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.

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.

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.

Heidi: Chapter 6.

Chapter 6:
A NEW CHAPTER WITH NEW THINGS.

In a beautiful house in Frankfurt lived a sick child by the name of
Clara Sesemann. She was sitting in a comfortable rolling-chair, which
could be pushed from room to room. Clara spent most of her time in the
study, where long rows of bookcases lined the walls. This room was
used as a living-room, and here she was also given her lessons.

Clara had a pale, thin face with soft blue eyes, which at that moment
were watching the clock impatiently. At last she said: "Oh Miss
Rottenmeier, isn't it time yet?"

The lady so addressed was the housekeeper, who had lived with Clara
since Mrs. Sesemann's death. Miss Rottenmeier wore a peculiar uniform
with a long cape, and a high cap on her head. Clara's father, who was
away from home a great deal, left the entire management of the house
to this lady, on the condition that his daughter's wishes should
always be considered.

While Clara was waiting, Deta had arrived at the front door with
Heidi. She was asking the coachman who had brought her if she could go
upstairs.

"That's not my business," grumbled the coachman; "you must ring for
the butler."

Sebastian, the butler, a man with large brass buttons on his coat,
soon stood before her.

"May I see Miss Rottenmeier?" Deta asked.

"That's not my business," the butler announced. "Ring for Tinette, the
maid." With that, he disappeared.

Deta, ringing again, saw a girl with a brilliant white cap on her
head, coming down the stairway. The maid stopped half-way down and
asked scornfully: "What do you want?"

Deta repeated her wish again. Tinette told her to wait while she went
upstairs, but it did not take long before the two were asked to come
up.

Following the maid, they found themselves in the study. Deta held on
to Heidi's hand and stayed near the door.

Miss Rottenmeier, slowly getting up, approached the newcomers. She did
not seem pleased with Heidi, who wore her hat and shawl and was
looking up at the lady's headdress with innocent wonder.

"What is your name?" the lady asked.

"Heidi," was the child's clear answer.

"What? Is that a Christian name? What name did you receive in
baptism?" inquired the lady again.

"I don't remember that any more," the child replied.

"What an answer! What does that mean?" said the housekeeper, shaking
her head. "Is the child ignorant or pert, Miss Deta?"

"I shall speak for the child, if I may, madam," Deta said, after
giving Heidi a little blow for her unbecoming answer. "The child has
never been in such a fine house and does not know how to behave. I
hope the lady will forgive her manners. She is called Adelheid after
her mother, who was my sister."

"Oh well, that is better. But Miss Deta, the child seems peculiar for
her age. I thought I told you that Miss Clara's companion would have
to be twelve years old like her, to be able to share her studies. How
old is Adelheid?"

"I am sorry, but I am afraid she is somewhat younger than I thought. I
think she is about ten years old."

"Grandfather said that I was eight years old," said Heidi now. Deta
gave her another blow, but as the child had no idea why, she did not
get embarrassed.

"What, only eight years old!" Miss Rottenmeier exclaimed indignantly.
"How can we get along? What have you learned? What books have you
studied?"

"None," said Heidi.

"But how did you learn to read?"

"I can't read and Peter can't do it either," Heidi retorted.

"For mercy's sake! you cannot read?" cried the lady in her surprise.
"How is it possible? What else have you studied?"

"Nothing," replied Heidi, truthfully.

"Miss Deta, how could you bring this child?" said the housekeeper,
when she was more composed.

Deta, however, was not easily intimidated, and said: "I am sorry, but
I thought this child would suit you. She _is_ small, but older
children are often spoilt and not like her. I must go now, for my
mistress is waiting. As soon as I can, I'll come to see how the child
is getting along." With a bow she was outside and with a few quick
steps hurried down-stairs.

Miss Rottenmeier followed her and tried to call her back, for she
wanted to ask Deta a number of questions.

Heidi was still standing on the same spot. Clara had watched the
scene, and called to the child now to come to her.

Heidi approached the rolling-chair.

"Do you want to be called Heidi or Adelheid?" asked Clara.

"My name is Heidi and nothing else," was the child's answer.

"I'll call you Heidi then, for I like it very much," said Clara. "I
have never heard the name before. What curly hair you have! Was it
always like that?"

"I think so."

"Did you like to come to Frankfurt?" asked Clara again.

"Oh, no, but then I am going home again to-morrow, and shall bring
grandmother some soft white rolls," Heidi explained.

