put back into the green box,
and gave them many good wishes to carry with them.

"You are now our ruler," he said to the Scarecrow;
"so you must come back to us as soon as possible."

"I certainly shall if I am able," the Scarecrow replied;
"but I must help Dorothy to get home, first."

As Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she said:

"I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and
everyone has been good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am."

"Don't try, my dear," he answered. "We should like to keep
you with us, but if it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope
you will find a way." He then opened the gate of the outer wall,
and they walked forth and started upon their journey.

The sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces
toward the Land of the South. They were all in the best of spirits,
and laughed and chatted together. Dorothy was once more filled with
the hope of getting home, and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were
glad to be of use to her. As for the Lion, he sniffed the fresh air
with delight and whisked his tail from side to side in pure joy at
being in the country again, while Toto ran around them and chased
the moths and butterflies, barking merrily all the time.

"City life does not agree with me at all," remarked the Lion,
as they walked along at a brisk pace. "I have lost much flesh
since I lived there, and now I am anxious for a chance to show the
other beasts how courageous I have grown."

They now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City.
All they could see was a mass of towers and steeples behind the
green walls, and high up above everything the spires and dome
of the Palace of Oz.

"Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all," said the Tin
Woodman, as he felt his heart rattling around in his breast.

"He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too,"
said the Scarecrow.

"If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me,"
added the Lion, "he would have been a brave man."

Dorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her,
but he had done his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was
a good man, even if he was a bad Wizard.

The first day's journey was through the green fields and
bright flowers that stretched about the Emerald City on every side.
They slept that night on the grass, with nothing but the stars
over them; and they rested very well indeed.

In the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood.
There was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the
right and left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not
dare change the direction of their journey for fear of getting lost.
So they looked for the place where it would be easiest to get into
the forest.

The Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big
tree with such wide-spreading branches that there was room for the
party to pass underneath. So he walked forward to the tree, but
just as he came under the first branches they bent down and twined
around him, and the next minute he was raised from the ground and
flung headlong among his fellow travelers.

This did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he
looked rather dizzy when Dorothy picked him up.

"Here is another space between the trees," called the Lion.

"Let me try it first," said the Scarecrow, "for it doesn't hurt
me to get thrown about." He walked up to another tree, as he spoke,
but its branches immediately seized him and tossed him back again.

"This is strange," exclaimed Dorothy. "What shall we do?"

"The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us,
and stop our journey," remarked the Lion.

"I believe I will try it myself," said the Woodman, and
shouldering his axe, he marched up to the first tree that had
handled the Scarecrow so roughly. When a big branch bent down to
seize him the Woodman chopped at it so fiercely that he cut it in two.
At once the tree began shaking all its branches as if in pain, and the
Tin Woodman passed safely under it.

"Come on!" he shouted to the others. "Be quick!" They all
ran forward and passed under the tree without injury, except Toto,
who was caught by a small branch and shaken until he howled.
But the Woodman promptly chopped off the branch and set the
little dog free.

The other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back,
so they made up their minds that only the first row of trees could
bend down their branches, and that probably these were the
policemen of the forest, and given this wonderful power in order
to keep strangers out of it.

The four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they
came to the farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they
found before them a high wall which seemed to be made of white china.
It was smooth, like the surface of a dish, and higher than their heads.

"What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy.

"I will make a ladder," said the Tin Woodman, "for we certainly
must climb over the wall."

Heidi: Chapter 10

Heidi.
Chapter 10: ON SUNDAY WHEN THE CHURCH BELLS RING


Heidi was standing under the swaying fir-trees, waiting for her
grandfather to join her. He had promised to bring up her trunk from
the village while she went in to visit the grandmother. The child was
longing to see the blind woman again and to hear how she had liked the
rolls. It was Saturday, and the grandfather had been cleaning the
cottage. Soon he was ready to start. When they had descended and Heidi
entered Peter's hut, the grandmother called lovingly to her: "Have you
come again, child?"

She took hold of Heidi's hand and held it tight. Grandmother then told
the little visitor how good the rolls had tasted, and how much
stronger she felt already. Brigida related further that the
grandmother had only eaten a single roll, being so afraid to finish
them too soon. Heidi had listened attentively, and said now:
"Grandmother, I know what I shall do. I am going to write to Clara and
she'll surely send me a whole lot more."

But Brigida remarked: "That is meant well, but they get hard so soon.
If I only had a few extra pennies, I could buy some from our baker. He
makes them too, but I am hardly able to pay for the black bread."

Heidi's face suddenly shone. "Oh, grandmother, I have an awful lot of
money," she cried. "Now I know what I'll do with it. Every day you
must have a fresh roll and two on Sundays. Peter can bring them up
from the village."

"No, no, child," the grandmother implored. "That must not be. You must
give it to grandfather and he'll tell you what to do with it."

But Heidi did not listen but jumped gaily about the little room,
calling over and over again: "Now grandmother can have a roll every
day. She'll get well and strong, and," she called with fresh delight,
"maybe your eyes will see again, too, when you are strong and well."

The grandmother remained silent, not to mar the happiness of the
child. Seeing the old hymn-book on the shelf, Heidi said:

"Grandmother, shall I read you a song from your book now? I can read
quite nicely!" she added after a pause.

"Oh yes, I wish you would, child. Can you really read?"

Heidi, climbing on a chair, took down the dusty book from a shelf.
After she had carefully wiped it off, she sat down on a stool.

"What shall I read, grandmother?"

"Whatever you want to," was the reply. Turning the pages, Heidi found
a song about the sun, and decided to read that aloud. More and more
eagerly she read, while the grandmother, with folded arms, sat in her
chair. An expression of indescribable happiness shone in her
countenance, though tears were rolling down her cheeks. When Heidi
had repeated the end of the song a number of times, the old woman
exclaimed: "Oh, Heidi, everything seems bright to me again and my
heart is light. Thank you, child, you have done me so much good."

Heidi looked enraptured at the grandmother's face, which had changed
from an old, sorrowful expression to a joyous one.

She seemed to look up gratefully, as if she could already behold the
lovely, celestial gardens told of in the hymn.

Soon the grandfather knocked on the window, for it was time to go.
Heidi followed quickly, assuring the grandmother that she would visit
her every day now; on the days she went up to the pasture with Peter,
she would return in the early afternoon, for she did not want to miss
the chance to make the grandmother's heart joyful and light. Brigida
urged Heidi to take her dress along, and with it on her arm the child
joined the old man and immediately told him what had happened.

On hearing of her plan to purchase rolls for the grandmother every
day, the grandfather reluctantly consented.

At this the child gave a bound, shouting: "Oh grandfather, now
grandmother won't ever have to eat hard, black bread any more. Oh,
everything is so wonderful now! If God Our Father had done immediately
what I prayed for, I should have come home at once and could not have
brought half as many rolls to grandmother. I should not have been able
to read either. Grandmama told me that God would make everything much
better than I could ever dream. I shall always pray from now on, the
way grandmama taught me. When God does not give me something I pray
for, I shall always remember how everything has worked out for the
best this time. We'll pray every day, grandfather, won't we, for
otherwise God might forget us."

"And if somebody should forget to do it?" murmured the old man.

"Oh, he'll get on badly, for God will forget him, too. If he is
unhappy and wretched, people don't pity him, for they will say: 'he
went away from God, and now the Lord, who alone can help him, has no
pity on him'."

"Is that true, Heidi? Who told you so?"

"Grandmama explained it all to me."

After a pause the grandfather said: "Yes, but if it has happened, then
there is no help; nobody can come back to the Lord, when God has once
forgotten him."

"But grandfather, everybody can come back to Him; grandmama told me
that, and besides there is the beautiful story in my book. Oh,
grandfather, you don't know it yet, and I shall read it to you as soon
as we get home."

The grandfather had brought a big basket with him, in which he carried
half the contents of Heidi's trunk; it had been too large to be
conveyed up the steep ascent. Arriving at the hut and setting down his
load, he had to sit beside Heidi, who was ready to begin the tale.
With great animation Heidi read the story of the prodigal son, who
was happy at home with his father's cows and sheep. The picture showed
him leaning on his staff, watching the sunset. "Suddenly he wanted to
have his own inheritance, and be able to be his own master. Demanding
the money from his father, he went away and squandered all. When he
had nothing in the world left, he had to go as servant to a peasant,
who did not own fine cattle like his father, but only swine; his
clothes were rags, and for food he only got the husks on which the
pigs were fed. Often he would think what a good home he had left, and
when he remembered how good his father had been to him and his own
ungratefulness, he would cry from repentance and longing. Then he said
to himself: 'I shall go to my father and ask his forgiveness.' When he
approached his former home, his father came out to meet him--"

"What do you think will happen now?" Heidi asked. "You think that the
father is angry and will say: 'Didn't I tell you?' But just listen:
'And his father saw him and had compassion and ran and fell on his
neck. And the son said: Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in
Thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called Thy son. But the father
said to his servants: Bring forth the best robe and put it on him; and
put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet; and bring hither the
fatted calf and kill it; and let us eat and be merry: For this my son
was dead and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.' And they
began to be merry."

