Heidi (1899)/Part 2/Chapter 9

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A Day before her arrival the grandmamma had written a letter and sent it up to the Alm, that they might know there exactly when she was coming. Peter brought this letter with him early the next day, as he was going up to the pasture. The grandfather had already come out of the hut with the children, and Schwänli and Bärli were both standing outside, gayly shaking their heads in the cool morning air, while the children stroked them and wished them a pleasant journey up the mountain. The uncle stood by and looked first at the children's fresh faces, and then at his clean, sleek goats. Both must have pleased him, for he smiled with satisfaction.

Then Peter came along. When he saw the group he approached slowly, handed the letter to the uncle, and as soon as he had taken it from him he ran timidly back as if something had frightened him; then he looked quickly behind him, exactly as if something else was going to frighten him; then he gave a leap and ran up the mountain.

"Grandfather," said Heidi, who had been watching Peter in surprise, "why does Peter act like the big Türk when he feels the rod behind him; he ducks his ​head and shakes himself all over and makes sudden leaps in the air."

"Perhaps Peter feels that there is a rod behind him too, and knows he deserves it," answered her grandfather.

It was only the first slope that Peter ran up without stopping; as soon as he could no longer be seen from below, it was different. Then he stood still and turned his head timidly in every direction; suddenly he leaped into the air and looked behind him, as frightened as if some one had just seized him by the nape of the neck. From behind every bush and out of every thicket Peter thought he saw a policeman from Frankfurt rushing out at him. The longer this anxious expectation lasted, the more terrible it became to Peter, so that now he had not a moment's peace.

Heidi had the hut to put in order, for the grandmamma must find everything tidy when she came.

Klara always found this busy cleaning in every corner of the hut so interesting that she was very glad to watch Heidi at work.

So the early morning hours passed before the children were aware of it, and the grandmamma might be expected to arrive at any moment.

Then the children came out again, all ready to welcome her, and sat down together on the bench in front of the hut, full of expectation.

The grandfather also joined them; he had taken a walk and had brought home a great bunch of deep-blue gentians, which looked so lovely in the bright morning ​sun that the children shouted for joy when they saw them. The grandfather took them into the hut. Every little while Heidi jumped up from the bench to look and see whether she could catch sight of the grandmamma's party.

At last Heidi saw exactly what she had been expecting coming up from below. First came the guide, then the white horse with the grandmamma on it, and last the porter with the deep basket on his back, for the grandmamma would never think of coming up on the mountain without plenty of wraps.

Nearer and nearer they came, Then the top was reached; the grandmamma looked down at the children from her horse.

"What is that? What do I see, Klärchen? You are not sitting in your chair! How is that possible?" she exclaimed in alarm and dismounted hastily. But before she had reached the children she clapped her hands and exclaimed in the greatest excitement:—

"Klärchen, is it you or is it not? You really have red cheeks, as round as an apple! Child! I don't know you any longer!"

Then the grandmamma was going to rush at Klara; but Heidi had slipped unnoticed from the bench, and Klara quickly leaned on her shoulders, and the children started away quite calmly to take a little walk. The grandmamma suddenly stood still, first from fear, for she thought nothing else but that Heidi was trying to do something rash.

But what did she see before her!

​Klara was walking upright and safely beside Heidi; then they came back again, both with beaming faces, both with rosy cheeks.

Then the grandmamma rushed toward them. Laughing and crying, she embraced Klara, then Heidi and then Klara again. In her delight she could find no words.

Suddenly she caught sight of the uncle, who was standing by the bench and smiling with satisfaction as he watched the three. Then she seized Klara's arm and with continual exclamations of delight that it was really true that she could walk around with the child, went to the bench. Here she let Klara go and grasped both of the old man's hands.

"My dear uncle! My dear uncle! What have we to thank you for! It is your work! It is your care and nursing"—

"And our Lord's sunshine and mountain air," interrupted the uncle, smiling.

"Yes, and Schwänli's lovely, good milk, too," added Klara. "Grandmamma, you ought to know how I can drink the goat's milk, and how good it is!"

