Heidi
think I could?"
Clara looked at her and shook her head. "Why, Heidi, what can you be
thinking of! you are smaller than I am. Oh, if only I could walk!"
Heidi looked round as if in search of something, some new idea had
evidently come into her head. Peter was sitting up above looking down
on the two children. He had been sitting and staring before him in
the same way for hours, as if he could not make out what he saw. He
had destroyed the chair so that the friend might not be able to move
anywhere and that her visit might come to an end, and then a little
while after she had appeared right up here under his very nose with
Heidi beside her. He thought his eyes must deceive him, and yet there
she was and no mistake about it.
Heidi looked up to where he was sitting and called out in a commanding
voice, "Peter, come down here!"
"I don't wish to come," he called in reply.
"But you must; I cannot do it alone, and you must come here and help
me; make haste and come down," she called again in an urgent voice.
"I shall do nothing of the kind," was the answer.
Heidi ran some way up the slope towards him, and then pausing called
again, her eyes ablaze with anger, "If you don't come at once, Peter, I
will do something to you that you won't like; I mean what I say."
Peter felt an inward throe at these words, and a great fear seized him.
He had done something wicked which he wanted no one to know about,
and so far he had thought himself safe. But now Heidi spoke exactly
as if she knew everything, and whatever she did know she would tell
her grandfather, and there was no one he feared so much as this latter
person. Supposing he were to suspect what had happened about the chair!
Peter's anguish of mind grew more acute. He stood up and went down to
where Heidi was awaiting him.
"I am coming, and you won't do what you said."
Peter appeared now so submissive with fear that Heidi felt quite sorry
for him and answered assuringly, "No, no, of course not; come along
with me, there is nothing to be afraid of in what I want you to do."
As soon as they got to Clara, Heidi gave her orders: Peter was to
take hold of her under the arms on one side and she on the other, and
together they were to lift her up. This first movement was successfully
carried through, but then came the difficulty. As Clara could not even
stand, how were they to support her and get her along? Heidi was too
small for her arm to serve Clara to lean upon.
"You must put one arm well round my neck--so, and put the other through
Peter's and lean firmly upon it, then we shall be able to carry you."
Peter, however, had never given his arm to any one in his life. Clara
put hers in his, but he kept his own hanging down straight beside him
like a stick.
"That's not the way, Peter," said Heidi in an authoritative voice. "You
must put your arm out in the shape of a ring, and Clara must put hers
through it and lean her weight upon you, and whatever you do, don't let
your arm give way; like that I am sure we shall be able to manage."
Peter did as he was told, but still they did not get on very well.
Clara was not such a light weight, and the team did not match very well
in size; it was up one side and down the other, so that the supports
were rather wabbly.
Clara tried to use her own feet a little, but each time drew them
quickly back.
"Put your foot down firmly once," suggested Heidi, "I am sure it will
hurt you less after that."
"Do you think so," said Clara hesitatingly, but she followed Heidi's
advice and ventured one firm step on the ground and then another; she
called out a little as she did it; then she lifted her foot again and
went on, "Oh, that was less painful already," she exclaimed joyfully.
"Try again," said Heidi encouragingly.
And Clara went on putting one foot out after another until all at once
she called out, "I can do it, Heidi! look! look! I can make proper
steps!"
And Heidi cried out with even greater delight, "Can you really make
steps, can you really walk? really walk by yourself? Oh, if only
grandfather were here!" and she continued gleefully to exclaim, "You
can walk now, Clara, you can walk!"
Clara still held on firmly to her supports, but with every step she
felt safer on her feet, as all three became aware, and Heidi was beside
herself with joy.
"Now we shall be able to come up here together every day, and just go
where we like; and you will be able to walk about as I do, and not have
to be pushed in a chair, and will get quite strong and well. It is the
greatest happiness we could have had!"
And Clara heartily agreed, for she could think of no greater joy in the
world than to be strong and able to go about like other people, and no
longer to have to lie from day to day in her invalid chair.
They had not far to go to reach the field of flowers, and could already
catch sight of the cistus flowers' glowing gold in the sun. As they
came to the bushes of the blue-bell flowers, with sunny, inviting
patches of warm ground between them, Clara said, "Can't we sit down
here for a while?"
This was just what Heidi enjoyed, and so the children sat down in
the midst of the flowers, Clara for the first time on the dry, warm
mountain grass, and she found it indescribably delightful. Everything
was so lovely! so lovely! And Heidi, who was beside her, thought she
had never seen it so perfectly beautiful up here before. Then she
suddenly remembered that Clara was cured; that was the crowning
delight of all that made life so delightful in the midst of all this
surrounding beauty. Clara sat silent, overcome with the enchantment
of all that her eye rested upon, and with the anticipation of all the
happiness that was now before her. There seemed hardly room in her
heart for all her joyful emotions.