"Isn't it a beautiful story, grandfather?" asked Heidi, when he sat
silently beside her.

"Yes, Heidi, it is," said the grandfather, but so seriously that Heidi
quietly looked at the pictures. "Look how happy he is," she said,
pointing to it.

A few hours later, when Heidi was sleeping soundly, the old man
climbed up the ladder. Placing a little lamp beside the sleeping
child, he watched her a long, long time. Her little hands were folded
and her rosy face looked confident and peaceful. The old man now
folded his hands and said in a low voice, while big tears rolled down
his cheeks: "Father, I have sinned against Heaven and Thee, and am no
more worthy to be Thy son!"

The next morning found the uncle standing before the door, looking
about him over valley and mountain. A few early bells sounded from
below and the birds sang their morning anthems.

Re-entering the house, he called: "Heidi, get up! The sun is shining!
Put on a pretty dress, for we are going to church!"

That was a new call, and Heidi obeyed quickly. When the child came
downstairs in her smart little frock, she opened her eyes wide. "Oh,
grandfather!" she exclaimed, "I have never seen you in your Sunday
coat with the silver buttons. Oh, how fine you look!"

The old man, turning to the child, said with a smile: "You look nice,
too; come now!" With Heidi's hand in his they wandered down together.
The nearer they came to the village, the louder and richer the bells
resounded. "Oh grandfather, do you hear it? It seems like a big, high
feast," said Heidi.

When they entered the church, all the people were singing. Though they
sat down on the last bench behind, the people had noticed their
presence and whispered it from ear to ear. When the pastor began to
preach, his words were a loud thanksgiving that moved all his hearers.
After the service the old man and the child walked to the parsonage.
The clergyman had opened the door and received them with friendly
words. "I have come to ask your forgiveness for my harsh words," said
the uncle. "I want to follow your advice to spend the winter here
among you. If the people look at me askance, I can't expect any
better. I am sure, Mr. Pastor, you will not do so."

[Illustration: WITH HEIDI'S HAND IN HIS THEY WANDERED DOWN
TOGETHER]

The pastor's friendly eyes sparkled, and with many a kind word he
commended the uncle for this change, and putting his hand on Heidi's
curly hair, ushered them out. Thus the people, who had been all
talking together about this great event, could see that their
clergyman shook hands with the old man. The door of the parsonage was
hardly shut, when the whole assembly came forward with outstretched
hands and friendly greetings. Great seemed to be their joy at the old
man's resolution; some of the people even accompanied him on his
homeward way. When they had parted at last, the uncle looked after
them with his face shining as with an inward light. Heidi looked up to
him and said: "Grandfather, you have never looked so beautiful!"

"Do you think so, child?" he said with a smile. "You see, Heidi, I am
more happy than I deserve; to be at peace with God and men makes one's
heart feel light. God has been good to me, to send you back."

When they arrived at Peter's hut, the grandfather opened the door and
entered. "How do you do, grandmother," he called out. "I think we
must start to mend again, before the fall wind comes."

"Oh my God, the uncle!" exclaimed the grandmother in joyous surprise.
"How happy I am to be able to thank you for what you have done, uncle!
Thank you, God bless you for it."

With trembling joy the grandmother shook hands with her old friend.
"There is something else I want to say to you, uncle," she continued.
"If I have ever hurt you in any way, do not punish me. Do not let
Heidi go away again before I die. I cannot tell you what Heidi means
to me!" So saying, she held the clinging child to her.

"No danger of that, grandmother, I hope we shall all stay together now
for many years to come."

Brigida now showed Heidi's feather hat to the old man and asked him to
take it back. But the uncle asked her to keep it, since Heidi had
given it to her.

"What blessings this child has brought from Frankfurt," Brigida said.
"I often wondered if I should not send our little Peter too. What do
you think, uncle?"

The uncle's eyes sparkled with fun, when he replied: "I am sure it
would not hurt Peter; nevertheless I should wait for a fitting
occasion before I sent him."

The next moment Peter himself arrived in great haste. He had a letter
for Heidi, which had been given to him in the village. What an event,
a letter for Heidi! They all sat down at the table while the child
read it aloud. The letter was from Clara Sesemann, who wrote that
everything had got so dull since Heidi left. She said that she could
not stand it very long, and therefore her father had promised to take
her to Ragatz this coming fall. She announced that Grandmama was
coming too, for she wanted to see Heidi and her grandfather.
Grandmama, having heard about the rolls, was sending some coffee, too,
so that the grandmother would not have to eat them dry. Grandmama
also insisted on being taken to the grandmother herself when she came
on her visit.

Great was the delight caused by this news, and what with all the
questions and plans that followed, the grandfather himself forgot how
late it was. This happy day, which had united them all, caused the old
woman to say at parting: "The most beautiful thing of all, though, is
to be able to shake hands again with an old friend, as in days gone
by; it is a great comfort to find again, what we have treasured. I
hope you'll come soon again, uncle. I am counting on the child for
tomorrow."

This promise was given. While Heidi and her grandfather were on their
homeward path, the peaceful sound of evening bells accompanied them.
At last they reached the cottage, which seemed to glow in the evening
light.

Heidi: Chapter 9.

Heidi.
Chapter 9: UP THE ALP ON A SUMMER EVENING


Mr. Sesemann, going upstairs in great agitation, knocked at the
housekeeper's door. He asked her to hurry, for preparations for a
journey had to be made. Miss Rottenmeier obeyed the summons with the
greatest indignation, for it was only half-past four in the morning.
She dressed in haste, though with great difficulty, being nervous and
excited. All the other servants were summoned likewise, and one and
all thought that the master of the house had been seized by the ghost
and that he was ringing for help. When they had all come down with
terrified looks, they were most surprised to see Mr. Sesemann fresh
and cheerful, giving orders. John was sent to get the horses ready and
Tinette was told to prepare Heidi for her departure while Sebastian
was commissioned to fetch Heidi's aunt. Mr. Sesemann instructed the
housekeeper to pack a trunk in all haste for Heidi.

Miss Rottenmeier experienced an extreme disappointment, for she had
hoped for an explanation of the great mystery. But Mr. Sesemann,
evidently not in the mood to converse further, went to his daughter's
room. Clara had been wakened by the unusual noises and was listening
eagerly. Her father told her of what had happened and how the doctor
had ordered Heidi back to her home, because her condition was serious
and might get worse. She might even climb the roof, or be exposed to
similar dangers, if she was not cured at once.

Clara was painfully surprised and tried to prevent her father from
carrying out his plan. He remained firm, however, promising to take
her to Switzerland himself the following summer, if she was good and
sensible now. So the child, resigning herself, begged to have Heidi's
trunk packed in her room. Mr. Sesemann encouraged her to get together
a good outfit for her little friend.

Heidi's aunt had arrived in the meantime. Being told to take her niece
home with her, she found no end of excuses, which plainly showed that
she did not want to do it; for Deta well remembered the uncle's
parting words. Mr. Sesemann dismissed her and summoned Sebastian. The
butler was told to get ready for travelling with the child. He was to
go to Basle that day and spend the night at a good hotel which his
master named. The next day the child was to be brought to her home.

"Listen, Sebastian," Mr. Sesemann said, "and do exactly as I tell you.
I know the Hotel in Basle, and if you show my card they will give you
good accommodations. Go to the child's room and barricade the windows,
so that they can only be opened by the greatest force. When Heidi has
gone to bed, lock the door from outside, for the child walks in her
sleep and might come to harm in the strange hotel. She might get up
and open the door; do you understand?"

"Oh!--Oh!--So it was she?" exclaimed the butler.

"Yes, it was! You are a coward, and you can tell John he is the same.
Such foolish men, to be afraid!" With that Mr. Sesemann went to his
room to write a letter to Heidi's grandfather.

Sebastian, feeling ashamed, said to himself that he ought to have
resisted John and found out alone.

Heidi was dressed in her Sunday frock and stood waiting for further
commands.

Mr. Sesemann called her now. "Good-morning, Mr. Sesemann," Heidi said
when she entered.

"What do you think about it, little one?" he asked her. Heidi looked
up to him in amazement.

"You don't seem to know anything about it," laughed Mr. Sesemann.
Tinette had not even told the child, for she thought it beneath her
dignity to speak to the vulgar Heidi.

"You are going home to-day."

"Home?" Heidi repeated in a low voice. She had to gasp, so great was
her surprise.

"Wouldn't you like to hear something about it?" asked Mr. Sesemann
smiling.

"Oh yes, I should like to," said the blushing child.

"Good, good," said the kind gentleman. "Sit down and eat a big
breakfast now, for you are going away right afterwards."

The child could not even swallow a morsel, though she tried to eat out
of obedience. It seemed to her as if it was only a dream.

"Go to Clara, Heidi, till the carriage comes," Mr. Sesemann said
kindly.