"I can see that by your cheeks, Klärchen," said her grandmamma, laughing. "No, no one would ever know you; you have grown round and broad, as I never dreamed you could be, and you are tall, Klärchen! Is it really true? I cannot look at you enough! I must send a telegram at once to my son in Paris; he must come immediately. I will not tell him why; it will be the greatest joy of his life. My dear uncle, how can it be done? Have you sent the men away already?"

​"They have gone," he replied; "but if the grandmamma is in haste, we can send down the goatherd, who has time."

The grandmamma insisted upon sending a despatch at once to her son, for this good fortune must not be kept from him a single day.

So the uncle went a little way aside and gave such a penetrating whistle through his fingers that it whistled back from the rocks above, it had wakened the echo so far away. It was not long before Peter came running down, for he knew the whistle well. Peter was white as chalk, for he thought the Alm-Uncle was calling him to judgment. A paper which the grandmamma had written meanwhile was then given to him, and the uncle explained that he was to carry it immediately down into Dörfli and to give it to the postmaster; the uncle would pay for it later himself, for Peter could not be intrusted with so many things at once.

He went along with the paper in his hand, much relieved for this time, as the uncle had not whistled to call him to account, and no policeman had come.

At last they were able to sit down quietly together around the table in front of the hut, and then the grandmamma had to be told how it had all happened from the beginning; how at first the grandfather had tried to have Klara stand and then take steps, then how they had taken the journey up to the pasture and the wind had rolled away the chair; how Klara's eagerness to see the flowers had brought about her first walk, and so one thing grew out of another. But it ​was a long time before the children finished their story, for every little while the grandmamma had to break forth in amazement and in praise and thankfulness, and exclaimed again and again:—

"Is it really possible? Is it then really no dream? Are we all awake and sitting here in front of the Alm hut, and is the little girl before me, with the round, fresh face, my old, pale, weak Klärchen?"

Klara and Heidi were in a constant state of delight because their beautifully planned surprise had succeeded so well with the grandmamma.

Meanwhile Herr Sesemann had finished his business in Paris and had also been preparing a surprise. Without writing a word to his mother, he took the train one sunny summer morning and went directly through to Basle, leaving there early the following day, for he was seized with a great longing to see his little daughter again, having been separated from her the whole summer long. He reached Ragatz a few hours after his mother had left there.

He found that she had that very day started to go up the mountain. So he immediately took a carriage and drove to Mayenfeld. When he learned there that he could drive on to Dörfli he did so, for he thought it would be far enough to have to walk up the mountain.

Herr Sesemann was not mistaken; the uninterrupted climbing up the mountain was very tiresome and hard for him. No hut appeared in sight, and he knew that he ought to come to goatherd Peter's dwelling halfway up, for he had often heard about this journey. ​There were footpaths leading in all directions. Herr Sesemann was not sure that he was on the right path or whether the hut might not perhaps lie on the other side of the mountain. He looked around him, to see if he could discover any human being whom he could ask about the way. But it was silent all around; far and wide there was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard. Only the mountain wind blew now and then through the air, and the little flies buzzed in the sunshine, and a merry bird piped here and there on a lonely larch tree. Herr Sesemann stood still for a while and let the mountain breeze cool his heated brow.

Just then some one came running down from above; it was Peter with the despatch in his hand. He was running straight ahead, down the steep places, paying no attention to the footpath where Herr Sesemann stood. As soon as the boy came near enough, Herr Sesemann beckoned for him to come to him. Peter came trembling and frightened, sideways, not straight forward, and as if he could only advance properly with one foot and had to drag the other after him.

"Here, youngster, brace up!" said Herr Sesemann encouragingly.

"Now tell me if this path will bring me up to the hut, where the old man lives with the child Heidi, where the people from Frankfurt are."

A dull sound of the greatest terror was the answer, and Peter darted away with such bounds that he rushed heels over head down the steep mountain-side, and ​rolled away, turning somersaults farther and farther, very nearly as the wheel chair had done, except that fortunately Peter did not go to pieces, like the chair.

Only the despatch was badly treated and torn to shreds.

"A remarkably bashful mountaineer," said Herr Sesemann to himself, for he supposed that the appearance of a stranger had produced this strong impression on the simple son of the Alps.

After watching Peter's violent descent for a little, Herr Sesemann continued his way.