"What a curious child you are," said Clara. "You have come to
Frankfurt to stay with me, don't you know that? We shall have our
lessons together, and I think it will be great fun when you learn to
read. Generally the morning seems to have no end, for Mr. Candidate
comes at ten and stays till two. That is a long time, and he has to
yawn himself, he gets so tired. Miss Rottenmeier and he both yawn
together behind their books, but when I do it, Miss Rottenmeier makes
me take cod-liver oil and says that I am ill. So I must swallow my
yawns, for I hate the oil. What fun it will be now, when you learn to
read!"

Heidi shook her head doubtfully at these prospects.

"Everybody must learn to read, Heidi. Mr. Candidate is very patient
and will explain it all to you. You won't know what he means at first,
for it is difficult to understand him. It won't take long to learn,
though, and then you will know what he means."

When Miss Rottenmeier found that she was unable to recall Deta, she
came back to the children. She was in a very excited mood, for she
felt responsible for Heidi's coming and did not know how to cancel
this unfortunate step. She soon got up again to go to the dining-room,
criticising the butler and giving orders to the maid. Sebastian, not
daring to show his rage otherwise, noisily opened the folding doors.
When he went up to Clara's chair, he saw Heidi watching him intently.
At last she said: "You look like Peter."

Miss Rottenmeier was horrified with this remark, and sent them all
into the dining-room. After Clara was lifted on to her chair, the
housekeeper sat down beside her. Heidi was motioned to sit opposite
the lady. In that way they were placed at the enormous table. When
Heidi saw a roll on her plate, she turned to Sebastian, and pointing
at it, asked, "Can I have this?" Heidi had already great confidence in
the butler, especially on account of the resemblance she had
discovered. The butler nodded, and when he saw Heidi put the bread in
her pocket, could hardly keep from laughing. He came to Heidi now with
a dish of small baked fishes. For a long time the child did not move;
then turning her eyes to the butler, she said: "Must I eat that?"
Sebastian nodded, but another pause ensued. "Why don't you give it to
me?" the child quietly asked, looking at her plate. The butler, hardly
able to keep his countenance, was told to place the dish on the table
and leave the room.

When he was gone, Miss Rottenmeier explained to Heidi with many signs
how to help herself at table. She also told her never to speak to
Sebastian unless it was important. After that the child was told how
to accost the servants and the governess. When the question came up of
how to call Clara, the older girl said, "Of course you shall call me
Clara."

A great many rules followed now about behavior at all times, about the
shutting of doors and about going to bed, and a hundred other things.
Poor Heidi's eyes were closing, for she had risen at five that
morning, and leaning against her chair she fell asleep. When Miss
Rottenmeier had finished instructions, she said: "I hope you will
remember everything, Adelheid. Did you understand me?"

"Heidi went to sleep a long time ago," said Clara, highly amused.

"It is atrocious what I have to bear with this child," exclaimed Miss
Rottenmeier, ringing the bell with all her might. When the two
servants arrived, they were hardly able to rouse Heidi enough to show
her to her bed-room.

Heidi: Chapter 5.

CHAPTER 5:

TWO VISITORS.

Two winters had nearly passed. Heidi was happy, for the spring was
coming again, with the soft delicious wind that made the fir-trees
roar. Soon she would be able to go up to the pasture, where blue and
yellow flowers greeted her at every step. She was nearly eight years
old, and had learned to take care of the goats, who ran after her like
little dogs. Several times the village teacher had sent word by Peter
that the child was wanted in school, but the old man had not paid any
attention to the message and had kept her with him as before. It was a
beautiful morning in March. The snow had melted on the slopes, and was
going fast. Snowdrops were peeping through the ground, which seemed to
be getting ready for spring. Heidi was running to and fro before the
door, when she suddenly saw an old gentleman, dressed in black,
standing beside her. As she appeared frightened, he said kindly: "You
must not be afraid of me, for I love children. Give me your hand,
Heidi, and tell me where your grandfather is."

"He is inside, making round wooden spoons," the child replied, opening
the door while she spoke.

It was the old pastor of the village, who had known the grandfather
years ago. After entering, he approached the old man, saying:
"Good-morning, neighbor."

The old man got up, surprised, and offering a seat to the visitor,
said: "Good-morning, Mr. Parson. Here is a wooden chair, if it is good
enough."

Sitting down, the parson said: "It is long since I have seen you,
neighbor. I have come to-day to talk over a matter with you. I am sure
you can guess what it is about."

The clergyman here looked at Heidi, who was standing near the door.

"Heidi, run out to see the goats," said the grandfather, "and bring
them some salt; you can stay till I come."

Heidi disappeared on the spot. "The child should have come to school a
year ago," the parson went on to say. "Didn't you get the teacher's
warning? What do you intend to do with the child?"

"I do not want her to go to school," said the old man, unrelentingly.

