Heidi
continually addressed her by her surname only; but it was no use
minding, for the grandmother always went her own way, and so there
was no help for it. Moreover, the grandmother was a keen old lady, and
had all her five wits about her, and she knew what was going on in the
house as soon as she entered it.
When on the following day Clara lay down as usual on her couch after
dinner, the grandmother sat down beside her for a few minutes and
closed her eyes, then she got up again as lively as ever, and trotted
off into the dining-room. No one was there. "Heidi is asleep, I
suppose," she said to herself, and then going up to Miss Rottermeyer's
room she gave a loud knock at the door. She waited a few minutes and
then Miss Rottermeyer opened the door and drew back in surprise at this
unexpected visit.
"Where is the child, and what is she doing all this time?" said Mrs.
Sesemann.
"She is sitting in her room, where she could well employ herself if she
had the least idea of making herself useful; but you have no idea, Mrs.
Sesemann, of the out-of-the-way things this child imagines and does."
"I should do the same if I had to sit in there like that child, I can
tell you; go bring her to my room; I have some pretty books with me
that I should like to give her."
"That is just the misfortune," said Miss Rottermeyer with a despairing
gesture, "what use are books to her? She has not been able to learn
her A B C's even, all the long time she has been here; it is quite
impossible to get the least idea of them into her head, and that the
tutor himself will tell you; if he had not the patience of an angel he
would have given up teaching her long ago."
"That is very strange," said Mrs. Sesemann, "she does not look to me
like a child who would be unable to learn her alphabet."
Heidi now appeared and gazed with open-eyed delight and wonder at the
beautiful colored pictures in the books which the grandmother gave
her to look at. All of a sudden the child gave a start and burst into
sobs, for she had turned to a picture of a green pasture, full of young
animals, some grazing and others nibbling at the shrubs. In the middle
was a shepherd leaning upon his staff and looking on at his happy flock.
The grandmother laid her hand kindly on Heidi's. "Don't cry, dear
child, don't cry," she said, "the picture has reminded you perhaps of
something. But see, there is a beautiful tale to the picture which I
will tell you this evening. And there are other nice tales of all kinds
to read and to tell again. But now we must have a little talk together,
so dry your tears and come and stand in front of me and tell me how you
are getting on in your school-time; do you like your lessons, and have
you learnt a great deal?"
"O no!" replied Heidi sighing, "but I knew beforehand that it was not
possible to learn."
"What is it you think impossible to learn?"
"Why, to read, it is too difficult."
"You don't say so! and who told you that?"
"Peter told me, and he knew all about it, for he had tried and tried
and could not learn it."
"Peter must be a very odd boy then! But listen, Heidi, you must not
always go by what Peter says. You must believe what I tell you--and I
tell you that you can learn to read in a very little while, as many
other children do, who are made like you and not like Peter. As soon as
you are able to read you shall have that book for your own."
Heidi had listened with eager attention to the grandmother's words and
now with a sigh exclaimed, "Oh, if only I could read now!"
"It won't take you long now to learn, that I can see; and now we must
go down to Clara; bring the books with you." And hand in hand the two
returned to the study.
* * * * *
Since the day when Heidi had so longed to go home, and Miss Rottermeyer
had met her and scolded her on the steps, and told her how wicked
and ungrateful she was to try and run away, a change had come over
the child. She at last understood that she could not go home when
she wished as Dete had told her, but that she would have to stay on
in Frankfurt for a long, long time, perhaps for ever. The weight
of trouble on the little heart grew heavier and heavier; she could
no longer eat her food, and every day she grew a little paler. She
lay awake for long hours at night, for as soon as she was alone and
everything was still around her, the picture of the mountain with its
sunshine and flowers rose vividly before her eyes; and when at last she
fell asleep it was to dream of the rocks and the snow-field turning
crimson in the evening light, and waking in the morning she would
think herself back at the hut and prepare to run joyfully out into the
sun--and then--there was her large bed, and here she was in Frankfurt
far, far away from home. And Heidi would often lay her face down on the
pillow and weep long and quietly so that no one might hear her.
Her unhappiness did not escape the grandmother's notice. One day she
called her into her room, and said, "Now tell me, Heidi, what is the
matter; are you in trouble?"
But Heidi, afraid if she told the truth that the grandmother would
think her ungrateful, and would then leave off being so kind to her,
answered, "I can't tell you."
"Well, could you tell Clara about it?"
"Oh no, I cannot tell any one," said Heidi in so positive a tone, and
with a look of such trouble on her face, that the grandmother felt full
of pity for the child.
"Then, dear child, let me tell you what to do: you know that when we
are in great trouble, and cannot speak about it to anybody, we must
turn to God and pray Him to help. You say your prayers every evening do
you not?"
"No, I never say any prayers," answered Heidi.
"Have you never been taught to pray, Heidi; do you not know even what
it means?"
