Heidi
inside the basket, for the thing she looked forward to most was laying
all the rolls out on grandmother's table. After a long silence she
spoke again, "If only we could know for certain that grandmother is
alive!"
"Yes, yes," said Sebastian half asleep, "she is sure to be alive, there
is no reason why she should be dead."
After a while sleep came to Heidi too, and after her disturbed night
and early rising she slept so soundly that she did not wake till
Sebastian shook her by the arm and called to her, "Wake up, wake up! we
shall have to get out directly; we are just in Basle!"
There was a further railway journey of many hours the next day. Heidi
again sat with her basket on her knee, for she would not have given
it up to Sebastian on any consideration; today she never even opened
her mouth, for her excitement, which increased with every mile of the
journey, kept her speechless. All of a sudden, before Heidi expected
it, a voice called out, "Mayenfeld." She and Sebastian both jumped
up, the latter also taken by surprise. In another minute they were
both standing on the platform with Heidi's trunk, and the train was
steaming away down the valley. Sebastian looked after it regretfully,
for he preferred the easier mode of travelling to a wearisome climb on
foot, especially as there was danger no doubt as well as fatigue in a
country like this, where, according to Sebastian's idea, everything and
everybody were half savage. He therefore looked cautiously to either
side to see who was a likely person to ask the safest way to Doerfli.
Just outside the station he saw a shabby-looking little cart and horse
which a broad-shouldered man was loading with heavy sacks that had been
brought by the train, so he went up to him and asked which was the
safest way to get to Doerfli.
"All the roads about here are safe," was the curt reply.
So Sebastian altered his question and asked which was the best way
to avoid falling over the precipice, and also how a trunk could be
conveyed to Doerfli. The man looked at it, weighing it with his eye,
and then volunteered if it was not too heavy to take it on his own
cart, as he was driving to Doerfli. After some little interchange of
words it was finally agreed that the man should take both the child and
the trunk to Doerfli, and there find some one who could be sent on with
Heidi up the mountain.
"I can go by myself, I know the way well from Doerfli," put in Heidi,
who had been listening attentively to the conversation. Sebastian was
greatly relieved at not having to do any mountain climbing. He drew
Heidi aside and gave her a thick rolled parcel, and a letter for her
grandfather; the parcel, he told her, was a present from Mr. Sesemann,
and she must put it at the bottom of her basket under the rolls and be
very careful not to lose it, as Mr. Sesemann would be very vexed if she
did.
"I shall be sure not to lose it," said Heidi confidently, and she at
once put the roll and the letter at the bottom of her basket. The trunk
meanwhile had been hoisted into the cart, and now Sebastian lifted
Heidi and her basket on to the high seat and shook hands with her. The
driver swung himself up beside Heidi, and the cart rolled away in the
direction, of the mountains, while Sebastian, glad of having no tiring
and dangerous journey on foot before him, sat down in the station and
awaited the return train.
The driver of the cart was the miller at Doerfli and was taking home
his sacks of flour. He had never seen Heidi, but like everybody in
Doerfli knew all about her. He had known her parents, and felt sure at
once that this was the child of whom he had heard so much. He began
to wonder why she had come back, and as they drove along he entered
into conversation with her. "You are the child who lived with your
grandfather, Alm-Uncle, are you not?"
"Yes."
"Didn't they treat you well down there that you have come back so soon?"
"Yes, it was not that; everything in Frankfurt is as nice as it could
be."
"Then why are you running home again?"
"Only because Mr. Sesemann gave me leave, or else I should not have
come."
"If they were willing to let you stay, why did you not remain where you
were better off than at home?"
"Because I would a thousand times rather be with grandfather on the
mountain than anywhere else in the world."
"You will think differently perhaps when you get back there," grumbled
the miller; and then to himself, "It's strange of her, for she must
know what it's like."
He began whistling and said no more, while Heidi looked around her and
began to tremble with excitement, for she knew every tree along the
way, and there overhead were the high jagged peaks of the mountain
looking down on her like old friends. She nodded back to them, and
grew every moment more wild with her joy and longing, feeling as if
she must jump down from the cart and run with all her might till
she reached the top. The clock was striking five as they drove into
Doerfli. As the miller lifted Heidi down, she said hastily, "Thank you,
grandfather will send for the trunk."
She climbed up the steep path from Doerfli as quickly as she could; she
was obliged, however, to pause now and again to take breath, for the
basket she carried was rather heavy, and the way got steeper as she
drew nearer the top. One thought alone filled Heidi's mind, "Would she
find the grandmother sitting in her usual corner by the spinning-wheel,
was she still alive?" At last Heidi caught sight of the grandmother's
house in the hollow of the mountain and her heart began to beat; she
ran faster and faster and her heart beat louder and louder--and now she
had reached the house, but she trembled so she could hardly open the
door--and then she was standing inside, unable in her breathlessness to
utter a sound.
"Ah, my God!" cried a voice from the corner, "that was how Heidi used
to run in; if only I could have her with me once again! Who is there?"