In spite of all his efforts Peter could not reach a place of safety; he kept rolling on, and from time to time turned somersaults in the strangest fashion.

But this was not the most frightful side of his misfortune at this moment; far more frightful were the anxiety and the terror which filled him, for he was sure now that the policeman from Frankfurt had really come. He had no doubt that the stranger who had asked for the people from Frankfurt at the Alm-Uncle's was the very one. Finally, on the last high slope above Dörfli, Peter rolled against a bush to which he could cling fast. He lay still there for a moment, for he had to first think what had happened to him.

"Very good, here's another one," said a voice hard by Peter. "And who is going to catch it to-morrow for sending you down like a badly sewed potato sack?"

It was the baker, who was making fun of him. To amuse himself a little up there after his hot day's work, ​he had been quietly watching Peter as he came down the mountain very much as the wheel chair had done.

Peter jumped to his feet. New fear seized him. Now the baker must know that the chair had been pushed. Without looking back once, Peter ran up the mountain again.

He would have preferred to go home now and creep into his bed, so that no one could find him, for he felt safest there. But he had left the goats up in the pasture, and the uncle had impressed it upon him to come back soon, that the flock might not be alone too long. He feared the uncle more than any one else, and had such respect for him that he had never dared to disobey him. Peter groaned aloud and limped on, for it must be; he was obliged to go back up the mountain again. But he could not run any longer; his anxiety and the many knocks that he had received could not fail to affect him. So he went on limping and groaning up the Alm.

Herr Sesemann had reached the first hut shortly after meeting Peter, and knew then that he was on the right path. He climbed on with renewed zeal and at last, after long, tiresome exertion, he saw his goal before him. There stood the Alm hut and the dark branches of the old fir trees swaying above it.

Herr Sesemann climbed the last part of the way with delight, for he was soon to surprise his child. But the father had already been seen and recognized by the company in front of the hut, and something was in store for him which he had never suspected.

​When he had taken the last step up the mountain, two forms came toward him from the hut. A tall young girl with light yellow hair and rosy face, leaning on little Heidi, whose dark eyes sparkled with the keenest

delight. Herr Sesemann stopped short; he stood still and gazed at the approaching children. Suddenly big tears rushed from his eyes. What memories arose in his heart! Exactly so had Klara's mother looked, a blonde maiden with cheeks slightly tinged with red. ​Herr Sesemann did not know whether he was awake or dreaming.

"Papa, don't you know me any longer?" called out Klara to him, while her face beamed with delight. "Am I so changed?"

Herr Sesemann rushed toward his little daughter and folded her in his arms.

"Yes, you are changed! Is it possible? Is it really so?"

And the overjoyed father stepped back again to see whether the picture would not disappear before his eyes.

"Is it you, Klärchen, is it really you?" he had to exclaim again and again. He folded his child in his arms once more, and then he had to look again to see whether it really was Klara standing erect before him.

Then the grandmamma came out, for she could not wait any longer to see her son's happy face.

"Well, my dear son, what do you say now?" she called out to him. "The surprise which you have given us is very lovely, but the one prepared for you is still lovelier, is it not?" And the delighted mother greeted her dear son with great affection.

"But now, my dear," she then said, "come with me over there to see the uncle, who is our greatest benefactor."

"Certainly, and our little companion, our little Heidi, I must greet also," said Herr Sesemann as he shook Heidi's hand. "Well? Always fresh and well on the ​mountain? But I don't need to ask; no Alpine rose could be more blooming. This is a joy to me, child; this is a great joy to me!"

Heidi looked with beaming eyes at the kind Herr Sesemann. How good he had always been to her! And that now he should find such a joy here on the mountain made Heidi's heart beat loud with delight.

Then the grandmamma took her son to the Alm-Uncle, and while the two men were shaking hands very heartily, and Herr Sesemann was beginning to express his deep-felt thanks and his boundless astonishment that such a wonderful thing could happen, the grandmamma turned and went a little way in the other direction, for she had already talked the matter over. She wanted to look at the old fir trees again.

Here there was another surprise awaiting her. Under the fir trees, where the long branches had left a free space, stood a great bunch of wonderful deep-blue gentians, as fresh and shining as if they had grown there. The grandmamma clapped her hands with delight.