"What do you want the child to be?"

"I want her to be free and happy as a bird!"

"But she is human, and it is high time for her to learn something. I
have come now to tell you about it, so that you can make your plans.
She must come to school next winter; remember that."

"I shan't do it, pastor!" was the reply.

"Do you think there is no way?" the clergyman replied, a little hotly.
"You know the world, for you have travelled far. What little sense you
show!"

"You think I am going to send this delicate child to school in every
storm and weather!" the old man said excitedly. "It is a two hours'
walk, and I shall not let her go; for the wind often howls so that it
chokes me if I venture out. Did you know Adelheid, her mother? She was
a sleep-walker, and had fainting-fits. Nobody shall compel me to let
her go; I will gladly fight it out in court."

"You are perfectly right," said the clergyman kindly. "You could not
send her to school from here. Why don't you come down to live among us
again? You are leading a strange life here; I wonder how you can keep
the child warm in winter."

"She has young blood and a good cover. I know where to find good wood,
and all winter I keep a fire going. I couldn't live in the village,
for the people there and I despise each other; we had better keep
apart."

"You are mistaken, I assure you! Make your peace with God, and then
you'll see how happy you will be."

The clergyman had risen, and holding out his hand, he said cordially:
"I shall count on you next winter, neighbor. We shall receive you
gladly, reconciled with God and man."

But the uncle replied firmly, while he shook his visitor by the hand:
"Thank you for your kindness, but you will have to wait in vain."

"God be with you," said the parson, and left him sadly.

The old man was out of humor that day, and when Heidi begged to go to
the grandmother, he only growled: "Not to-day." Next day they had
hardly finished their dinner, when another visitor arrived. It was
Heidi's aunt Deta; she wore a hat with feathers and a dress with such
a train that it swept up everything that lay on the cottage floor.
While the uncle looked at her silently, Deta began to praise him and
the child's red cheeks. She told him that it had not been her
intention to leave Heidi with him long, for she knew she must be in
his way. She had tried to provide for the child elsewhere, and at
last she had found a splendid chance for her. Very rich relations of
her lady, who owned the largest house in Frankfurt, had a lame
daughter. This poor little girl was confined to her rolling-chair and
needed a companion at her lessons. Deta had heard from her lady that a
sweet, quaint child was wanted as playmate and schoolmate for the
invalid. She had gone to the housekeeper and told her all about Heidi.
The lady, delighted with the idea, had told her to fetch the child at
once. She had come now, and it was a lucky chance for Heidi, "for one
never knew what might happen in such a case, and who could tell--"

"Have you finished?" the old man interrupted her at last.

"Why, one might think I was telling you the silliest things. There is
not a man in Praetiggan who would not thank God for such news."

"Bring them to somebody else, but not to me," said the uncle, coldly.

Deta, flaming up, replied: "Do you want to hear what I think? Don't I
know how old she is; eight years old and ignorant of everything. They
have told me that you refuse to send her to church and to school. She
is my only sister's child, and I shall not bear it, for I am
responsible. You do not care for her, how else could you be
indifferent to such luck. You had better give way or I shall get the
people to back me. If I were you, I would not have it brought to
court; some things might be warmed up that you would not care to hear
about."

"Be quiet!" the uncle thundered with flaming eyes. "Take her and ruin
her, but do not bring her before my sight again. I do not want to see
her with feathers in her hat and wicked words like yours."

With long strides he went out.

"You have made him angry!" said Heidi with a furious look.

"He won't be cross long. But come now, where are your things?" asked
Deta.

"I won't come," Heidi replied.

"What?" Deta said passionately. But changing her tone, she continued
in a more friendly manner: "Come now; you don't understand me. I am
taking you to the most beautiful place you have ever seen." After
packing up Heidi's clothes she said again, "Come, child, and take your
hat. It is not very nice, but we can't help it."

"I shall not come," was the reply.

"Don't be stupid and obstinate, like a goat. Listen to me. Grandfather
is sending us away and we must do what he commands, or he will get
more angry still. You'll see how fine it is in Frankfurt. If you do
not like it, you can come home again and by that time grandfather will
have forgiven us."

"Can I come home again to-night?" asked Heidi.

"Come now, I told you you could come back. If we get to Mayenfeld
today, we can take the train to-morrow. That will make you fly home
again in the shortest time!"

Holding the bundle, Deta led the child down the mountain. On their
way they met Peter, who had not gone to school that day. The boy
thought it was a more useful occupation to look for hazel-rods than to
learn to read, for he always needed the rods. He had had a most
successful day, for he carried an enormous bundle on his shoulder.
When he caught sight of Heidi and Deta, he asked them where they were
going.

