Heidi
"Peter has been eating sorrel again, and is evidently in pain by the
way he is groaning," said his mother.
"You must give him a little more bread to take with him; give him a bit
of mine tomorrow," said the grandmother sympathizingly.
As the children lay that night in bed looking out at the stars Heidi
said, "I have been thinking all day what a happy thing it is that God
does not give us what we ask for, even when we pray and pray and pray,
if He knows there is something better for us; have you felt like that?"
"Why do you ask me that tonight all of a sudden?" asked Clara.
"Because I prayed so hard when I was in Frankfurt that I might go home
at once, and because I was not allowed to I thought God had forgotten
me. And now you see, if I had come away at first when I wanted to, you
would never have come here, and would never have got well."
Clara had in her turn become thoughtful. "But, Heidi," she began again,
"in that case we ought never to pray for anything, as God always
intends something better for us than we know or wish for."
"You must not think it is like that, Clara," replied Heidi eagerly.
"We must go on praying for everything, so that God may know we do not
forget that it all comes from Him. If we forget God, then He lets us go
our own way and we get into trouble."
"How did you learn all that?" asked Clara.
"Grandmamma explained it to me first of all, and then when it all
happened just as she said, I knew it myself, and I think, Clara," she
went on, as she sat up in bed, "we ought certainly to thank God tonight
that you can walk now, and that He has made us so happy."
"Yes, Heidi, I am sure you are right, and I am glad you reminded me; I
almost forgot my prayers for very joy."
Both children said their prayers, and each thanked God in her own way
for the blessing He had bestowed on Clara, who had for so long lain
weak and ill.
The next morning the grandfather suggested that they should now write
to the grandmamma and ask her if she would not come and pay them a
visit, as they had something new to show her. But the children had
another plan in their heads, for they wanted to prepare a great
surprise for grandmamma. Clara was first to have more practice in
walking so that she might be able to go a little way by herself; above
all things grandmamma was not to have a hint of it. They asked the
grandfather how long he thought this would take, and when he told them
about a week or less, they immediately sat down and wrote a pressing
invitation to grandmamma, asking her to come soon, but no word was said
about there being anything new to see.
The following days were some of the most joyous that Clara had spent
on the mountain. She awoke each morning with a happy voice within her
crying, "I am well now! I am well now! I shan't have to go about in a
chair, I can walk by myself like other people."
Then came the walking, and every day she found it easier and was able
to go a longer distance. The movement gave her such an appetite that
the grandfather cut his bread and butter a little thicker each day,
and was well pleased to see it disappear. He brought out the foaming
milk in a larger jug so he could fill the little bowls over and over
again. And so another week went by and the day came which was to bring
grandmamma up the mountain for her second visit.
CHAPTER XXIII
GOOD-BYE TO THE BEAUTIFUL MOUNTAIN
Grandmamma wrote the day before her arrival to let the children
know that they might expect her without fail. Peter brought up the
letter early the following morning. As he neared the group his steps
slackened, and the instant he had handed the letter to Uncle he turned
quickly away as if frightened and ran off up the mountain.
"Grandfather," said Heidi, who had been watching him with astonished
eyes, "why does Peter always behave now like the Great Turk when he
thinks somebody is after him with a stick; he turns and shakes his head
and goes off with a bound just like that?"
"Perhaps Peter fancies he sees the stick which he so well deserves
coming after him," answered grandfather.
Heidi set about tidying the hut, as grandmamma must find everything
clean and in good order when she arrived.
Clara looked on amused and interested to watch the busy Heidi at her
work.
Then the children dressed up and went and sat together outside on the
seat ready to receive her.
At last they saw the procession winding up the mountain just in the
order they had expected. First there was the guide, then the white
horse with grandmamma mounted upon it, and last of all the porter with
a heavy bundle on his back, for grandmamma would not think of going up
the mountain without a full supply of wraps and rugs.
Nearer and nearer wound the procession; at last it reached the top
and grandmamma was there looking down on the children from her horse.
She no sooner saw them, however, sitting side by side, than she began
quickly dismounting, as she cried out in a shocked tone of voice, "Why
is this? why are you not lying in your chair, Clara? What are you all
thinking about?" But even before she had got close to them she threw
up her hands in astonishment, exclaiming further, "Is it really you,
dear child? Why, your cheeks have grown quite round and rosy! I should
hardly have known you again!" And she was hastening forward to embrace
her, when Heidi slipped down from the seat, and with Clara leaning on
her shoulder, began walking along quite coolly and naturally. Then
indeed grandmamma was surprised, or rather alarmed, for she thought at
first that it must be some unheard-of proceeding of Heidi's.
But no--Clara was actually walking steadily and uprightly beside Heidi.
Laughing and crying she ran to them and embraced first Clara and then
Heidi, and then Clara again, unable to speak for joy. All at once she
caught sight of Uncle standing by the seat and looking on smiling at
the meeting. She went up to the old man and seized his hands.
