Heidi
moment, for far worse was the fear and horror that possessed him,
feeling sure, as he did now, that the policeman had really come over
for him from Frankfurt. He had no doubt at all that the stranger who
had asked him the way was the very man himself. Just as he had rolled
to the edge of the last high slope above Doerfli he was caught in a
bush, and at last able to keep himself from falling any farther. He
lay still for a second or two to recover himself, and to think over
matters.
"Well done! another of you come bumping along like this!" said a voice
close to Peter, "and which of you tomorrow is the wind going to send
rolling down like a badly-sewn sack of potatoes?" It was the baker,
who stood there laughing. He had been strolling out to refresh himself
after his hot day's work, and had watched with amusement as he saw
Peter come rolling over and over in much the same way as the chair.
Peter was on his feet in a moment. He had received a fresh shock.
Without once looking behind him he began hurrying up the slope again.
He would have liked best to go home and creep into bed, so as to hide
himself, for he felt safest when there. But he had left the goats up
above, and Uncle had given him strict injunctions to make haste back so
that they might not be left too long alone. And he stood more in awe
of Uncle than any one, and would not have dared to disobey him on any
account. There was no help for it, he had to go back, and Peter went
on groaning and limping. He could run no more, for the anguish of mind
he had been through, and the bumping and shaking he had received, were
beginning to tell upon him. And so with lagging steps and groans he
slowly made his way up the mountain.
Shortly after meeting Peter, Mr. Sesemann passed the first hut, and so
was satisfied that he was on the right path. He continued his climb
with renewed courage, and at last, after a long and exhausting walk,
he came in sight of his goal. There, only a little distance farther
up, stood the grandfather's home, with the dark tops of the fir trees
waving above its roof.
Mr. Sesemann was delighted to have come to the last steep bit of
his journey, in another minute or two he would be with his little
daughter, and he pleased himself with the thought of her surprise. But
the company above had seen his approaching figure and recognized who it
was, and they were preparing something he little expected as a surprise
on their part.
As he stepped on to the space in front of the hut two figures came
towards him. One a tall girl with fair hair and pink cheeks, leaning
on Heidi, whose dark eyes were dancing with joy. Mr. Sesemann suddenly
stopped, staring at the two children, and all at once the tears started
to his eyes. What memories arose in his heart! Just so had Clara's
mother looked, the fair-haired girl with the delicate pink-and-white
complexion. He did not know if he was awake or dreaming.
"Don't you know me, Papa?" called Clara to him, her face beaming with
happiness. "Am I so altered since you saw me?"
Then the father ran to his child and clasped her in his arms.
"Yes, you are indeed altered! How is it possible? Is it true what I
see?" And the delighted man stepped back to look full at her again, and
to make sure that the picture would not vanish before his eyes.
"Are you my little Clara, really my little Clara?" he kept on saying,
then he clasped her in his arms again, and again put her away from him
that he might look and make sure it was she who stood before him.
Then grandmamma came up, anxious for a sight of her son's happy face.
"Well, what do you say now, dear son?" she exclaimed. "You have given
us a pleasant surprise, but it is nothing in comparison to what we
have prepared for you, you must confess," and she gave her son an
affectionate kiss as she spoke. "But now," she went on, "you must come
and pay your respects to Uncle, who is our chief benefactor."
"Yes, indeed, and our little Heidi, too," said Mr. Sesemann, shaking
Heidi by the hand. "Well? are you quite well and happy in your mountain
home? but I need not ask, no Alpine rose could look more blooming. I am
glad, child, it is a pleasure to me to see you so."
And Heidi looked up with equal pleasure into his kind face. How good he
had always been to her! And that he should find such happiness awaiting
him up here on the mountain made her heart beat with gladness.
Grandmamma introduced him to Uncle, and while the two men were shaking
hands and Mr. Sesemann was expressing his heartfelt thanks and
boundless astonishment to the old man, grandmamma wandered round to the
back to see the old fir trees again.
Here another unexpected sight met her gaze, for there, under the trees
stood a great bush of the most wonderful dark blue gentians, as fresh
and shining as if they were growing on the spot.
"How exquisite! what a lovely sight!" she exclaimed. "Heidi, dearest
child, come here! Is it you who have prepared this pleasure for me? It
is perfectly wonderful!"
The children ran up.
"No, no, I did not put them there," said Heidi, "but I know who did."
"They grow just like that on the mountain, Grandmamma, only if anything
they look more beautiful still," Clara put in; "but guess who brought
those down today," and as she spoke she gave such a pleased smile
that the grandmother thought for a moment the child herself must have
gathered them. But that was hardly possible.
At this moment a slight rustling was heard behind the fir trees. It
was Peter, who had just arrived. He had made a long round, trying to
slip by unobserved. But grandmamma had seen and recognized him, and
suddenly the thought struck her that it might be Peter who had brought
the flowers and that he was now trying to get away unseen, feeling shy
about it; but she could not let him go off like that, he must have some
little reward.