"How exquisite! How wonderful! What a sight!" she exclaimed again and again. "Heidi, my dear child, come here! Did you bring these here to please me? They are perfectly wonderful!"

The children were already there.

"No, no, I really did not," said Heidi; "but I know who did."

"It is like that up in the pasture, grandmamma, and even more beautiful," said Klara. "But just guess who brought the flowers down from the pasture for you ​early this morning!" and Klara smiled with so much satisfaction at what she had said that for a moment it occurred to her grandmamma that the child had really been up there herself that day. But that was almost impossible.

A gentle rustling was then heard behind the fir trees; it came from Peter, who had come back in the mean time. When he saw who was standing in front of the hut with the uncle, he went a long way round and was going to slip very stealthily behind the fir trees. But the grandmamma caught sight of him, and a new thought suddenly came to her. Had Peter brought down the flowers, and was he creeping away now so stealthily from sheer timidity and modesty? No, that must not be; he should have a little reward.

"Come, my lad, come here quickly, and don't be afraid!" the grandmamma called loudly, putting her head a little way between the trees.

Petrified with fear, Peter stood still. He had not the strength to resist anything more that might happen. This was what he felt: "Now it is all up!" His hair stood on end, and with a pale face, distorted by the greatest anguish, Peter stepped out from behind the fir trees.

"Come right straight here," said the grandmamma encouragingly. "There, now tell me, my boy, if you did this."

Peter did not lift his eyes, and did not see where the grandmamma's finger was pointing. He had noticed that the uncle was standing by the corner of the hut, ​and that his penetrating gray eyes were fastened on him, and that next the uncle stood the most terrible person Peter knew, the policeman from Frankfurt. Trembling in every limb, Peter stammered forth one single sound; it was a "Yes."

"There now," said the grandmamma, "what is there to be frightened about?"

"Because—because—because it is broken to pieces and can never be made whole again." Peter brought these words out with difficulty; and his knees shook so that he could hardly stand. The grandmamma went along to the corner of the hut.

"My dear uncle, is the poor boy really out of his mind?" she asked sympathetically.

"Not in the least, not in the least," asserted the uncle; "the boy is the wind that blew away the wheel chair, and now he is expecting the punishment, which he well deserves."

The grandmamma could not believe this, for she did not think Peter looked in the very least wicked, and besides he had no reason to destroy the wheel chair, which was so much needed. But this confession only confirmed the uncle in a suspicion which had been aroused in him immediately after the occurrence.

The angry looks which Peter had cast at Klara from the very first, and other signs of a bitter feeling toward the newcomer on the mountain had not escaped the uncle. He had put one thought with another, and so he had felt sure enough of the way things had gone and explained it all very clearly now to the grandmamma. ​When he had finished, the lady burst out in great excitement:—

"No, no, my dear uncle; no, no, we will not punish the poor fellow any further. One must be just. Strange people came here from Frankfurt and for long weeks together took away Heidi, his only good, and really a great good for him, and he sits alone there day after day, looking for her. No, one must be just; anger overpowered him and drove him to revenge, which was rather foolish; but in our anger we are all foolish."

Whereupon the grandmamma went back to Peter, who was still trembling and shaking.

She sat down on the bench under the fir tree and said kindly:—

"There, now come here, my boy, to me; I have something to say to you. Stop trembling and shaking and listen to me; this you must do. You sent the wheel chair down the mountain, in order to smash it. That was a wicked deed, and you knew it very well, and you also knew that you deserved a punishment, and in order not to receive one, you have had to try very hard not to let any one know what you have done. But you see, whoever does a wicked thing and thinks no one knows about it is always mistaken. The dear Lord sees and hears everything, and as soon as he notices that a person wants to conceal his wicked deed he quickly awakens a little watchman, that was placed in him at his birth, and that sleeps in him until the person does something wrong. And the little watchman has a little goad in his hand with which he contin​ually pricks the person so that he has no rest for a moment. And with his voice he also torments him further, by constantly calling to him in a torturing way: It will all come out! You are going to be punished! So he lives in continual fear and trembling, and is no longer happy, not a bit. Have you not had such an experience as this just now, Peter?"