Heidi had been wishing to go, and now she ran to Clara's room, where a
huge trunk was standing.

"Heidi, look at the things I had packed for you. Do you like them?"
Clara asked.

There were a great many lovely things in it, but Heidi jumped for joy
when she discovered a little basket with twelve round white rolls for
the grandmother. The children had forgotten that the moment for
parting had come, when the carriage was announced. Heidi had to get
all her own treasures from her room yet. The grandmama's book was
carefully packed, and the red shawl that Miss Rottenmeier had
purposely left behind. Then putting on her pretty hat, she left her
room to say good-bye to Clara. There was not much time left to do so,
for Mr. Sesemann was waiting to put Heidi in the carriage. When Miss
Rottenmeier, who was standing on the stairs to bid farewell to her
pupil, saw the red bundle in Heidi's hand, she seized it and threw it
on the ground. Heidi looked imploringly at her kind protector, and Mr.
Sesemann, seeing how much she treasured it, gave it back to her. The
happy child at parting thanked him for all his goodness. She also sent
a message of thanks to the good old doctor, whom she suspected to be
the real cause of her going.

While Heidi was being lifted into the carriage, Mr. Sesemann assured
her that Clara and he would never forget her. Sebastian followed with
Heidi's basket and a large bag with provisions. Mr. Sesemann called
out: "Happy journey!" and the carriage rolled away.

Only when Heidi was sitting in the train did she become conscious of
where she was going. She knew now that she would really see her
grandfather and the grandmother again, also Peter and the goats. Her
only fear was that the poor blind grandmother might have died while
she was away.

The thing she looked forward to most was giving the soft white rolls
to the grandmother. While she was musing over all these things, she
fell asleep. In Basle she was roused by Sebastian, for there they were
to spend the night.

The next morning they started off again, and it took them many hours
before they reached Mayenfeld. When Sebastian stood on the platform of
the station, he wished he could have travelled further in the train
rather than have to climb a mountain. The last part of the trip might
be dangerous, for everything seemed half-wild in this country. Looking
round, he discovered a small wagon with a lean horse. A
broad-shouldered man was just loading up large bags, which had come by
the train. Sebastian, approaching the man, asked some information
concerning the least dangerous ascent to the Alp. After a while it was
settled that the man should take Heidi and her trunk to the village
and see to it that somebody would go up with her from there.

Not a word had escaped Heidi, until she now said, "I can go up alone
from the village. I know the road." Sebastian felt relieved, and
calling Heidi to him, presented her with a heavy roll of bills and a
letter for the grandfather. These precious things were put at the
bottom of the basket, under the rolls, so that they could not possibly
get lost.

Heidi promised to be careful of them, and was lifted up to the cart.
The two old friends shook hands and parted, and Sebastian, with a
slightly bad conscience for having deserted the child so soon, sat
down on the station to wait for a returning train.

The driver was no other than the village baker, who had never seen
Heidi but had heard a great deal about her. He had known her parents
and immediately guessed she was the child who had lived with the
Alm-Uncle. Curious to know why she came home again, he began a
conversation.

"Are you Heidi, the child who lived with the Alm-Uncle?"

"Yes."

"Why are you coming home again? Did you get on badly?"

"Oh no; nobody could have got on better than I did in Frankfurt."

"Then why are you coming back?"

"Because Mr. Sesemann let me come."

"Pooh! why didn't you stay?"

"Because I would rather be with my grandfather on the Alp than
anywhere on earth."

"You may think differently when you get there," muttered the baker.
"It is strange though, for she must know," he said to himself.

They conversed no more, and Heidi began to tremble with excitement
when she recognized all the trees on the road and the lofty peaks of
the mountains. Sometimes she felt as if she could not sit still any
longer, but had to jump down and run with all her might. They arrived
at the village at the stroke of five. Immediately a large group of
women and children surrounded the cart, for the trunk and the little
passenger had attracted everybody's notice. When Heidi had been lifted
down, she found herself held and questioned on all sides. But when
they saw how frightened she was, they let her go at last. The baker
had to tell of Heidi's arrival with the strange gentleman, and assured
all the people that Heidi loved her grandfather with all her heart,
let the people say what they would about him.

Heidi, in the meantime, was running up the path; from time to time she
was obliged to stop, for her basket was heavy and she lost her
breath. Her one idea was: "If only grandmother still sits in her
corner by her spinning wheel!--Oh, if she should have died!" When the
child caught sight of the hut at last, her heart began to beat. The
quicker she ran, the more it beat, but at last she tremblingly opened
the door. She ran into the middle of the room, unable to utter one
tone, she was so out of breath.

"Oh God," it sounded from one corner, "our Heidi used to come in like
that. Oh, if I just could have her again with me before I die. Who has
come?"

"Here I am! grandmother, here I am!" shouted the child, throwing
herself on her knees before the old woman. She seized her hands and
arms and snuggling up to her did not for joy utter one more word. The
grandmother had been so surprised that she could only silently caress
the child's curly hair over and over again. "Yes, yes," she said at
last, "this is Heidi's hair, and her beloved voice. Oh my God, I thank
Thee for this happiness." Out of her blind eyes big tears of joy fell
down on Heidi's hand. "Is it really you, Heidi? Have you really come
again?"

"Yes, yes, grandmother," the child replied. "You must not cry, for I
have come and will never leave you any more. Now you won't have to eat
hard black bread any more for a little while. Look what I have brought
you."

Heidi put one roll after another into the grandmother's lap.

"Ah, child, what a blessing you bring to me!" the old woman cried.
"But you are my greatest blessing yourself, Heidi!" Then, caressing
the child's hair and flushed cheeks, she entreated: "Just say one more
word, that I may hear your voice."

While Heidi was talking, Peter's mother arrived, and exclaimed in her
amazement: "Surely, this is Heidi. But how can that be?"

The child rose to shake hands with Brigida, who could not get over
Heidi's splendid frock and hat.

"You can have my hat, I don't want it any more; I have my old one
still," Heidi said, pulling out her old crushed straw hat. Heidi had
remembered her grandfather's words to Deta about her feather hat; that
was why she had kept her old hat so carefully. Brigida at last
accepted the gift after a great many remonstrances. Suddenly Heidi
took off her pretty dress and tied her old shawl about her. Taking the
grandmother's hand, she said: "Good-bye, I must go home to grandfather
now, but I shall come again tomorrow. Good-night, grandmother."

"Oh, please come again to-morrow, Heidi," implored the old woman,
while she held her fast.

"Why did you take your pretty dress off?" asked Brigida.

"I'd rather go to grandfather that way, or else he might not know me
any more, the way you did."

Brigida accompanied the child outside and said mysteriously: "He would
have known you in your frock; you ought to have kept it on. Please be
careful, child, for Peter tells us that the uncle never says a word
to anyone and always seems so angry." But Heidi was unconcerned, and
saying good-night, climbed up the path with the basket on her arm. The
evening sun was shining down on the grass before her. Every few
minutes Heidi stood still to look at the mountains behind her.
Suddenly she looked back and beheld such glory as she had not even
seen in her most vivid dream. The rocky peaks were flaming in the
brilliant light, the snow-fields glowed and rosy clouds were floating
overhead. The grass was like an expanse of gold, and below her the
valley swam in golden mist. The child stood still, and in her joy and
transport tears ran down her cheeks. She folded her hands, and looking
up to heaven, thanked the Lord that He had brought her home again. She
thanked Him for restoring her to her beloved mountains,--in her
happiness she could hardly find words to pray. Only when the glow had
subsided, was Heidi able to follow the path again.

[Illustration: THROWING HERSELF IN HER GRANDFATHER'S ARMS, SHE HELD
HIM TIGHT]

She climbed so fast that she could soon discover, first the tree-tops,
then the roof, finally the hut. Now she could see her grandfather
sitting on his bench, smoking a pipe. Above the cottage the fir-trees
gently swayed and rustled in the evening breeze. At last she had
reached the hut, and throwing herself in her grandfather's arms, she
hugged him and held him tight. She could say nothing but "Grandfather!
grandfather! grandfather!" in her agitation.

The old man said nothing either, but his eyes were moist, and
loosening Heidi's arms at last, he sat her on his knee. When he had
looked at her a while, he said: "So you have come home again, Heidi?
Why? You certainly do not look very cityfied! Did they send you away?"

"Oh no, you must not think that, grandfather. They all were so good to
me; Clara, Mr. Sesemann and grandmama. But grandfather, sometimes I
felt as if I could not bear it any longer to be away from you! I
thought I should choke; I could not tell any one, for that would have
been ungrateful. Suddenly, one morning Mr. Sesemann called me very
early, I think it was the doctor's fault and--but I think it is
probably written in this letter;" with that Heidi brought the letter
and the bank-roll from her basket, putting them on her grandfather's
lap.

"This belongs to you," he said, laying the roll beside him. Having
read the letter, he put it in his pocket.