"Come along, boy; come here, do not be afraid," she called to him.
Peter stood still, petrified with fear. After all he had gone through
that day he felt he had no longer any power of resistance left. All
he could think was, "It's all up with me now." Every hair of his head
stood on end, and he stepped forth from behind the fir trees, his face
pale.
"Courage, boy," said grandmamma in her effort to dispel his shyness,
"tell me now straight out without hesitation, was it you who did it?"
Peter did not lift his eyes and therefore did not see at what
grandmamma was pointing. But he knew that Uncle was standing at
the corner of the hut, fixing him with his grey eyes, while beside
him stood the most terrible person that Peter could conceive--the
police-constable from Frankfurt. Quaking in every limb, and with
trembling lips he muttered a low "Yes."
"Well, and what is there dreadful about that?" said grandmamma.
"Because--because--it is all broken to pieces and no one can put it
together again." Peter brought out his words with difficulty, and his
knees knocked together so that he could hardly stand.
Grandmamma went up to Uncle. "Is that poor boy a little out of his
mind?" she asked sympathizingly.
"Not in the least," Uncle assured her, "it is only that he was the wind
that sent the chair rolling down the slope, and he is expecting his
well-deserved punishment."
Grandmamma found this hard to believe, for in her opinion Peter did
not look an entirely bad boy, nor could he have had any reason for
destroying such a necessary thing as the chair. But Uncle had only
given expression to the suspicion that he had had from the moment the
accident happened. The angry looks which Peter had from the beginning
cast at Clara, and the other signs of his dislike to what had been
taking place on the mountain, had not escaped Uncle's eye. Putting two
and two together he had come to the right conclusion as to the cause of
the disaster, and he therefore spoke without hesitation when he accused
Peter. The lady broke out into lively expostulations on hearing this.
"No, no, dear Uncle, we will not punish the poor boy any further. One
must be fair to him. Here are all these strangers from Frankfurt who
come and carry away Heidi, his one sole possession, and a possession
well worth having too, and he is left to sit alone day after day for
weeks, with nothing to do but brood over his wrongs. No, no, let us be
fair to him; his anger got the upper hand and drove him to an act of
revenge--a foolish one, I own, but then we all behave foolishly when
we are angry." And saying this she went back to Peter, who still stood
frightened and trembling. She sat down on the seat under the fir trees
and called him to her kindly,--
"Come here, boy, and stand in front of me, for I have something to
say to you. Leave off shaking and trembling, for I want you to listen
to me. You sent the chair rolling down the mountain so that it was
broken to pieces. That was a very wrong thing to do, as you yourself
knew very well at the time, and you also knew that you deserved to be
punished for it. But be sure of this, Peter: that those who do wrong
make a mistake when they think no one knows anything about it. For
God sees and hears everything, and when the wicked doer tries to hide
what he has done, then God wakes up the little watchman that He places
inside us all when we are born and who sleeps on quietly till we do
something wrong. And the little watchman has a small goad in his hand,
and when he wakes up he keeps on pricking us with it, so that we have
not a moment's peace. And the watchman torments us still further, for
he keeps on calling out, 'Now you will be found out! Now they will drag
you off to punishment!' And so we pass our life in fear and trouble,
and never know a moment's happiness or peace. Have you not felt
something like that lately, Peter?"
Peter gave a contrite nod of the head, as one who knew all about it,
for grandmamma had described his own feelings exactly.
"And you calculated wrongly also in another way," continued grandmamma,
"for you see the harm you intended has turned out for the best for
those you wished to hurt. As Clara had no chair to go in and yet wanted
so much to see the flowers, she made the effort to walk, and every day
since she has been walking better and better. Do not forget my words,
and whenever you feel inclined to do anything wrong, think of the
little watchman inside you with his goad and his disagreeable voice.
Will you remember all this?"
"Yes, I will," answered Peter, still very subdued, for he did not yet
know how the matter was going to end, as the police-constable was still
standing with the Uncle.
"That's right, and now the thing is over and done for," said
grandmamma. "But I should like you to have something for a pleasant
reminder of the visitors from Frankfurt. Can you tell me anything
that you have wished very much to have? What would you like best as a
present?"
Peter lifted his head at this, and stared open-eyed at grandmamma. Up
to the last minute he had been expecting something dreadful to happen,
and now he might have anything that he wanted. His mind seemed all of a
whirl.
"I mean what I say," went on grandmamma. "You shall choose what you
would like to have as a remembrance from the Frankfurt visitors, and as
a token that they will not think any more of the wrong thing you did.
Now do you understand me, boy?"
The fact began at last to dawn upon Peter's mind that he had no further
punishment to fear, and that the kind lady sitting in front of him
had delivered him from the police-constable. He suddenly felt as if
the weight of a mountain had fallen off him. He had also by this time
awakened to the further conviction that it was better to make a full
confession at once of anything he had done wrong or had left undone,
and so he said, "And I lost the paper, too."