Peter nodded penitently, and as one who knew, for it had happened to him exactly so.

"And in one way you were disappointed," continued the grandmamma. "See how the wrong that you did turned out for the best, for the one you wished to harm! Because Klara no longer had a chair to be carried in, and yet wanted to see the beautiful flowers, she made a very great effort to walk, and so learned how and now keeps improving; and if she stays here she will at last be able to go up to the pasture every day, much oftener than if she were taken in her chair. Do you understand, Peter? So when one wishes to do a wicked thing, the dear Lord can take it quickly into his own hands and turn it into good for the one who was to be harmed; and the scoundrel has his trouble for nothing and injures himself.

"Have you understood everything well, Peter? Then think of it; and every time you desire to do something wicked, think of the little watchman within you, with his good and his disagreeable voice. Will you do that?"

"Yes, I will," answered Peter, very much impressed, for he did not yet know how everything would end, ​since the policeman was still standing over there by the uncle.

"That is good, the matter is settled," said the grandmamma in conclusion. "But now you ought to have something you like to remember the people from Frankfurt by. Tell me, my boy, is there something you have wished to have? What was it? What would you like to have best?"

Peter then lifted his head and stared at the grandmamma with his round, astonished eyes. He was still expecting something frightful, and now he was suddenly to have whatever he liked best. Peter's thoughts were all in confusion.

"Yes, yes, I am in earnest," said the grandmamma. "You shall have something which you will like as a remembrance of the people from Frankfurt, and as a token that they will think no more about the wrong that you did. Do you understand, now, boy?"

It began to dawn on Peter that he had no punishment to fear now, and that the good lady sitting before him had rescued him from the power of the policeman. Then he felt as relieved as if a mountain which was almost crushing him had been taken away from him. He also understood now that it is better to confess one's faults, and he at once said:—

"And I lost the paper, too."

The grandmamma had to reflect a little, but she soon remembered and said kindly:—

"There, that is right to tell me about it! Always ​confess what is wrong, then it will be settled. Now what would you like to have?"

Now Peter could choose anything in the world that he would like to have. It almost made him dizzy. The whole fair at Mayenfeld came before his eyes, with all the beautiful things which he had often looked at for hours and had thought he could never have, for Peter's possessions had never gone beyond five pfennigs, and such alluring objects always cost double that amount. There were the lovely red whistles, which he could use so well for his goats. There were the fascinating round-handled knives called toad-stickers, with which he could do a thriving business in all the hazel-rod hedges.

Peter stood deep in thought, for he was considering which of the two were the most desirable, and he could not decide. Then a bright idea came to him; by this means he could think it over until the next fair.

"Ten pfennigs," replied Peter decidedly.

The grandmamma laughed a little.

"That is not extravagant. So come here!" She then opened her purse and took out a great, round thaler; on it she laid two ten-pfennig pieces.

"There, we will count it out exactly," she continued; "I will explain it to you. Here you have just as many ten-pfennig pieces as there are weeks in the year! So you can take one out every Sunday to use the whole year through."

"All my life long?" asked Peter quite innocently. Then the grandmamma had such a fit of laughter ​that the gentlemen yonder had to stop talking to hear what was going on there.

The grandmamma kept on laughing.

"You shall have it, my boy; I will put it in my will—do you hear, my son? And then it will be handed over to you; thus: To goatherd Peter a ten-pfennig piece weekly, as long as he lives."

Herr Sesemann nodded in assent and laughed too at the idea.

Peter looked again at the present in his hand, to see if it was really true. Then he said: "Thank God!"

And he ran away, making extraordinary leaps; but this time he stayed on his feet, for now he was not driven by fear but by a delight such as he had never known before in all his life. All his anguish and fear had disappeared, and he could expect ten pfennigs every week all his life long.

Later when the company in front of the Alm hut had ended their happy midday meal and were still sitting together talking about all sorts of things, Klara took her father's hand, and while his face beamed with delight, said with an enthusiasm which had never been known in the old-time feeble Klara:—

"Oh, papa, if you only knew all that the grandfather has done for me! So much every day that I can't tell you about it, but I shall never forget it in my life. I am always thinking, if I could only do something for the dear grandfather or give him something to make him as happy or even half as happy as he has made me."