"Do you think you can still drink milk with me, Heidi?" he asked,
while he stepped into the cottage. "Take your money with you, you can
buy a bed for it and clothes for many years."

"I don't need it at all, grandfather," Heidi assured him; "I have a
bed and Clara has given me so many dresses that I shan't need any more
all my life."

"Take it and put it in the cupboard, for you will need it some day."

Heidi obeyed, and danced around the hut in her delight to see all the
beloved things again. Running up to the loft, she exclaimed in great
disappointment: "Oh grandfather, my bed is gone."

"It will come again," the grandfather called up from below; "how could
I know that you were coming back? Get your milk now!"

Heidi, coming down, took her old seat. She seized her bowl and emptied
it eagerly, as if it was the most wonderful thing she had ever tasted.
"Grandfather, our milk is the best in all the world."

Suddenly Heidi, hearing a shrill whistle, rushed outside, as Peter and
all his goats came racing down. Heidi greeted the boy, who stopped,
rooted to the spot, staring at her. Then she ran into the midst of her
beloved friends, who had not forgotten her either. Schwaenli and Baerli
bleated for joy, and all her other favorites pressed near to her.
Heidi was beside herself with joy, and caressed little Snowhopper and
patted Thistlefinch, till she felt herself pushed to and fro among
them.

"Peter, why don't you come down and say good-night to me?" Heidi
called to the boy.

"Have you come again?" he exclaimed at last. Then he took Heidi's
proffered hand and asked her, as if she had been always there: "Are
you coming up with me to-morrow?"

"No, to-morrow I must go to grandmother, but perhaps the day after."

Peter had a hard time with his goats that day, for they would not
follow him. Over and over again they came back to Heidi, till she
entered the shed with Baerli and Schwaenli and shut the door.

When Heidi went up to her loft to sleep, she found a fresh, fragrant
bed waiting for her; and she slept better that night than she had for
many, many months, for her great and burning longing had been
satisfied. About ten times that night the grandfather rose from his
couch to listen to Heidi's quiet breathing. The window was filled up
with hay, for from now on the moon was not allowed to shine on Heidi
any more. But Heidi slept quietly, for she had seen the flaming
mountains and had heard the fir-trees roar.

The Wizard of Oz: Chapter 18

The Wizard of Oz.

18. Away to the South

Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get hometo Kansas again; but when she thought it all over she was glad shehad not gone up in a balloon. And she also felt sorry at losingOz, and so did her companions.
The Tin Woodman came to her and said:
"Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for theman who gave me my lovely heart. I should like to cry a littlebecause Oz is gone, if you will kindly wipe away my tears, so thatI shall not rust."
"With pleasure," she answered, and brought a towel at once.Then the Tin Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched thetears carefully and wiped them away with the towel. When he hadfinished, he thanked her kindly and oiled himself thoroughly withhis jeweled oil-can, to guard against mishap.
The Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City,and although he was not a Wizard the people were proud of him."For," they said, "there is not another city in all the worldthat is ruled by a stuffed man." And, so far as they knew,they were quite right.
The morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, thefour travelers met in the Throne Room and talked matters over.The Scarecrow sat in the big throne and the others stoodrespectfully before him.
"We are not so unlucky," said the new ruler, "for this Palaceand the Emerald City belong to us, and we can do just as we please.When I remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a farmer'scornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful City, I amquite satisfied with my lot."
"I also," said the Tin Woodman, "am well-pleased with my new heart;and, really, that was the only thing I wished in all the world."
"For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as anybeast that ever lived, if not braver," said the Lion modestly.
"If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald City,"continued the Scarecrow, "we might all be happy together."
"But I don't want to live here," cried Dorothy. "I want to goto Kansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry."
"Well, then, what can be done?" inquired the Woodman.
The Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that thepins and needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he said:
"Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry youover the desert?"
"I never thought of that!" said Dorothy joyfully. "It's justthe thing. I'll go at once for the Golden Cap."
When she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magicwords, and soon the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through theopen window and stood beside her.
"This is the second time you have called us," said the MonkeyKing, bowing before the little girl. "What do you wish?"
"I want you to fly with me to Kansas," said Dorothy.
But the Monkey King shook his head.
"That cannot be done," he said. "We belong to this country alone,and cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet,and I suppose there never will be, for they don't belong there. We shallbe glad to serve you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross the desert.Good-bye."
And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings andflew away through the window, followed by all his band.
Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. "I have wastedthe charm of the Golden Cap to no purpose," she said, "for theWinged Monkeys cannot help me."
"It is certainly too bad!" said the tender-hearted Woodman.
The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out sohorribly that Dorothy feared it would burst.
"Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers," he said,"and ask his advice."
So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Roomtimidly, for while Oz was alive he never was allowed to comefarther than the door.
"This little girl," said the Scarecrow to the soldier,"wishes to cross the desert. How can she do so?"
"I cannot tell," answered the soldier, "for nobody has evercrossed the desert, unless it is Oz himself."
"Is there no one who can help me?" asked Dorothy earnestly.
"Glinda might," he suggested.
"Who is Glinda?" inquired the Scarecrow.
"The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all theWitches, and rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle standson the edge of the desert, so she may know a way to cross it."
"Glinda is a Good Witch, isn't she?" asked the child.
"The Quadlings think she is good," said the soldier, "and sheis kind to everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman,who knows how to keep young in spite of the many years she has lived."
"How can I get to her castle?" asked Dorothy.
"The road is straight to the South," he answered, "but it issaid to be full of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts inthe woods, and a race of queer men who do not like strangers tocross their country. For this reason none of the Quadlings evercome to the Emerald City."
The soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said:
"It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothycan do is to travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda tohelp her. For, of course, if Dorothy stays here she will neverget back to Kansas."
"You must have been thinking again," remarked the Tin Woodman.
"I have," said the Scarecrow.
"I shall go with Dorothy," declared the Lion, "for I amtired of your city and long for the woods and the country again.I am really a wild beast, you know. Besides, Dorothy will needsomeone to protect her."
"That is true," agreed the Woodman. "My axe may be of serviceto her; so I also will go with her to the Land of the South."
"When shall we start?" asked the Scarecrow.
"Are you going?" they asked, in surprise.
"Certainly. If it wasn't for Dorothy I should never have had brains.She lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me to theEmerald City. So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall neverleave her until she starts back to Kansas for good and all."
"Thank you," said Dorothy gratefully. "You are all very kindto me. But I should like to start as soon as possible."
"We shall go tomorrow morning," returned the Scarecrow. "Sonow let us all get ready, for it will be a long journey."

The Wizard of Oz: Chapter 17

The Wizard of Oz

17. How the Balloon Was Launched



For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad
days for the little girl, although her friends were all quite
happy and contented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful
thoughts in his head; but he would not say what they were because
he knew no one could understand them but himself. When the Tin
Woodman walked about he felt his heart rattling around in his
breast; and he told Dorothy he had discovered it to be a kinder
and more tender heart than the one he had owned when he was made
of flesh. The Lion declared he was afraid of nothing on earth,
and would gladly face an army or a dozen of the fierce Kalidahs.

Thus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy,
who longed more than ever to get back to Kansas.

On the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when
she entered the Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly:

"Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you
out of this country."

"And back to Kansas?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, I'm not sure about Kansas," said Oz, "for I haven't the
faintest notion which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to
cross the desert, and then it should be easy to find your way home."

"How can I cross the desert?" she inquired.

"Well, I'll tell you what I think," said the little man.
"You see, when I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also
came through the air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe
the best way to get across the desert will be through the air.
Now, it is quite beyond my powers to make a cyclone; but I've been
thinking the matter over, and I believe I can make a balloon."

"How?" asked Dorothy.

"A balloon," said Oz, "is made of silk, which is coated with
glue to keep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace,
so it will be no trouble to make the balloon. But in all this
country there is no gas to fill the balloon with, to make it float."

"If it won't float," remarked Dorothy, "it will be of no use to us."

"True," answered Oz. "But there is another way to make it
float, which is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn't as good as
gas, for if the air should get cold the balloon would come down in
the desert, and we should be lost."

"We!" exclaimed the girl. "Are you going with me?"

"Yes, of course," replied Oz. "I am tired of being such a humbug.
If I should go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not
a Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me for having deceived them.
So I have to stay shut up in these rooms all day, and it gets tiresome.
I'd much rather go back to Kansas with you and be in a circus again."

"I shall be glad to have your company," said Dorothy.

"Thank you," he answered. "Now, if you will help me sew the
silk together, we will begin to work on our balloon."

So Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the
strips of silk into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly together.
First there was a strip of light green silk, then a strip of dark green
and then a strip of emerald green; for Oz had a fancy to make the balloon
in different shades of the color about them. It took three days to sew
all the strips together, but when it was finished they had a big bag of
green silk more than twenty feet long.

Then Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to make
it airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was ready.

"But we must have a basket to ride in," he said. So he sent
the soldier with the green whiskers for a big clothes basket,
which he fastened with many ropes to the bottom of the balloon.