Peter also lay among the flowers without moving or speaking, for he
was fast asleep. The breeze came blowing softly and caressingly from
behind the sheltering rocks, and passed whisperingly through the bushes
overhead. Heidi got up now and then to run about, for the flowers
waving in the warm wind seemed to smell sweeter and to grow more
thickly whichever way she went. So the hours went by.
It was long past noon when a small troop of goats advanced solemnly
towards the plain of flowers. It was not a feeding place of theirs,
for they did not care to graze on flowers. They looked like an embassy
arriving, with Greenfinch as their leader. They had evidently come in
search of their companions who had left them in the lurch, and who
had remained away so long, for the goats could tell the time without
mistake. As soon as Greenfinch caught sight of the three missing
friends amid the flowers she set up an extra loud bleat, whereupon all
the others joined in a chorus of bleats, and the whole company came
trotting towards the children. Peter woke up, rubbing his eyes, for he
had been dreaming that he saw the chair again with its beautiful red
padding standing whole and uninjured before the grandfather's door.
He experienced again the dreadful fear of mind that he had lost in
this dream of the uninjured chair. Even though Heidi had promised not
to do anything, there still remained the lively dread that his deed
might be found out in some other way. He allowed Heidi to do what she
liked with him, for he was reduced to such a state of low spirits and
meekness that he was ready to give his help to Clara without murmur or
resistance.
When all three had got back to their old quarters Heidi ran and brought
forward the bag, and proceeded to fulfill her promise, for her threat
of the morning had been concerned with Peter's dinner. She had seen her
grandfather putting in all sorts of good things, and had been pleased
to think of Peter having a large share of them, and she had meant
him to understand when he refused at first to help her that he would
get nothing for his dinner, but Peter's conscience had put another
interpretation upon her words. Heidi took the food out of the bag and
divided it into three portions, and each was of such a goodly size that
she thought to herself, "There will be plenty of ours left for him to
have more still."
She gave the other two their dinners and sat down with her own beside
Clara, and they all three ate with a good appetite after their great
exertions.
Peter ate up every bit of food to the last crumb, but there was
something wanting to his usual enjoyment of a good dinner, for every
mouthful he swallowed seemed to choke him, and he felt something
gnawing inside him.
They were so late at their dinner that they had not long to wait
after they had finished before grandfather came up to get them. Heidi
rushed forward to meet him as soon as he appeared, as she wanted to
be the first to tell him the good news. She was so excited that she
could hardly get her words out when she did get up to him, but he soon
understood, and a look of extreme pleasure came into his face. He
hastened up to where Clara was sitting and said with a cheerful smile,
"So, we've made the effort, have we, and won the day!"
Then he lifted her up, and putting his left arm behind her and giving
her his right to lean upon, made her walk a little way, which she did
with less trembling and hesitation than before, now that she had such a
strong arm round her.
Heidi skipped along beside her in glee, and the grandfather looked too
as if some happiness had befallen him. "We must not overdo it," he
said taking Clara up in his arms. "It is high time we went home," and
he started off down the mountain path, for he was anxious to get her
indoors that she might rest after her unusual fatigue.
When Peter got to Doerfli that evening he found a large group of people
collected round a certain spot, pushing one another and looking over
each other's shoulders in their eagerness to catch sight of something
lying on the ground. Peter thought he should like to see too, and poked
and elbowed till he made his way through.
There it lay, the thing he had wanted to see. Scattered about the grass
were the remains of Clara's chair; part of the back and the middle
bit, and enough of the red padding and the bright nails to show how
magnificent the chair had been when it was entire.
"I was here when the men passed carrying it up," said the baker, who
was standing near Peter. "I'll bet any one that it was worth 125
dollars at least. I cannot think how such an accident could have
happened."
"Uncle said the wind might perhaps have done it," remarked one of the
women.
"It's a good job that no one but the wind did it," said the baker
again, "or he might smart for it! No doubt the gentleman in Frankfurt
when he hears what has happened will make inquiries about it. I am glad
for myself that I have not been seen up the mountain for a good two
years, as suspicion is likely to fall on any one who was up there at
the time."
Many more opinions were passed on the matter, but Peter had heard
enough. He crept quietly away out of the crowd and then took to his
heels and ran up home as fast as he could, as if he thought some
one was after him. The baker's words had filled him with fear and
trembling. He was sure now that any day a constable might come over
from Frankfurt and inquire about the destruction of the chair, and then
everything would come out, and he would be seized and carried off to
Frankfurt and there put in prison.
He reached home in this disturbed state of mind. He would not open his
mouth in reply to anything that was said to him; he would not eat his
potatoes; all he did was to creep off to bed as quickly as possible and
hide under the bedclothes and groan.