"I am going to Frankfurt with Aunt Deta," Heidi replied; "but first I
must see grandmother, for she is waiting."

"Oh no, it is too late. You can see her when you come back, but not
now," said Deta, pulling Heidi along with her, for she was afraid that
the old woman might detain the child.

Peter ran into the cottage and hit the table with his rods. The
grandmother jumped up in her fright and asked him what that meant.

"They have taken Heidi away," Peter said with a groan.

"Who has, Peter? Where has she gone?" the unhappy grandmother asked.
Brigida had seen Deta walking up the footpath a short while ago and
soon they guessed what had happened. With a trembling hand the old
woman opened a window and called out as loudly as she could: "Deta,
Deta, don't take the child away. Don't take her from us."

When Heidi heard that she struggled to get free, and said: "I must go
to grandmother; she is calling me."

But Deta would not let her go. She urged her on by saying that she
might return soon again. She also suggested that Heidi might bring a
lovely present to the grandmother when she came back.

Heidi liked this prospect and followed Deta without more ado. After a
while she asked: "What shall I bring to the grandmother?"

"You might bring her some soft white rolls, Heidi. I think the black
bread is too hard for poor grandmother to eat."

"Yes, I know, aunt, she always gives it to Peter," Heidi confirmed
her. "We must go quickly now; we might get to Frankfurt today and
then I can be back tomorrow with the rolls."

[Illustration: WHEN HEIDI HEARD THAT SHE STRUGGLED TO GET FREE]

Heidi was running now, and Deta had to follow. She was glad enough to
escape the questions that people might ask her in the village. People
could see that Heidi was pulling her along, so she said: "I can't
stop. Don't you see how the child is hurrying? We have still far to
go," whenever she heard from all sides: "Are you taking her with you?"
"Is she running away from the uncle?" "What a wonder she is still
alive!" "What red cheeks she has," and so on. Soon they had escaped
and had left the village far behind them.

From that time on the uncle looked more angry than ever when he came
to the village. Everybody was afraid of him, and the women would warn
their children to keep out of his sight.

He came down but seldom, and then only to sell his cheese and buy his
provisions. Often people remarked how lucky it was that Heidi had left
him. They had seen her hurrying away, so they thought that she had
been glad to go.

The old grandmother alone stuck to him faithfully. Whenever anybody
came up to her, she would tell them what good care the old man had
taken of Heidi. She also told them that he had mended her little
house. These reports reached the village, of course, but people only
half believed them, for the grandmother was infirm and old. She began
her days with sighing again. "All happiness has left us with the
child. The days are so long and dreary, and I have no joy left. If
only I could hear Heidi's voice before I die," the poor old woman
would exclaim, day after day.

Talking Books: Heidi, Chapter Four, Part 3

Heidi

Chapter Four,

Part 3

Heidi could hardly wait before they reached the cottage. She had tried
to talk on the way, but no sound could be heard through the heavy
cover. As soon as they were inside the hut she began: "Grandfather, we
must take some nails and a hammer down tomorrow; a shutter is loose in
grandmother's house and many other places shake. Everything rattles in
her house."

"Is that so? Who says we must?"

"Nobody told me, but I know," Heidi replied. "Everything is loose in
the house, and poor grandmother told me she was afraid that the house
might tumble down. And grandfather, she cannot see the light. Can you
help her and make it light for her? How terrible it must be to be
afraid in the dark and nobody there to help you! Oh, please,
grandfather, do something to help her! I know you can."

Heidi had been clinging to her grandfather and looking up to him with
trusting eyes. At last he said, glancing down: "All right, child,
we'll see that it won't rattle any more. We can do it tomorrow."

Heidi was so overjoyed at these words that she danced around the room
shouting: "We'll do it tomorrow! We can do it tomorrow!"

The grandfather, keeping his word, took Heidi down the following day
with the same instructions as before. After Heidi had disappeared, he
went around the house inspecting it.

The grandmother, in her joy at seeing the child again, had stopped the
wheel and called: "Here is the child again! She has come again!"
Heidi, grasping her outstretched hands, sat herself on a low stool at
the old woman's feet and began to chat. Suddenly violent blows were
heard outside; the grandmother in her fright nearly upset the
spinning-wheel and screamed: "Oh, God, it has come at last. The hut is
tumbling down!"

"Grandmother, don't be frightened," said the child, while she put her
arms around her. "Grandfather is just fastening the shutter and fixing
everything for you."

"Is it possible? Has God not forgotten us after all? Brigida, have you
heard it? Surely that is a hammer. Ask him to come in a moment, if it
is he, for I must thank him."

