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.
[Illustration: PETER WENT ROLLING AND BUMPING DOWN THE SLOPE]
But this was not the most terrible part of his sufferings at the
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."
Grandmamma had to consider a moment what he meant, but soon recalled
his connection with her telegram, and answered kindly,--
"You are a good boy to tell me! Never conceal anything you have done
wrong, and then all will come right again. And now what would you like
me to give you?"
Peter grew almost giddy with the thought that he could have anything
in the world that he wished for. He had a vision of the yearly fair at
Mayenfeld with the glittering booths and all the lovely things that
he had stood gazing at for hours, without a hope of ever possessing
one of them, for Peter's purse never held more than five cents, and
all these fascinating objects cost double that amount. There were the
pretty little red whistles that he could use to call his goats, and
the splendid knives with rounded handles, known as toad-strikers, with
which one could do such fine whittling.
Peter remained pondering; he was trying to think which of these
two desirable objects he should best like to have, and he found it
difficult to decide. Then a bright thought occurred to him; he would
then be able to think over the matter between now and next year's fair.
"A dime," answered Peter, who was no longer in doubt.
Grandmamma could not help laughing. "That is not an extravagant
request. Come here then!" and she pulled out her purse and put four
bright silver dollars in his hand and then laid some dimes on the top
of them. "We will settle our accounts at once," she continued, "and I
will explain them to you. I have given you as many dimes as there are
weeks in the year, and so every Sunday throughout the year you can take
out a dime to spend."
"As long as I live?" said Peter quite innocently.
Grandmamma laughed more still at this, and the men hearing her, paused
in their talk to listen to what was going on.
"Yes, boy, you shall have it all your life--I will put it down in my
will. Do you hear, my son? and you are to put it down in yours as well:
a dime a week to Peter as long as he lives."
Mr. Sesemann nodded his assent and joined in the laughter.
Peter looked again at the present in his hand to make sure he was not
dreaming, and then said, "Thank God!"
And he went off running and leaping with more even than his usual
agility, and this time managed to keep his feet, for it was not fear,
but joy such as he had never known before in his life, that now sent
him flying up the mountain. All trouble and trembling had disappeared,
and he was to have a dime every week for life.
Later, after dinner, when the party were sitting together chatting,
Clara drew her father a little aside, and said with an eagerness that
had been unknown to the little, tired invalid,--
"O papa, if you only knew all that grandfather has done for me from day
to day! I cannot reckon his kindnesses, but I shall never forget them
as long as I live! And I keep on thinking what I could do for him, or
what present I could make him that would give him half as much pleasure
as he has given me."
"That is just what I wish most myself, Clara," replied her father,
whose face grew happier each time he looked at his little daughter. "I
have been also thinking how we can best show our gratitude to our good
benefactor."
Mr. Sesemann went over to Uncle and taking him by the hand said,--
"Dear friend, you will believe me when I tell you that I have known no
real happiness for years past. What good were money and property to me
when they were unable to make my poor child well and happy? With the
help of God you have made her whole and strong, and you have given new
life not only to her but to me. Tell me now, in what way can I show my
gratitude to you? I can never repay all you have done, but whatever is
in my power to do is at your service. Speak, friend, and tell me what I
can do?"
Uncle had listened to him quietly, with a smile of pleasure on his face
as he looked at the happy father.
"Mr. Sesemann," he replied in his dignified way, "I too have my share
in the joy of your daughter's recovery, and my trouble is well repaid
by it. I thank you heartily for all you have said, but I have need of
nothing; I have enough for myself and the child as long as I live. Of
course, I am growing old, and shall not be here much longer. I have
nothing to leave the child when I die. If you could promise me that
Heidi will never have to earn her living among strangers, then you
would richly reward me for all I have done for your child."
"There could never be any question of such a thing as that, my dear
friend," said Mr. Sesemann quickly. "I look upon the child as my own.
Ask my mother, my daughter; you may be sure that they will never allow
the child to be left in any one else's care! But if it will make you
happier I give you here my hand upon it. I promise you: Heidi shall
never have to go and earn her living among strangers; I will make
provision against this both during my life and after. But now I have
something else to say. Independent of her circumstances, the child
is totally unfitted to live a life away from home; we found that out
when she was with us. But she has made friends, and among them I know
one who is at this moment in Frankfurt; he is winding up his affairs
there, that he may be free to go where he likes and take his rest. I
am speaking of my friend, the doctor, who came over here in the autumn
and who, having well considered your advice, intends to settle in this
neighborhood, for he has never felt so well and happy anywhere as in
the company of you and Heidi. So you see the child will henceforth have
two protectors near her--and may they both live long to share the task!"
[Illustration: "ARE YOU REALLY MY LITTLE CLARA?"]
"God grant indeed it may be so!" added grandmamma, shaking Uncle's hand
warmly as she spoke, to show how sincerely she echoed her son's wish.
Then putting her arm round Heidi, who was standing near, she drew the
child to her.
"And I have a question to ask you too, dear Heidi. Tell me if there is
anything you particularly wish for?"