"My dear Uncle! my dear Uncle! how much we have to thank you for! It is
all your doing! it is your care and nursing--"
"And God's good sun and mountain air," he interrupted her smiling.
"Yes, and don't forget the beautiful milk I have," put in Clara.
"Grandmamma, you can't think what a quantity of goat's milk I drink,
and how nice it is!"
"I can see that by your cheeks, child," answered grandmamma. "I really
should not have known you; you have grown quite strong and plump, and
taller too; I never hoped or expected to see you look like that. I
cannot take my eyes off you, for I can hardly yet believe it. But now
I must telegraph without delay to my son in Paris, and tell him he
must come here at once. I shall not say why; it will be the greatest
happiness he has ever known. My dear Uncle, how can I send a telegram;
have you dismissed the men yet?"
"They have gone," he answered, "but if you are in a hurry I will get
Peter, and he can take it for you."
Grandmamma thanked him, for she was anxious that the good news should
not be kept from her son a day longer than was possible.
So Uncle went aside a little way and blew such a resounding whistle
through his fingers that he awoke a responsive echo among the rocks
far overhead. He did not have to wait many minutes before Peter came
running down in answer, for he knew the sound of Uncle's whistle.
Peter looked as white as a ghost, for he thought Uncle was sending for
him to give him up. But instead he only gave him a written paper with
instructions to take it down at once to the post-office at Doerfli;
Uncle would settle for the payment later, as it was not safe to give
Peter too much to look after.
Peter went off with the paper in his hand, feeling some relief of mind
for the present, for as Uncle had not whistled for him in order to give
him up it was evident that no policeman had yet arrived.
So now they all sat down in peace to their dinner round the table in
front of the hut, and grandmamma was given a detailed account of all
that had taken place. How grandfather had made Clara try first to stand
and then to move her feet a little every day, and how they had settled
for the day's excursion up the mountain and the chair had been blown
away. How Clara's desire to see the flowers had induced her to take the
first walk, and so by degrees one thing had led to another. The recital
took some time, for grandmamma continually interrupted it with fresh
exclamations of surprise and thankfulness: "It hardly seems possible!
I can scarcely believe it is not all a dream! Are we really awake, and
are we all sitting here by the mountain hut, and is that round-faced,
healthy-looking child my poor little, white, sickly Clara?"
And Clara and Heidi could not get over their delight at the success of
the surprise they had so carefully arranged for grandmamma and at the
latter's continued astonishment.
Meanwhile Mr. Sesemann, who had finished his business in Paris, had
also been preparing a surprise. Without saying a word to his mother he
got into the train one sunny morning and travelled that day to Basle;
the next morning he continued his journey, for a great longing had
seized him to see his little daughter from whom he had been separated
the whole summer. He arrived at Ragatz a few hours after his mother
had left. When he heard that she had that very day started for the
mountain, he immediately hired a carriage and drove as far as Doerfli,
and then started to climb the mountain. He went on and on, but still no
hut came in sight, and yet he knew there was one where Peter lived half
way up, for the path had been described to him over and over again.
He began to wonder if he was on the right path, and whether the hut
lay perhaps on the other side of the mountain. He looked round to see
if any one was in sight of whom he could ask the way; but far and
wide there was not a soul to be seen nor a sound to be heard. Only at
moments the mountain wind whistled through the air, and the insects
hummed in the sunshine, or a happy bird sang out from the branches of
a solitary larch tree. Mr. Sesemann stood still for a while to let the
cool Alpine wind blow on his hot face. But now some one came running
down the mountainside--it was Peter with the telegram in his hand. He
ran straight down the steep slope, not following the path on which Mr.
Sesemann was standing. As soon as the latter caught sight of him he
beckoned to him to come. Peter advanced towards him slowly and timidly,
with a sort of sidelong movement, as if he could only move one leg
properly and had to drag the other after him.
"Hurry up, lad," he called, and when Peter was near enough, "Tell me,"
he said, "is this the way to the hut where the old man and the child
Heidi live, and where the visitors from Frankfurt are staying?"
A low sound of fear was the only answer he received, as Peter turned to
run away in such precipitous haste that he fell head over heels several
times, and went rolling and bumping down the slope in involuntary
bounds, just in the same way as the chair, only that Peter fortunately
did not fall to pieces as that had done. Only the telegram came to
grief, and that was torn into fragments and flew away.
"How extraordinarily timid these mountain dwellers are!" thought Mr.
Sesemann to himself, for he quite believed that it was the sight of a
stranger that had made such an impression on this unsophisticated child
of the mountains.
After watching Peter's violent descent towards the valley for a few
minutes he continued his journey.
Peter, meanwhile, with all his efforts, could not stop himself, but
went rolling on, and still tumbling head over heels at intervals in a
most remarkable manner.
But this was not the most terrible part of his sufferings at the