When Brigida went out, she found the old man busy with putting a new
beam along the wall. Approaching him, she said: "Mother and I wish you
a good-afternoon. We are very much obliged to you for doing us such a
service, and mother would like to see you. There are few that would
have done it, uncle, and how can we thank you?"

"That will do," he interrupted. "I know what your opinion about me is.
Go in, for I can find what needs mending myself."

Brigida obeyed, for the uncle had a way that nobody could oppose. All
afternoon the uncle hammered around; he even climbed up on the roof,
where much was missing. At last he had to stop, for the last nail was
gone from his pocket. The darkness had come in the meantime, and
Heidi was ready to go up with him, packed warmly in his arms.

Thus the winter passed. Sunshine had come again into the blind woman's
life, and made her days less dark and dreary. Early every morning she
would begin to listen for Heidi's footsteps, and when the door was
opened and the child ran in, the grandmother exclaimed every time more
joyfully: "Thank God, she has come again!"

Heidi would talk about her life, and make the grandmother smile and
laugh, and in that way the hours flew by. In former times the old
woman had always sighed: "Brigida, is the day not over yet?" but now
she always exclaimed after Heidi's departure: "How quickly the
afternoon has gone by. Don't you think so, too, Brigida?" Her daughter
had to assent, for Heidi had long ago won her heart. "If only God will
spare us the child!" the grandmother would often say. "I hope the
uncle will always be kind, as he is now."--"Does Heidi look well,
Brigida?" was a frequent question, which always got a reassuring
answer.

Heidi also became very fond of the old grandmother, and when the
weather was fair, she visited her every day that winter. Whenever the
child remembered that the grandmother was blind, she would get very
sad; her only comfort was that her coming brought such happiness. The
grandfather soon had mended the cottage; often he would take down big
loads of timber, which he used to good purpose. The grandmother vowed
that no rattling could be heard any more, and that, thanks to the
uncle's kindness, she slept better that winter than she had done for
many a year.

Talking Books: Heidi Chapter Four, Part 2

Heidi.

Chapter Four, Part 2


Opening the door, Heidi found herself in a tiny, dark kitchen, and
going through another door, she entered a narrow chamber. Near a table
a woman was seated, busy with mending Peter's coat, which Heidi had
recognized immediately. A bent old woman was sitting in a corner, and
Heidi, approaching her at once, said: "How do you do, grandmother? I
have come now, and I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!"

Lifting her head, the grandmother sought for Heidi's hand. Feeling it
thoughtfully, she said: "Are you the little girl who lives up with the
uncle? Is your name Heidi?"

"Yes," Heidi replied. "The grandfather just brought me down in the
sled."

"How is it possible? Your hands are as warm as toast! Brigida, did the
uncle really come down with the child?"

Brigida, Peter's mother, had gotten up to look at the child. She said:
"I don't know if he did, but I don't think so. She probably doesn't
know."

Heidi, looking up, said quite decidedly: "I know that grandfather
wrapped me up in a cover when we coasted down together."

"Peter was right after all," said the grandmother. "We never thought
the child would live more than three weeks with him. Brigida, tell me
what she looks like."

"She has Adelheid's fine limbs and black eyes, and curly hair like
Tobias and the old man. I think she looks like both of them."

While the women were talking, Heidi had been taking in everything.
Then she said: "Grandmother, look at the shutter over there. It is
hanging loose. If grandfather were here, he would fasten it. It will
break the window-pane! Just look at it."

"What a sweet child you are," said the grandmother tenderly. "I can
hear it, but I cannot see it, child. This cottage rattles and creaks,
and when the wind blows, it comes in through every chink. Some day the
whole house will break to pieces and fall on top of us. If only Peter
knew how to mend it! We have no one else."

"Why, grandmother, can't you see the shutter?" asked Heidi.

"Child, I cannot see anything," lamented the old woman.

"Can you see it when I open the shutter to let in the light?"

"No, no, not even then. Nobody can ever show me the light again."

"But you can see when you go out into the snow, where everything is
bright. Come with me, grandmother, I'll show you!" and Heidi, taking
the old woman by the hand, tried to lead her out. Heidi was frightened
and got more anxious all the time.

"Just let me stay here, child. Everything is dark for me, and my poor
eyes can neither see the snow nor the light."

"But grandmother, does it not get light in the summer, when the sun
shines down on the mountains to say good-night, setting them all
aflame?"

"No, child, I can never see the fiery mountains any more. I have to
live in darkness, always."

Heidi burst out crying now and sobbed aloud. "Can nobody make it light
for you? Is there nobody who can do it, grandmother? Nobody?"