"Yes, there is," answered Heidi promptly, looking up delightedly at
grandmamma.
"Then tell me at once, dear, what it is."
"I want to have the bed I slept in at Frankfurt with the high pillows
and thick coverlid, and then grandmother will not have to lie with her
head down hill and hardly able to breathe, and she will be warm enough
under the coverlid not to have to wear her shawl in bed to prevent her
freezing to death."
In her eagerness to obtain what she had set her heart upon Heidi hardly
gave herself time to get out all she had to say, and did not pause for
breath till she reached the end of her sentence.
"Dearest child," answered grandmamma, moved by Heidi's speech, "what
is this you tell me of grandmother! You are right to remind me. In the
midst of our own happiness we forget too often that which we ought to
remember before all things. When God has shown us some special mercy
we should think at once of those who are denied so many things. I will
telegraph to Frankfurt at once! Miss Rottermeyer shall pack up the bed
this very day, and it will be here in two days' time. God willing,
grandmother shall soon be sleeping comfortably upon it."
Heidi skipped round grandmamma in her glee, and then stopping all of a
sudden, said quickly, "I must make haste down and tell her."
"No, no, Heidi, what can you be thinking of," said her grandfather
reprovingly. "You can't be running backwards and forwards like that
when you have visitors."
But grandmamma interfered on Heidi's behalf. "The child is not so
far wrong, Uncle," she said, "and poor grandmother has too long been
deprived of Heidi for our sakes. Let us all go down to her together. I
believe my horse is waiting for me and I can ride down from there, and
as soon as I get to Doerfli the message shall be sent off. What do you
think of my plan, son?"
Mr. Sesemann had not yet had time to speak of his travelling plans, so
he begged his mother to wait a few moments that he might tell her what
he proposed doing.
Mr. Sesemann had been arranging that he and his mother should make a
little tour in Switzerland, first ascertaining if Clara was in a fit
state to go some part of the way with them. But now he would have the
full enjoyment of his daughter's company, and that being so he did
not want to miss any of these beautiful days of later summer, but to
start at once on the journey that he now looked forward to with such
additional pleasure. And so he proposed that they should spend the
night in Doerfli and that next day he should come and get Clara, then
they would all three go down to Ragatz and make that their starting
point.
Clara was rather upset at first at the thought of saying good-bye like
this to the mountain; she could not help being pleased, however, at the
prospect of another journey, and no time was allowed her to give way to
lamentation.
Grandmamma had already taken Heidi by the hand, preparatory to leading
the way, when she suddenly turned. "But what is to become of Clara?"
she asked, remembering all at once that the child could not yet take so
long a walk. She gave a nod of satisfaction as she saw that Uncle had
already taken Clara up in his arms and was following her with sturdy
strides. Mr. Sesemann brought up the rear, and so they all started down
the mountain.
Heidi kept jumping for joy as she and Mrs. Sesemann walked along side
by side, and grandmamma asked all about Peter's grandmother, how she
lived, and what she did, especially in the winter when it was so cold.
And Heidi gave her a minute account of everything, for she knew all
that went on at grandmother's, and told her how the old woman sat
crouching in her corner and trembling with cold. She was able also
to give her exact particulars of what grandmother had and had not to
eat. Grandmamma listened with interest and sympathy until they came
to grandmother's. Brigitta was just hanging out Peter's second shirt
in the sun, so that he might have it ready to put on when he had worn
the other long enough. As soon as she saw the company approaching she
rushed indoors.
"The whole party of them are just going past, mother, evidently all
returning home again," she informed the old woman. "Uncle is with them,
carrying the sick child."
"Alas, it is really to be so then?" sighed the grandmother. "And you
saw Heidi with them? Then they are taking her away. If only she could
come and put her hand in mine again! If I could but hear her voice once
more!"
At this moment the door flew open and Heidi sprang across to the corner
and threw her arms round grandmother.
"Grandmother! Grandmother! my bed is to be sent from Frankfurt with all
the three pillows and the thick coverlid; grandmamma says it will be
here in two days." Heidi could not get out her words quickly enough,
for she was impatient to see grandmother's great joy at the news. The
latter smiled, but said a little sadly,--
"She must indeed be a good, kind lady, and I ought to be glad to think
she is taking you with her, but I shall not outlive it long."
"What is this I hear? Who has been telling my good grandmother such
tales?" exclaimed a kindly voice, and grandmother felt her hand taken
and warmly pressed, for grandmamma had followed Heidi in and heard all
that was said. "No, no, there is no thought of such a thing! Heidi is
going to stay with you and make you happy. We want to see her again,
but we shall come to her. We hope to pay a visit to the Alm every year,
for we have good cause to offer up especial thanks to God upon this
spot where so great a miracle has been wrought upon our child."
Then grandmother's face was lighted up with genuine happiness, and she
pressed Mrs. Sesemann's hand over and over again, unable to speak her
thanks, while two large tears of joy rolled down her aged cheeks. And
Heidi saw the glad change come over grandmother's face, and she too now
was entirely happy.
She clung to the old woman saying, "Hasn't it all come about,
grandmother, just like the hymn I read to you last time? Isn't the bed
from Frankfurt sent to make you well?"