When it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was
going to make a visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the clouds.
The news spread rapidly throughout the city and everyone came to see the
wonderful sight.

Oz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace,
and the people gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman
had chopped a big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it,
and Oz held the bottom of the balloon over the fire so that the
hot air that arose from it would be caught in the silken bag.
Gradually the balloon swelled out and rose into the air, until
finally the basket just touched the ground.

Then Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a
loud voice:

"I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the
Scarecrow will rule over you. I command you to obey him as you
would me."

The balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that
held it to the ground, for the air within it was hot, and this
made it so much lighter in weight than the air without that it
pulled hard to rise into the sky.

"Come, Dorothy!" cried the Wizard. "Hurry up, or the balloon
will fly away."

"I can't find Toto anywhere," replied Dorothy, who did not
wish to leave her little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd
to bark at a kitten, and Dorothy at last found him. She picked
him up and ran towards the balloon.

She was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his
hands to help her into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes,
and the balloon rose into the air without her.

"Come back!" she screamed. "I want to go, too!"

"I can't come back, my dear," called Oz from the basket.
"Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward
to where the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment
farther and farther into the sky.

And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the
Wonderful Wizard, though he may have reached Omaha safely,
and be there now, for all we know. But the people remembered
him lovingly, and said to one another:

"Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us
this beautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the
Wise Scarecrow to rule over us."

Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the
Wonderful Wizard, and would not be comforted.

The Wizard of Oz: Chapter 16

The Wizard of Oz.

16. The Magic Art of the Great Humbug


Next morning the Scarecrow said to his friends:

"Congratulate me. I am going to Oz to get my brains at last.
When I return I shall be as other men are."

"I have always liked you as you were," said Dorothy simply.

"It is kind of you to like a Scarecrow," he replied. "But surely
you will think more of me when you hear the splendid thoughts my new
brain is going to turn out." Then he said good-bye to them all in a
cheerful voice and went to the Throne Room, where he rapped upon the door.

"Come in," said Oz.

The Scarecrow went in and found the little man sitting down by
the window, engaged in deep thought.

"I have come for my brains," remarked the Scarecrow, a little uneasily.

"Oh, yes; sit down in that chair, please," replied Oz. "You must
excuse me for taking your head off, but I shall have to do it in order
to put your brains in their proper place."

"That's all right," said the Scarecrow. "You are quite welcome to take
my head off, as long as it will be a better one when you put it on again."

So the Wizard unfastened his head and emptied out the straw.
Then he entered the back room and took up a measure of bran, which
he mixed with a great many pins and needles. Having shaken them
together thoroughly, he filled the top of the Scarecrow's head with
the mixture and stuffed the rest of the space with straw, to hold
it in place.

When he had fastened the Scarecrow's head on his body again he
said to him, "Hereafter you will be a great man, for I have given
you a lot of bran-new brains."

The Scarecrow was both pleased and proud at the fulfillment of
his greatest wish, and having thanked Oz warmly he went back to
his friends.

Dorothy looked at him curiously. His head was quite bulged
out at the top with brains.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"I feel wise indeed," he answered earnestly. "When I get used
to my brains I shall know everything."

"Why are those needles and pins sticking out of your head?"
asked the Tin Woodman.

"That is proof that he is sharp," remarked the Lion.

"Well, I must go to Oz and get my heart," said the Woodman.
So he walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door.

"Come in," called Oz, and the Woodman entered and said,
"I have come for my heart."

"Very well," answered the little man. "But I shall have to cut
a hole in your breast, so I can put your heart in the right place.
I hope it won't hurt you."

"Oh, no," answered the Woodman. "I shall not feel it at all."

So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith's shears and cut a small,
square hole in the left side of the Tin Woodman's breast.
Then, going to a chest of drawers, he took out a pretty heart,
made entirely of silk and stuffed with sawdust.

"Isn't it a beauty?" he asked.

"It is, indeed!" replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased.
"But is it a kind heart?"

"Oh, very!" answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman's
breast and then replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly
together where it had been cut.

"There," said he; "now you have a heart that any man might be
proud of. I'm sorry I had to put a patch on your breast, but it
really couldn't be helped."

"Never mind the patch," exclaimed the happy Woodman. "I am
very grateful to you, and shall never forget your kindness."

"Don't speak of it," replied Oz.

Then the Tin Woodman went back to his friends, who wished him
every joy on account of his good fortune.

The Lion now walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door.

"Come in," said Oz.

"I have come for my courage," announced the Lion, entering the room.

"Very well," answered the little man; "I will get it for you."

He went to a cupboard and reaching up to a high shelf took
down a square green bottle, the contents of which he poured into
a green-gold dish, beautifully carved. Placing this before the
Cowardly Lion, who sniffed at it as if he did not like it, the
Wizard said:

"Drink."

"What is it?" asked the Lion.

"Well," answered Oz, "if it were inside of you, it would be courage.
You know, of course, that courage is always inside one; so that this
really cannot be called courage until you have swallowed it. Therefore
I advise you to drink it as soon as possible."

The Lion hesitated no longer, but drank till the dish was empty.

"How do you feel now?" asked Oz.

"Full of courage," replied the Lion, who went joyfully back to
his friends to tell them of his good fortune.

Oz, left to himself, smiled to think of his success in giving
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion exactly what they
thought they wanted. "How can I help being a humbug," he said,
"when all these people make me do things that everybody knows
can't be done? It was easy to make the Scarecrow and the Lion
and the Woodman happy, because they imagined I could do anything.
But it will take more than imagination to carry Dorothy back
to Kansas, and I'm sure I don't know how it can be done."

Heidi: Chapter 8.

Heidi.

Chapter 8: THE SESEMANN HOUSE IS HAUNTED


For several days Miss Rottenmeier had been wandering silently about
the house. When she went from room to room or along the corridors, she
would often glance back as if she were afraid that somebody was
following her. If she had to go to the upper floor, where the gorgeous
guest-rooms were, or to the lower story, where the big ball-room was
situated, she always told Tinette to come with her. The strange thing
was, that none of the servants dared to go anywhere alone and always
found an excuse to ask each other's company, which requests were
always granted. The cook, who had been in the house for many years,
would often shake her head and mutter: "That I should live to see
this!"

Something strange and weird was happening in the house. Every
morning, when the servants came down-stairs, they found the front door
wide open. At first everybody had thought that the house must have
been robbed, but nothing was missing. Every morning it was the same,
despite the double locks that were put on the door. At last John and
Sebastian, taking courage, prepared themselves to watch through a
night to see who was the ghost. Armed and provided with some
strengthening liquor, they repaired to a room down-stairs. First they
talked, but soon, getting sleepy, they leaned silently back in their
chairs. When the clock from the old church tower struck one, Sebastian
awoke and roused his comrade, which was no easy matter. At last,
however, John was wide awake, and together they went out into the
hall. The same moment a strong wind put out the light that John held
in his hand. Rushing back, he nearly upset Sebastian, who stood behind
him, and pulling the butler back into the room, he locked the door in
furious haste. When the light was lit again, Sebastian noticed that
John was deadly pale and trembling like an aspen leaf. Sebastian, not
having seen anything, asked anxiously: "What is the matter? What did
you see?"

"The door was open and a white form was on the stairs; it went up and
was gone in a moment," gasped John. Cold shivers ran down the butler's
back. They sat without moving till the morning came, and then,
shutting the door, they went upstairs to report to the housekeeper
what they had seen. The lady, who was waiting eagerly, heard the tale
and immediately sat down to write to Mr. Sesemann. She told him that
fright had paralyzed her fingers and that terrible things were
happening in the house. Then followed a tale of the appearance of the
ghost. Mr. Sesemann replied that he could not leave his business, and
advised Miss Rottenmeier to ask his mother to come to stay with them,
for Mrs. Sesemann would easily despatch the ghost. Miss Rottenmeier
was offended with the tone of the letter, which did not seem to take
her account seriously. Mrs. Sesemann also replied that she could not
come, so the housekeeper decided to tell the children all about it.
Clara, at the uncanny tale, immediately exclaimed that she would not
stay alone another moment and that she wished her father to come home.
The housekeeper arranged to sleep with the frightened child, while
Heidi, who did not know what ghosts were, was perfectly unmoved.
Another letter was despatched to Mr. Sesemann, telling him that the
excitement might have serious effects on his daughter's delicate
constitution, and mentioning several misfortunes that might probably
happen if he did not relieve the household from this terror.

This brought Mr. Sesemann. Going to his daughter's room after his
arrival, he was overjoyed to see her as well as ever. Clara was also
delighted to see her father.

"What new tricks has the ghost played on you, Miss Rottenmeier?" asked
Mr. Sesemann with a twinkle in his eye.

"It is no joke, Mr. Sesemann," replied the lady seriously. "I am sure
you will not laugh tomorrow. Those strange events indicate that
something secret and horrible has happened in this house in days gone
by."