The grandmother tried all possible means to comfort the child; it
wrung her heart to see her terrible distress. It was awfully hard for
Heidi to stop crying when she had once begun, for she cried so seldom.
The grandmother said: "Heidi, let me tell you something. People who
cannot see love to listen to friendly words. Sit down beside me and
tell me all about yourself. Talk to me about your grandfather, for it
has been long since I have heard anything about him. I used to know
him very well."

Heidi suddenly wiped away her tears, for she had had a cheering
thought. "Grandmother, I shall tell grandfather about it, and I am
sure he can make it light for you. He can mend your little house and
stop the rattling."

The old woman remained silent, and Heidi, with the greatest vivacity,
began to describe her life with the grandfather. Listening
attentively, the two women would say to each other sometimes: "Do you
hear what she says about the uncle? Did you listen?"

Heidi's tale was interrupted suddenly by a great thumping on the door;
and who should come in but Peter. No sooner had he seen Heidi, than he
smiled, opening his round eyes as wide as possible. Heidi called,
"Good-evening, Peter!"

"Is it really time for him to come home!" exclaimed Peter's
grandmother. "How quickly the time has flown. Good-evening, little
Peter; how is your reading going?"

"Just the same," the boy replied.

"Oh, dear, I was hoping for a change at last. You are nearly twelve
years old, my boy."

"Why should there be a change?" inquired Heidi with greatest interest.

"I am afraid he'll never learn it after all. On the shelf over there
is an old prayer-book with beautiful songs. I have forgotten them all,
for I do not hear them any more. I longed that Peter should read them
to me some day, but he will never be able to!"

Peter's mother got up from her work now, saying, "I must make a light.
The afternoon has passed and now it's getting dark."

When Heidi heard those words, she started, and holding out her hand to
all, she said: "Good-night. I have to go, for it is getting dark." But
the anxious grandmother called out: "Wait, child, don't go up alone!
Go with her, Peter, and take care that she does not fall. Don't let
her get cold, do you hear? Has Heidi a shawl?"

"I haven't, but I won't be cold," Heidi called back, for she had
already escaped through the door. She ran so fast that Peter could
hardly follow her. The old woman frettingly called out: "Brigida, run
after her. Get a warm shawl, she'll freeze in this cold night. Hurry
up!" Brigida obeyed. The children had hardly climbed any distance,
when they saw the old man coming and with a few vigorous steps he
stood beside them.

"I am glad you kept you word, Heidi," he said; and packing her into
her cover, he started up the hill, carrying the child in his arms.
Brigida had come in time to see it, and told the grandmother what she
had witnessed.

"Thank God, thank God!" the old woman said. "I hope she'll come again;
she has done me so much good! What a soft heart she has, the darling,
and how nicely she can talk." All evening the grandmother said to
herself, "If only he lets her come again! I have something to look
forward to in this world now, thank God!"

Talking Books: Heid Chapter Four; Part 1

Heidi.
Chapter 4,
Part One.

IN THE GRANDMOTHER'S HUT.

Next morning Peter came again with his goats, and Heidi went up to the
pasture with them. This happened day after day, and in this healthy
life Heidi grew stronger, and more sunburnt every day. Soon the autumn
came and when the wind was blowing across the mountainside, the
grandfather would say: "You must stay home to-day, Heidi; for the wind
can blow such a little thing as you down into the valley with a single
gust."
It always made Peter unhappy when Heidi did not come along, for he saw
nothing but misfortunes ahead of him; he hardly knew how to pass his
time, and besides, he was deprived of his abundant dinner. The goats
were so accustomed to Heidi by this time, that they did not follow
Peter when she was not with him.

Heidi herself did not mind staying at home, for she loved nothing
better than to watch her grandfather with his saw and hammer.
Sometimes the grandfather would make small round cheeses on those
days, and there was no greater pleasure for Heidi than to see him stir
the butter with his bare arms. When the wind would howl through the
fir-trees on those stormy days, Heidi would run out to the grove,
thrilled and happy by the wondrous roaring in the branches. The sun
had lost its vigor, and the child had to put on her shoes and
stockings and her little dress.

The weather got colder and colder, and when Peter came up in the
morning, he would blow into his hands, he was so frozen. At last even
Peter could not come any more, for a deep snow had fallen over night.
Heidi stood at the window, watching the snow falling down. It kept on
snowing till it reached the windows; still it did not stop, and soon
the windows could not be opened, and they were all shut in. When it
had lasted for several days, Heidi thought that it would soon cover
up the cottage. It finally stopped, and the grandfather went out to
shovel the snow away from the door and windows, piling it up high here
and there. In the afternoon the two were sitting near the fire when
noisy steps were heard outside and the door was pushed open. It was
Peter, who had come up to see Heidi. Muttering, "Good-evening," he
went up to the fire. His face was beaming, and Heidi had to laugh when
she saw little waterfalls trickling down from his person, for all the
ice and snow had melted in the great heat.