​"That is my greatest desire also, my dear child," said her father; "I am continually thinking how we can prove our gratitude in some measure to our benefactor."

Herr Sesemann then rose and went to the uncle, who was sitting beside the grandmamma, and was having an unusually pleasant talk with her. He also rose. Herr Sesemann grasped his hand and said in the most friendly way:—

"My dear friend, let us have a word together! You will understand me when I tell you that for many long years I have had no real happiness. What was all my money and wealth to me when I looked at my poor child whom I could not make well and happy with all my riches? Next to our God in heaven, you have made the child well for me and given new life to me also. Now tell me how I can show my gratitude to you. I can never repay you for what you have done for us, but whatever is in my power I place at your disposal. Tell me, my friend, what I can do."

The uncle had listened in silence, and watched the happy father with a smile of contentment.

"Herr Sesemann, believe me, that I also have my share in the great joy at the recovery on our Alm; my pains have been well rewarded," said the uncle in his decided way. "I thank you, Herr Sesemann, for your kind offer, but there is nothing that I need; as long as I live I have enough for the child and myself. But I have one wish; if I could have that granted, I should have no more anxiety for life."

​"Name it, name it, my dear friend!" urged Herr Sesemann.

"I am old," continued the uncle, "and cannot live here much longer. When I go, I cannot leave the child anything, and she has no relatives, only one single person, and she would take advantage of her. If Herr Sesemann would give me the assurance that Heidi would never in her life have to go out among strangers to seek her bread, then he would have richly rewarded me for what I have done for him and his child."

"But, my dear friend, that goes without saying," Herr Sesemann burst forth; "the child belongs to us. Ask my mother, my daughter, the child Heidi will never be left to other people! But if it will be any comfort to you, my friend, here is my hand on it. I promise you; never in her life shall this child go out to earn her bread among strangers; I will see to that as long as I live. I will say even more. This child is not made for a life in a strange land, whatever might happen; we have seen that. But she has made friends. I know one who is in Frankfurt; he is settling up his business there, in order to go later on wherever he likes and take a rest. It is my friend the doctor, and he is coming up here again this autumn, and, taking your advice, will settle in this region; for he found more pleasure in your company and the child's than anywhere else. So you see the child Heidi will have two protectors near her. May they both be preserved to her for a long, long time!"

"The dear Lord grant it may be so!" the grand​mamma added; and, confirming her son's wish, she shook the uncle's hand heartily for a long while. Then she suddenly threw her arms around Heidi's neck, as she was standing beside her, and drew her toward her.

"And you, my dear Heidi, we must also ask you a question. Come, tell me if you have a wish which you would like to have granted."

"Yes, indeed, I have," answered Heidi, looking very much delighted at the grandmamma.

"Well, that is right, speak it out," she said encouragingly. "What would you like to have, my child?"

"I should like to have my bed in Frankfurt, with the three thick pillows and the thick quilt, for then the grandmother would not have to lie with her head downhill so that she can hardly breathe, and she would be warm enough under the quilt, and would n't always have to go to bed with a shawl on, because she is terribly cold."

Heidi said this all in one breath in her eagerness to obtain what she so much desired.

"Oh, my dear Heidi, what are you telling me?" exclaimed the grandmamma in excitement. "It is a good thing that you remind me. In our joy we easily forget what we ought to think of most. When the dear Lord sends us something good, we ought at once to think of those who are in need! We will telegraph immedi ately to Frankfurt! Rottenmeier shall have the bed packed up this very day; in two days more it will be here. God willing, the grandmother shall sleep well in it!"

​Heidi danced merrily around the grandmamma. But all at once she stood still and said hurriedly:—

"I must really go as fast as I can down to the grandmother's; she will be troubled because I have n't been there for so long."

For Heidi could not wait any longer to carry the joyful message to the grandmother, and it also came to her mind again how troubled she had been when she was there last.

"No, no, Heidi; what are you thinking about?" said her grandfather reprovingly. "When one has visitors, one does n't run away from them all of a sudden."

But the grandmamma took Heidi's part.