"Is that so? this is new to me," remarked Mr. Sesemann. "But will you
please not suspect my venerable ancestors? Please call Sebastian; I
want to speak to him alone."

Mr. Sesemann knew that the two were not on good terms, so he said to
the butler:

"Come here, Sebastian, and tell me honestly, if you have played the
ghost for Miss Rottenmeier's pastime?"

"No, upon my word, master; you must not think that," replied Sebastian
frankly. "I do not like it quite myself."

"Well, I'll show you and John what ghosts look like by day. You ought
to be ashamed of yourselves, strong young men like you! Now go at once
to my old friend, Dr. Classen, and tell him to come to me at nine
o'clock to-night. Tell him that I came from Paris especially to
consult him, and that I want him to sit up all night with me. Do you
understand me, Sebastian?"

"Yes indeed! I shall do as you say, Mr. Sesemann." Mr. Sesemann then
went up to Clara's room to quiet and comfort her.

Punctually at nine o'clock the doctor arrived. Though his hair was
grey, his face was still fresh, and his eyes were lively and kind.
When he saw his friend, he laughed aloud and said: "Well, well, you
look pretty healthy for one who needs to be watched all night."

"Have patience, my old friend," replied Mr. Sesemann. "I am afraid the
person we have to sit up for will look worse, but first we must catch
him."

"What? Then somebody _is_ sick in this house? What do you mean?"

"Far worse, doctor, far worse. A ghost is in the house. My house is
haunted."

When the doctor laughed, Mr. Sesemann continued: "I call that
sympathy; I wish my friend Miss Rottenmeier could hear you. She is
convinced that an old Sesemann is wandering about, expiating some
dreadful deed."

"How did she make his acquaintance?" asked the doctor, much amused.

Mr. Sesemann then explained the circumstances. He said that the matter
was either a bad joke which an acquaintance of the servants was
playing in his absence, or it was a gang of thieves, who, after
intimidating the people, would surely rob his house by and by.

With these explanations they entered the room where the two servants
had watched before. A few bottles of wine stood on the table and two
bright candelabra shed a brilliant light. Two revolvers were ready for
emergencies.

They left the door only partly open, for too much light might drive
the ghost away. Then, sitting down comfortably, the two men passed
their time by chatting, taking a sip now and then.

"The ghost seems to have spied us and probably won't come to-day,"
said the doctor.

"We must have patience. It is supposed to come at one," replied his
friend.

So they talked till one o'clock. Everything was quiet, and not a sound
came from the street. Suddenly the doctor raised his finger.

"Sh! Sesemann, don't you hear something?"

While they both listened, the bar was unfastened, the key was turned,
and the door flew open. Mr. Sesemann seized his revolver.

"You are not afraid, I hope?" said the doctor, getting up.

"Better be cautious!" whispered Mr. Sesemann, seizing the candelabrum
in the other hand. The doctor followed with his revolver and the
light, and so they went out into the hall.

On the threshhold stood a motionless white form, lighted up by the
moon.

"Who is there?" thundered the doctor, approaching the figure. It
turned and uttered a low shriek. There stood Heidi, with bare feet and
in her white night-gown, looking bewildered at the bright light and
the weapons. She was shaking with fear, while the two men were looking
at her in amazement.

"Sesemann, this seems to be your little water carrier," said the
doctor.

"Child, what does this mean?" asked Mr. Sesemann. "What did you want
to do? Why have you come down here?"

Pale from fright, Heidi said: "I do not know."

The doctor came forward now. "Sesemann, this case belongs to my field.
Please go and sit down while I take her to bed."

Putting his revolver aside, he led the trembling child up-stairs.

"Don't be afraid; just be quiet! Everything is all right; don't be
frightened."

When they had arrived in Heidi's room, the doctor put the little girl
to bed, covering her up carefully. Drawing a chair near the couch, he
waited till Heidi had calmed down and had stopped trembling. Then
taking her hand in his, he said kindly: "Now everything is all right
again. Tell me where you wanted to go?"

"I did not want to go anywhere," Heidi assured him; "I did not go
myself, only I was there all of a sudden."

"Really! Tell me, what did you dream?"

"Oh, I have the same dream every night. I always think I am with my
grandfather again and can hear the fir-trees roar. I always think how
beautiful the stars must be, and then I open the door of the hut, and
oh, it is so wonderful! But when I wake up I am always in Frankfurt."
Heidi had to fight the sobs that were rising in her throat.

"Does your back or your head hurt you, child?"

"No, but I feel as if a big stone was pressing me here."

"As if you had eaten something that disagreed with you?"

"Oh no, but as if I wanted to cry hard."

"So, and then you cry out, don't you?"

"Oh no, I must never do that, for Miss Rottenmeier has forbidden it."

"Then you swallow it down? Yes? Do you like to be here?"

"Oh yes," was the faint, uncertain reply.

"Where did you live with your grandfather?"

"Up on the Alp."

"But wasn't it a little lonely there?"

"Oh no, it was so beautiful!"--But Heidi could say no more. The
recollection, the excitement of the night and all the restrained
sorrow overpowered the child. The tears rushed violently from her eyes
and she broke out into loud sobs.

The doctor rose, and soothing her, said: "It won't hurt to cry; you'll
go to sleep afterward, and when you wake up everything will come
right." Then he left the room.

Joining his anxious friend down-stairs, he said: "Sesemann, the little
girl is a sleep-walker, and has unconsciously scared your whole
household. Besides, she is so home-sick that her little body has
wasted away. We shall have to act quickly. The only remedy for her is
to be restored to her native mountain air. This is my prescription,
and she must go tomorrow."

"What, sick, a sleep-walker, and wasted away in my house! Nobody even
suspected it! You think I should send this child back in this
condition, when she has come in good health? No, doctor, ask
everything but that. Take her in hand and prescribe for her, but let
her get well before I send her back."

"Sesemann," the doctor replied seriously, "just think what you are
doing. We cannot cure her with powders and pills. The child has not a
strong constitution, and if you keep her here, she might never get
well again. If you restore her to the bracing mountain air to which
she is accustomed, she probably will get perfectly well again."

When Mr. Sesemann heard this he said, "If that is your advice, we must
act at once; this is the only way then." With these words Mr. Sesemann
took his friend's arm and walked about with him to talk the matter
over. When everything was settled, the doctor took his leave, for the
morning had already come and the sun was shining in through the door.

The Wizard of Oz: Chapter 15

The Wizard of Oz.
15. The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible

The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City
and rang the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by
the same Guardian of the Gates they had met before.

"What! are you back again?" he asked, in surprise.

"Do you not see us?" answered the Scarecrow.

"But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West."

"We did visit her," said the Scarecrow.

"And she let you go again?" asked the man, in wonder.

"She could not help it, for she is melted," explained the Scarecrow.

"Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed," said the man.
"Who melted her?"

"It was Dorothy," said the Lion gravely.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed
before her.

Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles
from the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before.
Afterward they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City.
When the people heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy
had melted the Wicked Witch of the West, they all gathered around
the travelers and followed them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz.

The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before
the door, but he let them in at once, and they were again met by
the beautiful green girl, who showed each of them to their old
rooms at once, so they might rest until the Great Oz was ready to
receive them.

The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy
and the other travelers had come back again, after destroying the
Wicked Witch; but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard
would send for them at once, but he did not. They had no word
from him the next day, nor the next, nor the next. The waiting
was tiresome and wearing, and at last they grew vexed that Oz
should treat them in so poor a fashion, after sending them to
undergo hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow at last asked the
green girl to take another message to Oz, saying if he did not
let them in to see him at once they would call the Winged Monkeys
to help them, and find out whether he kept his promises or not.
When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he
sent word for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after
nine o'clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys
in the Land of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again.

The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the
gift Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once,
and then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her
how glad she was to have her little girl at home again.

Promptly at nine o'clock the next morning the green-whiskered
soldier came to them, and four minutes later they all went into
the Throne Room of the Great Oz.

Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape
he had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked
about and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to the door
and closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty room was more
dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz take.

Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from
somewhere near the top of the great dome, and it said:

"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?"

They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing
no one, Dorothy asked, "Where are you?"

"I am everywhere," answered the Voice, "but to the eyes of
common mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my
throne, that you may converse with me." Indeed, the Voice seemed
just then to come straight from the throne itself; so they walked
toward it and stood in a row while Dorothy said:

"We have come to claim our promise, O Oz."

"What promise?" asked Oz.

"You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch
was destroyed," said the girl.

"And you promised to give me brains," said the Scarecrow.

"And you promised to give me a heart," said the Tin Woodman.

"And you promised to give me courage," said the Cowardly Lion.

"Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?" asked the Voice,
and Dorothy thought it trembled a little.

"Yes," she answered, "I melted her with a bucket of water."

"Dear me," said the Voice, "how sudden! Well, come to me
tomorrow, for I must have time to think it over."