"Yes, Heidi, and many, many other good things too, which God has sent
me," said the grandmother, deeply moved. "I did not think it possible
that there were so many kind people, ready to trouble themselves about
a poor old woman and to do so much for her. Nothing strengthens our
belief in a kind heavenly Father who never forgets even the least of
His creatures so much as to know that there are such people, full of
goodness and pity for a poor, useless creature such as I am."
"My good grandmother," said Mrs. Sesemann, interrupting her, "we are
all equally poor and helpless in the eyes of God, and all have equal
need that He should not forget us. But now we must say good-bye, but
only till we meet again, for when we pay our next year's visit to the
Alm you will be the first person we shall come and see; meanwhile we
shall not forget you." And Mrs. Sesemann took grandmother's hand again
and shook it in farewell.
But grandmother would not let her off even then without more words
of gratitude, and without calling down on her benefactress and all
belonging to her every blessing that God had to bestow.
At last Mr. Sesemann and his mother were able to continue their journey
downwards, while Uncle carried Clara back home, with Heidi beside him,
so full of joy of what was coming for grandmother that every step was a
jump.
But there were many tears shed the following morning by the departing
Clara, who wept to say good-bye to the beautiful mountain home where
she had been happier than ever before in her life. Heidi did her best
to comfort her. "Summer will be here again in no time," she said, "and
then you will come again, and it will be nicer still, for you will be
able to walk about from the beginning. We can then go out every day
with the goats up to where the flowers grow, and enjoy ourselves from
the moment you arrive."
Mr. Sesemann had come as arranged to take his little daughter away,
and was just now standing and talking with Uncle, for they had much to
say to one another. Clara felt somewhat consoled by Heidi's words, and
wiped away her tears.
"Be sure you say good-bye for me to Peter and the goats, and especially
to Little Swan. I wish I could give Little Swan a present, for she has
helped so much to make me strong."
"Well, you can if you like," replied Heidi, "send her a little salt;
you know how she likes to lick some out of grandfather's hand when she
comes home at night."
Clara was delighted at this idea. "Oh, then I shall send a hundred
pounds of salt from Frankfurt, for I want her to have something as a
remembrance of me."
Mr. Sesemann now beckoned to the children as it was time to be off.
Grandmamma's white horse had been brought up for Clara, as she was no
longer obliged to be carried in a chair.
Heidi ran to the far edge of the slope and continued to wave her hand
to Clara until the last glimpse of horse and rider had disappeared.
* * * * *
And now the bed has arrived, and grandmother is sleeping so soundly all
night that she is sure to grow stronger.
Grandmamma Sesemann, moreover, has not forgotten how cold the winter is
on the mountain. She has sent a large parcel of warm clothing of every
description, so that the blind grandmother can wrap herself round and
round, and will certainly not tremble with cold now as she sits in her
corner.
There is a great deal of building going on at Doerfli. The doctor has
arrived, and, for the present, is occupying his old quarters. His
friends have advised him to buy the old house that Uncle and Heidi
live in during the winter. The doctor is having this part of the old
house rebuilt for himself, the other part being repaired for Uncle
and Heidi, for the doctor is aware that Uncle is a man of independent
spirit, who likes to have a house to himself. Quite at the back a warm
and well-walled stall is being put up for the two goats, and there they
will pass their winter in comfort.
The two men are becoming better friends every day, and as they walk
about the new buildings to see how they are getting on, their thoughts
continually turn to Heidi, for the chief pleasure to each in connection
with the house is that they will have the light-hearted little child
with them there.
"Dear friend," said the doctor on one of these occasions as they were
standing together, "you will see this matter in the same light as I do,
I am sure. I share your happiness in the child as if, next to you, I
was the one to whom she most closely belonged, but I wish also to share
all responsibilities concerning her and to do my best for the child. I
shall then feel I have my rights in her, and shall look forward to her
being with me and caring for me in my old age, which is the one great
wish of my heart. She will have the same claims upon me as if she were
my own child, and I shall provide for her as such, and so we shall be
able to leave her without anxiety when the day comes that you and I
must go."
Uncle did not speak, but he clasped the doctor's hand in his, and his
good friend could read in the old man's eyes how greatly moved he was
and how glad and grateful he felt.
Heidi and Peter were at this moment sitting with grandmother, and the
one had so much to relate, and the others to listen to, that they all
three got closer and closer to one another, hardly able to breathe in
their eagerness not to miss a word.
And how much there was to tell of all the events that had taken place
that last summer, for they had not had many opportunities of meeting
since then.
And it was difficult to say which of the three looked the happiest at
being together again, and at the recollection of all the wonderful
things that had happened. Mother Brigitta's face was perhaps the
happiest of all, as now, with the help of Heidi's explanation, she was
able to understand for the first time the history of Peter's weekly
dime for life.
Then at last the grandmother spoke, "Heidi read me one of the hymns! I
feel I can do nothing for the remainder of my life but thank the Father
in Heaven for all the mercies He has shown us!"
[Illustration]
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's
original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.