"I used to say prayers with the first grandmother, but that is a long
time ago, and I have forgotten them."
"That is the reason, Heidi, that you are so unhappy, because you know
no one who can help you. Think what a comfort it is to be able to tell
everything to God, and pray Him for the help that no one else can give
us. And He can aid us and give us everything that will make us happy
again."
A sudden gleam of joy came into Heidi's eyes. "May I tell Him
everything, everything?"
"Yes, everything, Heidi, everything."
Heidi drew her hand away, which the grandmother was holding
affectionately between her own, and said quickly, "May I go?"
"Yes, of course," was the answer, and Heidi ran out of the room into
her own, and sitting herself on a stool, folded her hands together
and told God about everything that was making her so sad and unhappy,
and begged Him earnestly to help her and to let her go home to her
grandfather.
It was about a week after this that the tutor informed Mrs. Sesemann
that Heidi had really learnt to read at last.
"It is indeed truly marvelous," he said, "because she never seemed able
to even learn her A B C's before. I had made up my mind to make no
further attempts at the impossible, but to put the letters as they were
before her without any dissertation on their origin and meaning. Now
she has learnt her letters and started at once to read correctly, quite
unlike most beginners."
That same evening Heidi found the large book with the pictures, lying
on her plate when she took her place at table, and when she looked
questioningly at the grandmother, the latter nodded kindly to her and
said, "Yes, it's yours now."
"Mine, to keep always? even when I go home?" said Heidi, blushing with
pleasure.
"Yes, of course, yours for ever," the grandmother assured her.
"Tomorrow we will begin to read it."
"But you are not going home yet, Heidi, not for years," put in Clara.
"When grandmother goes away, I shall want you to stay on with me."
When Heidi went to her room that night she had another look at her book
before going to bed, and from that day forth her chief pleasure was to
read over and over again, the tales which belonged to the beautiful
pictures.
CHAPTER XI
HOME-SICKNESS
Every afternoon when Clara was resting after dinner, the grandmother
would take Heidi to her own room where she had a lot of pretty dolls,
and she showed her how to make dresses and aprons for them, so that the
child learned how to sew and to make all sorts of beautiful clothes for
the little people. And then grandmother liked to hear her read aloud,
and the oftener Heidi read her tales the fonder she grew of them. But
still she never looked really happy, and her eyes were no longer bright.
It was the last week of the grandmother's visit. She called Heidi into
her room as usual one day after dinner, and the child came with her
book under her arm. The old lady laid the book aside, and said, "Now,
my dear, tell me why you are not happy? Have you still the same trouble
at heart?"
Heidi nodded in reply.
"Have you told God about it?"
"Yes."
"And do you pray every day that He will make things right and that you
may be happy again?"
"No, I have left off praying."
"Do not tell me that, Heidi! Why have you left off praying?"
"It is of no use, God does not listen," Heidi went on in an agitated
voice, "and I can understand that when there are so many, many people
in Frankfurt praying to Him every evening that He cannot attend to
them all, and He certainly has not heard what I said to Him."
"And why are you so sure of that, Heidi?"
"Because I have prayed for the same thing every day for weeks, and yet
God has not done what I asked."
"You are wrong, Heidi; you must not think of Him like that. God is a
good father to us all, and knows better than we do what is good for us.
He did not think what you have been praying for was good for you just
now; but be sure He heard you, for He can hear and see every one at the
same time, because He is a God and not a human being like you and me.
While God is watching over you, and looking to see if you will trust
Him and go on praying to Him every day, you run away and leave off
saying your prayers, and forget all about Him. You would not like to
grieve God, would you, Heidi, when He only wants to be kind to you? So
will you not go and ask Him to forgive you, and continue to pray and to
trust Him, for you may be sure that He will make everything right and
happy for you, and then you will be glad and lighthearted again."
Heidi had perfect confidence in the grandmother, and every word she
said sank into her heart.
"I will go at once and ask God to forgive me, and I will never forget
Him again," she replied repentantly.
And she ran away and prayed that she might always remember God, and
that He would go on thinking about her.
The day came for grandmother's departure--a sad one for Clara and
Heidi. But the grandmother was determined to make it as much like a
holiday as possible and not to let them mope, and she kept them so
lively and amused that they had no time to think about their sorrow
at her going until she really drove away. Then the house seemed so
silent and empty that Heidi and Clara did not know what to do with
themselves, and sat during the remainder of the day like two lost
children.
Many weeks passed away. Heidi did not know if it was winter or summer,
for the walls and windows she looked out upon showed no change, and she
never went beyond the house except on rare occasions when Clara was
well enough to drive out, and then they only went a very little way,
as Clara could not bear the movement for long. On these occasions they
generally only saw more fine streets and large houses and crowds of
people; they seldom got anywhere beyond them, and grass and flowers,