The grandfather now asked Peter how he got along in school. Heidi was
so interested that she asked him a hundred questions. Poor Peter, who
was not an easy talker, found himself in great difficulty answering
the little girl's inquiries, but at least it gave him leisure to dry
his clothes.

During this conversation the grandfather's eyes had been twinkling,
and at last he said to the boy: "Now that you have been under fire,
general, you need some strengthening. Come and join us at supper."

With that the old man prepared a meal which amply satisfied Peter's
appetite. It had begun to get dark, and Peter knew that it was time to
go. He had said good-bye and thank you, when turning to Heidi he
remarked:

"I'll come next Sunday, if I may. By the way, Heidi, grandmother asked
me to tell you that she would love to see you."

Heidi immediately approved of this idea, and her first word next
morning was: "Grandfather, I must go down to grandmother. She is
expecting me."

Four days later the sun was shining and the tight-packed frozen snow
was crackling under every step. Heidi was sitting at the dinner-table,
imploring the old man to let her make the visit then, when he got up,
and fetching down her heavy cover, told her to follow him. They went
out into the glistening snow; no sound was heard and the snow-laden
fir-trees shone and glittered in the sun. Heidi in her transport was
running to and fro: "Grandfather, come out! Oh, look at the trees!
They are all covered with silver and gold," she called to the
grandfather, who had just come out of his workshop with a wide sled.
Wrapping the child up in her cover, he put her on the sled, holding
her fast. Off they started at such a pace that Heidi shouted for joy,
for she seemed to be flying like a bird. The sled had stopped in front
of Peter's hut, and grandfather said: "Go in. When it gets dark, start
on your way home." When he had unwrapped her, he turned homewards with
his sled.

Heidi: Chapter Three, Part 2

Heidi.
Chapter 3: Part 2

The boy could tell them all to her, for their names were about the
only thing he had to carry in his head. She soon knew them, too, for
she had listened attentively. One of them was the Big Turk, who tried
to stick his big horns into all the others. Most of the goats ran away
from their rough comrade. The bold Thistlefinch alone was not afraid,
and running his horns three or four times into the other, so
astonished the Turk with his great daring that he stood still and gave
up fighting, for the Thistlefinch had sharp horns and met him in the
most warlike attitude. A small, white goat, called Snowhopper, kept up
bleating in the most piteous way, which induced Heidi to console it
several times. Heidi at last went to the little thing again, and
throwing her arms around its head, she asked, "What is the matter with
you, Snowhopper? Why do you always cry for help?" The little goat
pressed close to Heidi's side and became perfectly quiet. Peter was
still eating, but between the swallows he called to Heidi: "She is so
unhappy, because the old goat has left us. She was sold to somebody in
Mayenfeld two days ago."

"Who was the old goat?"

"Her mother, of course."

"Where is her grandmother?"

"She hasn't any."

"And her grandfather?"

"Hasn't any either."

"Poor little Snowhopper!" said Heidi, drawing the little creature
tenderly to her. "Don't grieve any more; see, I am coming up with you
every day now, and if there is anything the matter, you can come to
me."

Snowhopper rubbed her head against Heidi's shoulder and stopped
bleating. When Peter had finally finished his dinner, he joined Heidi.

The little girl had just been observing that Schwaenli and Baerli were
by far the cleanest and prettiest of the goats. They evaded the
obtrusive Turk with a sort of contempt and always managed to find the
greenest bushes for themselves. She mentioned it to Peter, who
replied: "I know! Of course they are the prettiest, because the uncle
washes them and gives them salt. He has the best stable by far."

All of a sudden Peter, who had been lying on the ground, jumped up and
bounded after the goats. Heidi, knowing that something must have
happened, followed him. She saw him running to a dangerous abyss on
the side. Peter had noticed how the rash Thistlefinch had gone nearer
and nearer to the dangerous spot. Peter only just came in time to
prevent the goat from falling down over the very edge. Unfortunately
Peter had stumbled over a stone in his hurry and was only able to
catch the goat by one leg. The Thistlefinch, being enraged to find
himself stopped in his charming ramble, bleated furiously. Not being
able to get up, Peter loudly called for help. Heidi immediately saw
that Peter was nearly pulling off the animal's leg. She quickly picked
some fragrant herbs and holding them under the animal's nose, she said
soothingly: "Come, come, Thistlefinch, and be sensible. You might fall
down there and break your leg. That would hurt you horribly."