"You've had plenty of time already," said the Tin Woodman angrily.

"We shan't wait a day longer," said the Scarecrow.

"You must keep your promises to us!" exclaimed Dorothy.

The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard,
so he gave a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful
that Toto jumped away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen
that stood in a corner. As it fell with a crash they looked
that way, and the next moment all of them were filled with wonder.
For they saw, standing in just the spot the screen had hidden,
a little old man, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, who seemed
to be as much surprised as they were. The Tin Woodman, raising
his axe, rushed toward the little man and cried out, "Who are you?"

"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible," said the little man, in a
trembling voice. "But don't strike me--please don't--and I'll
do anything you want me to."

Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay.

"I thought Oz was a great Head," said Dorothy.

"And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady," said the Scarecrow.

"And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast," said the Tin Woodman.

"And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire," exclaimed the Lion.

"No, you are all wrong," said the little man meekly. "I have
been making believe."

"Making believe!" cried Dorothy. "Are you not a Great Wizard?"

"Hush, my dear," he said. "Don't speak so loud, or you will be
overheard--and I should be ruined. I'm supposed to be a Great Wizard."

"And aren't you?" she asked.

"Not a bit of it, my dear; I'm just a common man."

"You're more than that," said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone;
"you're a humbug."

"Exactly so!" declared the little man, rubbing his hands
together as if it pleased him. "I am a humbug."

"But this is terrible," said the Tin Woodman. "How shall I
ever get my heart?"

"Or I my courage?" asked the Lion.

"Or I my brains?" wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from
his eyes with his coat sleeve.

"My dear friends," said Oz, "I pray you not to speak of these
little things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I'm in at
being found out."

"Doesn't anyone else know you're a humbug?" asked Dorothy.

"No one knows it but you four--and myself," replied Oz. "I
have fooled everyone so long that I thought I should never be
found out. It was a great mistake my ever letting you into the
Throne Room. Usually I will not see even my subjects, and so they
believe I am something terrible."

"But, I don't understand," said Dorothy, in bewilderment.
"How was it that you appeared to me as a great Head?"

"That was one of my tricks," answered Oz. "Step this way,
please, and I will tell you all about it."

He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne
Room, and they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in
which lay the great Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper,
and with a carefully painted face.

"This I hung from the ceiling by a wire," said Oz. "I stood
behind the screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and
the mouth open."

"But how about the voice?" she inquired.

"Oh, I am a ventriloquist," said the little man. "I can throw
the sound of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was
coming out of the Head. Here are the other things I used to
deceive you." He showed the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he
had worn when he seemed to be the lovely Lady. And the Tin
Woodman saw that his terrible Beast was nothing but a lot of
skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their sides out. As for
the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that also from the
ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil was poured
upon it the ball burned fiercely.

"Really," said the Scarecrow, "you ought to be ashamed of
yourself for being such a humbug."

"I am--I certainly am," answered the little man sorrowfully;
"but it was the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there
are plenty of chairs; and I will tell you my story."

So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.

"I was born in Omaha--"

"Why, that isn't very far from Kansas!" cried Dorothy.

"No, but it's farther from here," he said, shaking his head at
her sadly. "When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that
I was very well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind
of a bird or beast." Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto
pricked up his ears and looked everywhere to see where she was.
"After a time," continued Oz, "I tired of that, and became a
balloonist."

"What is that?" asked Dorothy.

"A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a
crowd of people together and get them to pay to see the circus,"
he explained.

"Oh," she said, "I know."

"Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got
twisted, so that I couldn't come down again. It went way up above
the clouds, so far that a current of air struck it and carried it
many, many miles away. For a day and a night I traveled through
the air, and on the morning of the second day I awoke and found
the balloon floating over a strange and beautiful country.

"It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I
found myself in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come
from the clouds, thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let
them think so, because they were afraid of me, and promised to do
anything I wished them to.

"Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I
ordered them to build this City, and my Palace; and they did it
all willingly and well. Then I thought, as the country was so
green and beautiful, I would call it the Emerald City; and to make
the name fit better I put green spectacles on all the people, so
that everything they saw was green."

"But isn't everything here green?" asked Dorothy.

"No more than in any other city," replied Oz; "but when you
wear green spectacles, why of course everything you see looks
green to you. The Emerald City was built a great many years ago,
for I was a young man when the balloon brought me here, and I am a
very old man now. But my people have worn green glasses on their
eyes so long that most of them think it really is an Emerald City,
and it certainly is a beautiful place, abounding in jewels and
precious metals, and every good thing that is needed to make
one happy. I have been good to the people, and they like me;
but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself up
and would not see any of them.

"One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no
magical powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were
really able to do wonderful things. There were four of them in
this country, and they ruled the people who live in the North and
South and East and West. Fortunately, the Witches of the North
and South were good, and I knew they would do me no harm; but the
Witches of the East and West were terribly wicked, and had they
not thought I was more powerful than they themselves, they would
surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in deadly fear of
them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I was when
I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East.
When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you
would only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have
melted her, I am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises."

"I think you are a very bad man," said Dorothy.

"Oh, no, my dear; I'm really a very good man, but I'm a very
bad Wizard, I must admit."

"Can't you give me brains?" asked the Scarecrow.

"You don't need them. You are learning something every day.
A baby has brains, but it doesn't know much. Experience is the
only thing that brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth
the more experience you are sure to get."

"That may all be true," said the Scarecrow, "but I shall be
very unhappy unless you give me brains."

The false Wizard looked at him carefully.

"Well," he said with a sigh, "I'm not much of a magician,
as I said; but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will
stuff your head with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them,
however; you must find that out for yourself."

"Oh, thank you--thank you!" cried the Scarecrow. "I'll find
a way to use them, never fear!"

"But how about my courage?" asked the Lion anxiously.

"You have plenty of courage, I am sure," answered Oz. "All you need
is confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid
when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are
afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty."

"Perhaps I have, but I'm scared just the same," said the Lion.
"I shall really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of
courage that makes one forget he is afraid."

"Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,"
replied Oz.

"How about my heart?" asked the Tin Woodman.

"Why, as for that," answered Oz, "I think you are wrong to
want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it,
you are in luck not to have a heart."

"That must be a matter of opinion," said the Tin Woodman.
"For my part, I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur,
if you will give me the heart."

"Very well," answered Oz meekly. "Come to me tomorrow and you
shall have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I
may as well continue the part a little longer."

"And now," said Dorothy, "how am I to get back to Kansas?"

"We shall have to think about that," replied the little man.
"Give me two or three days to consider the matter and I'll try to
find a way to carry you over the desert. In the meantime you
shall all be treated as my guests, and while you live in the Palace
my people will wait upon you and obey your slightest wish. There is
only one thing I ask in return for my help--such as it is. You must
keep my secret and tell no one I am a humbug."

They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went
back to their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that
"The Great and Terrible Humbug," as she called him, would find a
way to send her back to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to
forgive him everything.

Heidi: Chapter 7.

Heidi, Chapter 7:

MISS ROTTENMEIER HAS AN UNCOMFORTABLE DAY.

When Heidi opened her eyes next morning, she did not know where she
was. She found herself on a high white bed in a spacious room. Looking
around she observed long white curtains before the windows, several
chairs, and a sofa covered with cretonne; in a corner she saw a
wash-stand with many curious things standing on it.

Suddenly Heidi remembered all the happenings of the previous day.
Jumping out of bed, she dressed in a great hurry. She was eager to
look at the sky and the ground below, as she had always done at home.
What was her disappointment when she found that the windows were too
high for her to see anything except the walls and windows opposite.
Trying to open them, she turned from one to the other, but in vain.
The poor child felt like a little bird that is placed in a glittering
cage for the first time. At last she had to resign herself, and sat
down on a low stool, thinking of the melting snow on the slopes and
the first flowers of spring that she had hailed with such delight.

Suddenly Tinette opened the door and said curtly: "Breakfast's ready."

Heidi did not take this for a summons, for the maid's face was
scornful and forbidding. She was waiting patiently for what would
happen next, when Miss Rottenmeier burst into the room, saying: "What
is the matter, Adelheid? Didn't you understand? Come to breakfast!"

Heidi immediately followed the lady into the dining-room, where Clara
greeted her with a smile. She looked much happier than usual, for she
expected new things to happen that day. When breakfast had passed
without disturbance, the two children were allowed to go into the
library together and were soon left alone.

"How can I see down to the ground?" Heidi asked.

"Open a window and peep out," replied Clara, amused at the question.

"But it is impossible to open them," Heidi said, sadly.

"Oh no. You can't do it and I can't help you, either, but if you ask
Sebastian he'll do it for you."

Heidi was relieved. The poor child had felt like a prisoner in her
room. Clara now asked Heidi what her home had been like, and Heidi
told her gladly about her life in the hut.