"My dear uncle, the child is not wrong," she said; "the poor grandmother has been a loser for a long time in my opinion. Now we will all go together to see her, and I think I will wait for my horse there, and then we will continue our way, and we can send the telegram at once to Frankfurt from Dörfli. My son, what do you think of it?"

Herr Sesemann had not had time before to speak about his plans. So he had to ask his mother not to start away at once, but to sit still a moment longer until he had told her what he intended to do.

Herr Sesemann proposed to take a little journey through Switzerland with his mother, and first to see whether his little Klara was in a condition to travel a short distance with them. Now it had so happened that he saw he could take the enjoyable journey in company with his little daughter, and he was anxious ​to take advantage at once of these lovely late summer days. He had in mind to spend the night in Dörfli and on the following morning to take Klara away from the Alm, to go with her to meet her grandmamma down in Ragatz, and from there to travel on farther.

Klara was a little disturbed to hear of this sudden departure from the Alm; but there were so many other things to be happy about, and besides there was no time to give way to grief.

The grandmamma had already risen and had grasped Heidi's hand to lead the way. Then all of a sudden she turned around.

"But what in the world will you do with Klärchen?" she exclaimed in alarm, for it occurred to her that the walk would be much too long for her.

But the uncle had already taken his little charge in his usual way in his arms, and was following the grandmamma with firm steps, and she nodded back to him with satisfaction. Last came Herr Sesemann, and so the procession went on down the mountain.

Heidi could not help dancing with delight as she went along by the side of the grandmamma, who wanted to know everything about the grandmother, how she lived, and how they got along, especially in winter, during the severely cold weather up there.

Heidi told her about everything, for she knew how they managed, and how the grandmother sat bowed over in her corner and trembled with the cold. She also knew very well what they had to eat and what they did not have.

​The grandmamma listened with the liveliest interest to all that Heidi had to tell her until they reached the hut.

Brigitte was just hanging out Peter's second shirt in the sun, so that when his other one had been worn long enough he could change it. She noticed the people and rushed into the house.

"They are all going away now, mother," she said; "there is a whole procession of them; the uncle is with them; he is carrying the sick child."

"Oh, must it really be?" sighed the grandmother. "Did you see whether they were taking Heidi with them? Oh, if she would only give me her hand once more! If I could only hear her voice once again!"

Now the door was suddenly flung open as if by a whirlwind, and Heidi came springing into the corner where the grandmother was, and threw her arms around her neck.

"Grandmother! grandmother! My bed is coming from Frankfurt, and all three pillows, and the thick quilt, too; in two days it will be here, the grandmamma said so."

Heidi could hardly bring out her message fast enough, for she could scarcely wait to see the grandmother's great delight. She smiled, but there was sadness in her voice as she said:—

"Oh, what a good lady she is! I ought to be glad that she is going to take you with her, Heidi; but I shall not survive it long."

"What? what? Who says such a thing to the good ​old grandmother?" asked a friendly voice here; and the old dame's hand was grasped and heartily pressed, for the grandmamma had come in and heard everything. "No, no, it is no such thing! Heidi will stay with the grandmother and make her happy. We shall want to see the child again, but we will come to her. We shall come up to the Alm every year, for we have reason to offer our especial thanks to the dear Lord annually in this place where such a miracle has been done to our child."

Then the true light of joy came into the grandmother's face, and with speechless thanks she pressed the good Frau Sesemann's hand again and again, while a couple of great tears from sheer joy glided down her aged cheeks. Heidi at once noticed the joyful light in the grandmother's face and was quite happy.

"Truly, grandmother," she said, pressing close to her, "it has come just as I read to you the last time! Really, the bed from Frankfurt is wholesome, is n't it?"

"Oh, yes, Heidi, and so much more, so much good that the dear Lord has done for me!" said the grandmother, deeply moved. "How is it possible that there are such good people who trouble themselves about a poor old woman and do so much for her? There is nothing that can so strengthen one's belief in a good Father in heaven who will not forget even the lowliest, as to learn that there are such people, full of goodness and compassion for a poor, worthless woman such as I am."

​"My good grandmother," broke in Frau Sesemann, "before our Father in heaven we all are equally poor, and it is equally necessary to all of us that He should not forget us. And now we must leave you, but we hope to see you again, for as soon as we come back again next year to the Alm, we shall try to find the grandmother once more; she will never be forgotten!"