The goat turned about and devoured the herbs Heidi held in her hand.
When Peter got to his feet, he led back the runaway with Heidi's help.
When he had the goat in safety, he raised his rod to beat it for
punishment. The goat retreated shyly, for it knew what was coming.
Heidi screamed loudly: "Peter, no, do not beat him! look how scared he
is."

"He well deserves it," snarled Peter, ready to strike. But Heidi,
seizing his arm, shouted, full of indignation: "You mustn't hurt him!
Let him go!"

Heidi's eyes were sparkling, and when he saw her with her commanding
mien, he desisted and dropped his rope. "I'll let him go, if you give
me a piece of your cheese again to-morrow," he said, for he wanted a
compensation for his fright.

"You may have it all to-morrow and every day, because I don't need
it," Heidi assured him. "I shall also give you a big piece of bread,
if you promise never to beat any of the goats."

"I don't care," growled Peter, and in that way he gave his promise.

Thus the day had passed, and the sun was already sinking down behind
the mountains. Sitting on the grass, Heidi looked at the bluebells and
the wild roses that were shining in the last rays of the sun. The
peaks also started to glow, and Heidi suddenly called to the boy: "Oh,
Peter, look! everything is on fire. The mountains are burning and the
sky, too. Oh, look! the moon over there is on fire, too. Do you see
the mountains all in a glow? Oh, how beautiful the snow looks! Peter,
the eagle's nest is surely on fire, too. Oh, look at the fir-trees
over there!"

Peter was quietly peeling his rod, and looking up, said to Heidi:
"This is no fire; it always looks like that."

"But what is it then?" asked Heidi eagerly, gazing about her
everywhere.

"It gets that way of itself," explained Peter.

"Oh look! Everything is all rosy now! Oh, look at this mountain over
there with the snow and the sharp peaks. What is its name?"

"Mountains have no names," he answered.

"Oh, see, how beautiful! It looks as if many, many roses were growing
on those cliffs. Oh, now they are getting grey. Oh dear! the fire has
gone out and it is all over. What a terrible shame!" said Heidi quite
despondently.

"It will be the same again tomorrow," Peter reassured her. "Come now,
we have to go home."

When Peter had called the goats together, they started downwards.

"Will it be like that every day when we are up?" asked Heidi, eagerly.

"It usually is," was the reply.

"What about tomorrow?" she inquired.

"Tomorrow it will be like that, I am sure," Peter affirmed.

That made Heidi feel happy again. She walked quietly by Peter's side,
thinking over all the new things she had seen. At last, reaching the
hut, they found the grandfather waiting for them on a bench under the
fir-trees. Heidi ran up to him and the two goats followed, for they
knew their master. Peter called to her: "Come again tomorrow!
Good-night!"

Heidi gave him her hand, assuring him that she would come, and finding
herself surrounded by the goats, she hugged Snowhopper a last time.

When Peter had disappeared, Heidi returned to her grandfather. "Oh
grandfather! it was so beautiful! I saw the fire and the roses on the
rocks! And see the many, many flowers I am bringing you!" With that
Heidi shook them out of her apron. But oh, how miserable they looked!
Heidi did not even know them any more.

"What is the matter with them, grandfather? They looked so different!"
Heidi exclaimed in her fright.

"They are made to bloom in the sun and not to be shut up in an apron,"
said the grandfather.

"Then I shall never pick them any more! Please, grandfather, tell me
why the eagle screeches so loudly," asked Heidi.

"First go and take a bath, while I go into the shed to get your milk.
Afterwards we'll go inside together and I'll tell you all about it
during supper-time."

They did as was proposed, and when Heidi sat on her high chair before
her milk, she asked the same question as before.

"Because he is sneering at the people down below, who sit in the
villages and make each other angry. He calls down to them:--'If you
would go apart to live up on the heights like me, you would feel much
better!'" The grandfather said these last words with such a wild
voice, that it reminded Heidi of the eagle's screech.

"Why do the mountains have no names, grandfather?" asked Heidi.

"They all have names, and if you tell me their shape I can name them
for you."

Heidi described several and the old man could name them all. The child
told him now about all the happenings of the day, and especially about
the wonderful fire. She asked how it came about.

"The sun does it," he exclaimed. "Saying good-night to the mountains,
he throws his most beautiful rays to them, that they may not forget
him till the morning."

Heidi was so much pleased with this explanation, that she could hardly
wait to see the sun's good-night greetings repeated. It was time now
to go to bed, and Heidi slept soundly all night. She dreamt that the
little Snowhopper was bounding happily about on the glowing mountains
with many glistening roses blooming round her.