The tutor had arrived in the meantime, but he was not asked to go to
the study as usual. Miss Rottenmeier was very much excited about
Heidi's coming and all the complications that arose therefrom. She was
really responsible for it, having arranged everything herself. She
presented the unfortunate case before the teacher, for she wanted him
to help her to get rid of the child. Mr. Candidate, however, was
always careful of his judgments, and not afraid of teaching beginners.

When the lady saw that he would not side with her, she let him enter
the study alone, for the A,B,C held great horrors for her. While she
considered many problems, a frightful noise as of something falling
was heard in the adjoining room, followed by a cry to Sebastian for
help. Running in, she beheld a pile of books and papers on the floor,
with the table-cover on top. A black stream of ink flowed across the
length of the room. Heidi had disappeared.

"There," Miss Rottenmeier exclaimed, wringing her hands. "Everything
drenched with ink. Did such a thing ever happen before? This child
brings nothing but misfortunes on us."

The teacher was standing up, looking at the devastation, but Clara was
highly entertained by these events, and said: "Heidi has not done it
on purpose and must not be punished. In her hurry to get away she
caught on the table-cover and pulled it down. I think she must never
have seen a coach in all her life, for when she heard a carriage
rumbling by, she rushed out like mad."

"Didn't I tell you, Mr. Candidate, that she has no idea whatever about
behavior? She does not even know that she has to sit quiet at her
lessons. But where has she gone? What would Mr. Sesemann say if she
should run away?"

When Miss Rottenmeier went down-stairs to look for the child, she saw
her standing at the open door, looking down the street.

"What are you doing here? How can you run away like that?" scolded
Miss Rottenmeier.

"I heard the fir-trees rustle, but I can't see them and do not hear
them any more," replied Heidi, looking in great perplexity down the
street. The noise of the passing carriage had reminded her of the
roaring of the south-wind on the Alp.

"Fir-trees? What nonsense! We are not in a wood. Come with me now to
see what you have done." When Heidi saw the devastation that she had
caused, she was greatly surprised, for she had not noticed it in her
hurry.

"This must never happen again," said the lady sternly. "You must sit
quiet at your lessons; if you get up again I shall tie you to your
chair. Do you hear me?"

Heidi understood, and gave a promise to sit quietly during her lessons
from that time on. After the servants had straightened the room, it
was late, and there was no more time for studies. Nobody had time to
yawn that morning.

In the afternoon, while Clara was resting, Heidi was left to herself.
She planted herself in the hall and waited for the butler to come
up-stairs with the silver things. When he reached the head of the
stairs, she said to him: "I want to ask you something." She saw that
the butler seemed angry, so she reassured him by saying that she did
not mean any harm.

"All right, Miss, what is it?"

"My name is not Miss, why don't you call me Heidi?"

"Miss Rottenmeier told me to call you Miss."

"Did she? Well then, it must be so. I have three names already,"
sighed the child.

"What can I do for you?" asked Sebastian now.

"Can you open a window for me?"

"Certainly," he replied.

Sebastian got a stool for Heidi, for the window-sill was too high for
her to see over. In great disappointment, Heidi turned her head away.

"I don't see anything but a street of stone. Is it the same way on the
other side of the house?"

"Yes."

"Where do you go to look far down on everything?"

"On a church-tower. Do you see that one over there with the golden
dome? From there you can overlook everything."

Heidi immediately stepped down from the stool and ran down-stairs.
Opening the door, she found herself in the street, but she could not
see the tower any more. She wandered on from street to street, not
daring to accost any of the busy people. Passing a corner, she saw a
boy who had a barrel-organ on his back and a curious animal on his
arm. Heidi ran to him and asked: "Where is the tower with the golden
dome?"

"Don't know," was the reply.

"Who can tell me?"

"Don't know."

"Can you show me another church with a tower?"

"Of course I can."

"Then come and show me."

"What are you going to give me for it?" said the boy, holding out his
hand. Heidi had nothing in her pocket but a little flower-picture.
Clara had only given it to her this morning, so she was loath to part
with it. The temptation to look far down into the valley was too
great for her, though, and she offered him the gift. The boy shook his
head, to Heidi's satisfaction.

"What else do you want?"

"Money."

"I have none, but Clara has some. How much must I give you?"

"Twenty pennies."

"All right, but come."

While they were wandering down the street, Heidi found out what a
barrel-organ was, for she had never seen one. When they arrived before
an old church with a tower, Heidi was puzzled what to do next, but
having discovered a bell, she pulled it with all her might. The boy
agreed to wait for Heidi and show her the way home if she gave him a
double fee.

The lock creaked now from inside, and an old man opened the door. In
an angry voice, he said: "How do you dare to ring for me? Can't you
see that it is only for those who want to see the tower?"

"But I do," said Heidi.

"What do you want to see? Did anybody send you?" asked the man.

"No; but I want to look down from up there."

"Get home and don't try it again." With that the tower-keeper was
going to shut the door, but Heidi held his coat-tails and pleaded with
him to let her come. The tower-keeper looked at the child's eyes,
which were nearly full of tears.

"All right, come along, if you care so much," he said, taking her by
the hand. The two climbed up now many, many steps, which got narrower
all the time. When they had arrived on top, the old man lifted Heidi
up to the open window.

Heidi saw nothing but a sea of chimneys, roofs and towers, and her
heart sank. "Oh, dear, it's different from the way I thought it would
be," she said.

"There! what could such a little girl know about a view? We'll go down
now and you must promise never to ring at my tower any more."

On their way they passed an attic, where a large grey cat guarded her
new family in a basket. This cat caught half-a-dozen mice every day
for herself, for the old tower was full of rats and mice. Heidi gazed
at her in surprise, and was delighted when the old man opened the
basket.

"What charming kittens, what cunning little creatures!" she exclaimed
in her delight, when she saw them crawling about, jumping and
tumbling.

"Would you like to have one?" the old man asked.

"For me? to keep?" Heidi asked, for she could not believe her ears.

"Yes, of course. You can have several if you have room for them," the
old man said, glad to find a good home for the kittens.

How happy Heidi was! Of course there was enough room in the huge
house, and Clara would be delighted when she saw the cunning things.

"How can I take them with me?" the child asked, after she had tried in
vain to catch one.

"I can bring them to your house, if you tell me where you live," said
Heidi's new friend, while he caressed the old cat, who had lived with
him many years.

"Bring them to Mr. Sesemann's house; there is a golden dog on the
door, with a ring in his mouth."

The old man had lived in the tower a long time and knew everybody;
Sebastian also was a special friend of his.

"I know," he said. "But to whom shall I send them? Do you belong to
Mr. Sesemann?"

"No. Please send them to Clara; she will like them, I am sure."

Heidi could hardly tear herself away from the pretty things, so the
old man put one kitten in each of her pockets to console her. After
that she went away.

The boy was waiting patiently for her, and when she had taken leave of
the tower-keeper, she asked the boy: "Do you know where Mr. Sesemann's
house is?"

"No," was the reply.

She described it as well as she could, till the boy remembered it. Off
they started, and soon Heidi found herself pulling the door-bell. When
Sebastian arrived he said: "Hurry up." Heidi went in, and the boy was
left outside, for Sebastian had not even seen him.

"Come up quickly, little Miss," he urged. "They are all waiting for
you in the dining-room. Miss Rottenmeier looks like a loaded cannon.
How could you run away like that?"

Heidi sat down quietly on her chair. Nobody said a word, and there was
an uncomfortable silence. At last Miss Rottenmeier began with a severe
and solemn voice: "I shall speak with you later, Adelheid. How can you
leave the house without a word? Your behavior was very remiss. The
idea of walking about till so late!"

"Meow!" was the reply.

"I didn't," Heidi began--"Meow!"

Sebastian nearly flung the dish on the table, and disappeared.

"This is enough," Miss Rottenmeier tried to say, but her voice was
hoarse with fury. "Get up and leave the room."

Heidi got up. She began again. "I made--" "Meow! meow! meow!--"

"Heidi," said Clara now, "why do you always say 'meow' again, if you
see that Miss Rottenmeier is angry?"

"I am not doing it, it's the kittens," she explained.

"What? Cats? Kittens?" screamed the housekeeper. "Sebastian, Tinette,
take the horrible things away!" With that she ran into the study,
locking herself in, for she feared kittens beyond anything on earth.
When Sebastian had finished his laugh, he came into the room. He had
foreseen the excitement, having caught sight of the kittens when Heidi
came in. The scene was a very peaceful one now; Clara held the little
kittens in her lap, and Heidi was kneeling beside her. They both
played happily with the two graceful creatures. The butler promised to
look after the new-comers and prepared a bed for them in a basket.

A long time afterwards, when it was time to go to bed, Miss
Rottenmeier cautiously opened the door. "Are they away?" she asked.
"Yes," replied the butler, quickly seizing the kittens and taking them
away.

The lecture that Miss Rottenmeier was going to give Heidi was
postponed to the following day, for the lady was too much exhausted
after her fright. They all went quietly to bed, and the children were
happy in the thought that their kittens had a comfortable bed.