"It's I, I, Grandmother," cried Heidi as she ran and flung herself on
her knees beside the old woman, and seizing her hands, clung to her,
unable to speak for joy. And the grandmother herself could not say
a word for some time, so unexpected was this happiness; but at last
she put out her hand and stroked Heidi's curly hair, and said, "Yes,
yes, that is her hair, and her voice; thank God that He has granted my
prayer!" And tears of joy fell from the blind eyes on to Heidi's hand.
"Is it really you, Heidi; have you really come back to me?"
"Yes, Grandmother, I am really here," answered Heidi in a reassuring
voice. "Do not cry, for I have really come back and I am never going
away again, and I shall come every day to see you, and you won't have
any more hard bread to eat for some days, for look, look!"
And Heidi took the rolls from the basket, and piled the whole twelve up
on grandmother's lap.
"Ah, child! child! what a blessing you bring with you!" the old woman
exclaimed, as she felt and seemed never to come to the end of the
rolls. "But you yourself are the greatest blessing."
Then Heidi told her how unhappy she had been, thinking that the
grandmother might die while she was away and would never have her white
rolls, and that then she would never, never see her again.
Peter's mother came in and stood for a moment overcome with
astonishment. "Why, it's Heidi," she exclaimed.
Heidi stood up, and Brigitta could not say enough in her admiration
of the child's dress and appearance; she walked round her, exclaiming
all the while, "Grandmother, if you could only see her, and see what a
pretty frock she has on; you would hardly know her again. And the hat
with the feather in it is yours too, I suppose? Put it on that I may
see how you look in it?"
"No, I would rather not," replied Heidi firmly. "You can have it if
you like; I do not want it; I have my own still." And Heidi so saying
undid her red bundle and took out her own hat, which had become a
little more battered still during the journey. She had not forgotten
how her grandfather had called out to Dete that he never wished to see
her and her hat and feathers again, and this was the reason she had
so anxiously preserved her old hat, for she had never ceased to think
about going home to her grandfather. Next she took off her pretty dress
and put her red shawl on over her underpetticoat, which left her arms
bare. "I must go home to grandfather now," she said, "but tomorrow I
shall come again. Good-night, Grandmother."
"Yes, come again, be sure you come again tomorrow," begged the
grandmother, as she pressed Heidi's hands in hers, unwilling to let her
go.
"Why have you taken off that pretty dress," asked Brigitta.
"Because I would rather go home to grandfather as I am, or else perhaps
he would not know me; you hardly did at first."
Brigitta went with her to the door, and there said in rather a
mysterious voice, "You must be careful, for Peter tells me that
Alm-Uncle is always now in a bad temper and never speaks."
Heidi bid her good-night and continued her way up the mountain, her
basket on her arm.
Soon she caught sight of the tops of the fir trees above the hut
roof, then the roof itself, and at last the whole hut, and there was
grandfather sitting as in old days smoking his pipe, and she could see
the fir trees waving in the wind. Quicker and quicker went her little
feet, and before Alm-Uncle had time to see who was coming, Heidi had
rushed up to him, thrown down her basket and flung her arms round his
neck, unable in the excitement of seeing him again to say more than
"Grandfather! Grandfather! Grandfather!" over and over again.
And the old man himself said nothing. For the first time for many years
his eyes were wet, and he had to pass his hand across them. Then he
unloosed Heidi's arms, put her on his knee, and after looking at her
for a moment, "So you have come back to me, Heidi," he said, "how is
that? You don't look much of a grand lady. Did they send you away?"
"Oh, no, Grandfather," said Heidi eagerly, "you must not think that;
they were all so kind--Clara, and grandmamma, and Mr. Sesemann. But
you see, Grandfather, I used to think I should die, for I felt as if I
could not breathe; but I never said anything because it would have been
ungrateful. And then suddenly one morning quite early Mr. Sesemann said
to me--but I think it was partly the doctor's doing--but perhaps it's
all in the letter--" and Heidi jumped down and fetched the roll and the
letter and handed them both to her grandfather.
"That belongs to you," he said, laying the roll of money down on the
bench beside him. Then he opened the letter, read it through, and
without a word put it in his pocket.
"Do you think you can still drink milk with me, Heidi?" he asked,
taking the child by the hand to go into the hut. "But bring your money
with you; you can buy a bed and bedclothes and dresses for a couple of
years with it."
"I am sure I do not want it," replied Heidi. "I have got a bed already,
and Clara has put such a lot of clothes in my trunk that I shall never
want any more."
"Take it and put it in the cupboard; you will want it some day I have
no doubt."
Heidi obeyed and skipped happily after her grandfather into the house;
she ran into all the corners, delighted to see everything again, and
then went up the ladder--but there she came to a pause and called down
in a tone of surprise and distress, "Oh, Grandfather, my bed's gone."
"We can soon make it up again," he answered her from below. "I did not
know that you were coming back; come along now and have your milk."
Heidi came down, sat herself on her high stool in the old place, and
then taking up her bowl drank her milk eagerly, as if she had never