Whereupon Frau Sesemann grasped the old dame's hand again and shook it.

But she did not get away as quickly as she thought, for the grandmother could not stop thanking her and wishing all the good that the dear Lord had it in His power to give, for her benefactress and all her household.

Then Herr Sesemann went down toward the valley with his mother, while the uncle carried Klara back home once more; and Heidi, without pausing, jumped high as she went beside her, for she was so pleased with the grandmother's prospects that she had to jump at every step.

But the following morning Klara shed hot tears because she had to go away from the beautiful Alm, where she had been better than she had ever been before in all her life. But Heidi comforted her and said:—

"It will be summer again in no time, and then you will come back, and then it will be more beautiful than ever. Then you can walk all the time, and we can go up to the pasture with the goats every day and see the flowers, and everything will be jolly from the very first."

​Herr Sesemann came according to agreement to get his little daughter. He was standing with the grandfather, for the men had all sorts of things to talk over. Klara was wiping away her tears. Heidi's words had comforted her a little.

"I will leave a greeting for Peter," she said, "and for all the goats, especially Schwänli. Oh, if only I could make Schwänli a present; she has helped so much to make me well."

"You can do that very easily," asserted Heidi. "Only send her a little salt. You know how gladly she licks the salt from grandfather's hand at night."

This advice pleased Klara very much.

"Oh, then, I will certainly send her a hundred pounds of salt from Frankfurt!" she exclaimed with delight. "She, too, must have a remembrance from me."

Herr Sesemann then beckoned to the children, for he wished to start. This time the grandmamma's white horse came for Klara, and she was now able to ride down; she no longer needed a sedan chair.

Heidi stationed herself at the extreme edge of the slope and waved her hand to Klara until the last speck of horse and rider had disappeared.

---

The bed came, and the grandmother still sleeps so well in it that she is really gaining new strength.

The kind grandmamma did not forget the hard winter on the mountain. She had a great case sent to goatherd Peter's house; there were many warm things ​packed in it in which the grandmother could wrap herself up, and now she never has to sit any more shivering with the cold in the corner.

There is a large building in progress in Dörfli. The doctor has come and has taken up his old quarters. Through the advice of his friend he purchased the old building where the uncle lived with Heidi in the winter, and which had been once a great mansion, as could still be seen from the lofty room with the handsome stove and the artistic wainscoting. This part of the house the doctor is having rebuilt for his own dwelling. The other side is being restored as winter quarters for the uncle and Heidi, for the doctor knew the old man was independent and would want to have his own house. Back of it is a firmly built, warm goatshed where Schwänli and Bärli can spend their winter days most comfortably.

The doctor and the Alm-Uncle are becoming better friends every day, and when they climb together about the building to look after the progress of the work, their thoughts turn mostly to Heidi, for to both of them the chief joy in the house is that they will be together with their happy child.

"My dear uncle," said the doctor the other day, as he was standing up on the wall with the old man, "you must look at the matter as I do. I share all joy in the child with you, as if next to you I were the one to whom the child belongs; I will share all obligations and care for the child as well as I know how. So I have also my right in our Heidi, and can hope that she will ​care for me in my old age and stay with me; this is my greatest desire. Heidi shall share in my property as my own child; so we can leave her without any anxiety when we have to go away from her—you and I."

The uncle pressed the doctor's hand for a long time; he spoke not a word, but his good friend could read in the old man's eyes the emotion and keen delight which his words had aroused.

Meanwhile Heidi and Peter were sitting with the grandmother, and the first had so much to relate, and the other so much to listen to, that they could hardly get their breath, and in their eagerness kept getting nearer and nearer to the happy grandmother.

There was so much to talk about regarding the events of the summer, for they had been together so little all this time.

And each of the three looked happier than the others at being together again, and because of the wonderful things that had taken place. But the face of mother Brigitte looked almost the happiest, for with Heidi's help she now for the first time heard clearly and understandingly about the story of the perpetual ten-pfennig piece. Finally the grandmother said:—

"Heidi, read me a song of praise and thanksgiving! I feel like praising and glorifying our Lord in heaven and giving Him thanks for all that He has done for us."