Part I

Heidi's Years of Learning and Travel

[Illustration]

HEIDI

I

GOING UP TO THE ALM-UNCLE

The little old town of Mayenfeld is charmingly situated. From it a

footpath leads through green, well-wooded stretches to the foot of the

heights which look down imposingly upon the valley. Where the footpath

begins to go steeply and abruptly up the Alps, the heath, with its

short grass and pungent herbage, at once sends out its soft perfume to

meet the wayfarer.

One bright sunny morning in June, a tall, vigorous maiden of the

mountain region climbed up the narrow path, leading a little girl by

the hand. The youngster's cheeks were in such a glow that it showed

even through her sun-browned skin. Small wonder though! for in spite

of the heat, the little one, who was scarcely five years old, was

bundled up as if she had to brave a bitter frost. Her shape was

difficult to distinguish, for she wore two dresses, if not three, and

around her shoulders a large red cotton shawl. With her feet encased

in heavy hob-nailed boots, this hot and shapeless little person toiled

up the mountain.

The pair had been climbing for about an hour when they reached a

hamlet half-way up the great mountain named the Alm. This hamlet was

called "Im Dörfli" or "The Little Village." It was the elder girl's

home town, and therefore she was greeted from nearly every house;

people called to her from windows and doors, and very often from the

road. But, answering questions and calls as she went by, the girl did

not loiter on her way and only stood still when she reached the end of

the hamlet. There a few cottages lay scattered about, from the

furthest of which a voice called out to her through an open door:

"Deta, please wait one moment! I am coming with you, if you are going

further up."

When the girl stood still to wait, the child instantly let go her hand

and promptly sat down on the ground.

"Are you tired, Heidi?" Deta asked the child.

"No, but hot," she replied.

"We shall be up in an hour, if you take big steps and climb with all

your little might!" Thus the elder girl tried to encourage her small

companion.

A stout, pleasant-looking woman stepped out of the house and joined

the two. The child had risen and wandered behind the old

acquaintances, who immediately started gossiping about their friends

in the neighborhood and the people of the hamlet generally.

"Where are you taking the child, Deta?" asked the newcomer. "Is she

the child your sister left?"

"Yes," Deta assured her; "I am taking her up to the Alm-Uncle and

there I want her to remain."

"You can't really mean to take her there Deta. You must have lost your

senses, to go to him. I am sure the old man will show you the door and

won't even listen to what you say."

"Why not? As he's her grandfather, it is high time he should do

something for the child. I have taken care of her until this summer

and now a good place has been offered to me. The child shall not

hinder me from accepting it, I tell you that!"

"It would not be so hard, if he were like other mortals. But you know

him yourself. How could he _look_ after a child, especially such a

little one? She'll never get along with him, I am sure of that!--But

tell me of your prospects."

"I am going to a splendid house in Frankfurt. Last summer some people

went off to the baths and I took care of their rooms. As they got to

like me, they wanted to take me along, but I could not leave. They

have come back now and have persuaded me to go with them."

"I am glad I am not the child!" exclaimed Barbara with a shudder.

"Nobody knows anything about the old man's life up there. He doesn't

speak to a living soul, and from one year's end to the other he keeps

away from church. People get out of his way when he appears once in a

twelve-month down here among us. We all fear him and he is really just

like a heathen or an old Indian, with those thick grey eyebrows and

that huge uncanny beard. When he wanders along the road with his

twisted stick we are all afraid to meet him alone."

"That is not my fault," said Deta stubbornly. "He won't do her any

harm; and if he should, he is responsible, not I."

"I wish I knew what weighs on the old man's conscience. Why are his

eyes so fierce and why does he live up there all alone? Nobody ever

sees him and we hear many strange things about him. Didn't your sister

tell you anything, Deta?"

"Of course she did, but I shall hold my tongue. He would make me pay

for it if I didn't."

Barbara had long been anxious to know something about the old uncle

and why he lived apart from everybody. Nobody had a good word for him,

and when people talked about him, they did not speak openly but as if

they were afraid. She could not even explain to herself why he was

called the Alm-Uncle. He could not possibly be the uncle of all the

people in the village, but since everybody spoke of him so, she did

the same. Barbara, who had only lived in the village since her

marriage, was glad to get some information from her friend. Deta had

been bred there, but since her mother's death had gone away to earn

her livelihood.

She confidentially seized Deta's arm and said: "I wish you would tell

me the truth about him, Deta; you know it all--people only gossip.

Tell me, what has happened to the old man to turn everybody against

him so? Did he always hate his fellow-creatures?"

"I cannot tell you whether he always did, and that for a very good

reason. He being sixty years old, and I only twenty-six, you can't

expect me to give you an account of his early youth. But if you'll

promise to keep it to yourself and not set all the people in Prätiggan

talking, I can tell you a good deal. My mother and he both came from

Domleschg."

"How can you talk like that, Deta?" replied Barbara in an offended

tone. "People do not gossip much in Prätiggan, and I always can keep

things to myself, if I have to. You won't repent of having told me, I

assure you!"

"All right, but keep your word!" said Deta warningly. Then she looked

around to see that the child was not so close to them as to overhear

what might be said; but the little girl was nowhere to be seen. While

the two young women had talked at such a rate, they had not noticed

her absence; quite a while must have elapsed since the little girl had

given up following her companions. Deta, standing still, looked about

her everywhere, but no one was on the path, which--except for a few

curves--was visible as far down as the village.

"There she is! Can't you see her there?" exclaimed Barbara, pointing

to a spot a good distance from the path. "She is climbing up with the

goatherd Peter and his goats. I wonder why he is so late to-day. I

must say, it suits us well enough; he can look after the child while

you tell me everything without being interrupted."

"It will be very easy for Peter to watch her," remarked Deta; "she is

bright for her five years and keeps her eyes wide open. I have often

noticed that and I am glad for her, for it will be useful with the

uncle. He has nothing left in the whole wide world, but his cottage

and two goats!"

"Did he once have more?" asked Barbara.

"I should say so. He was heir to a large farm in Domleschg. But

setting up to play the fine gentleman, he soon lost everything with

drink and play. His parents died with grief and he himself

disappeared from these parts. After many years he came back with a

half-grown boy, his son, Tobias, that was his name, became a carpenter

and turned out to be a quiet, steady fellow. Many strange rumors went

round about the uncle and I think that was why he left Domleschg for

Dörfli. We acknowledged relationship, my mother's grandmother being a

cousin of his. We called him uncle, and because we are related on my

father's side to nearly all the people in the hamlet they too all

called him uncle. He was named 'Alm-Uncle' when he moved up to the

Alm."

"But what happened to Tobias?" asked Barbara eagerly.

"Just wait. How can I tell you everything at once?" exclaimed Deta.

"Tobias was an apprentice in Mels, and when he was made master, he

came home to the village and married my sister Adelheid. They always

had been fond of each other and they lived very happily as man and

wife. But their joy was short. Two years afterwards, when Tobias was

helping to build a house, a beam fell on him and killed him. Adelheid

was thrown into a violent fever with grief and fright, and never

recovered from it. She had never been strong and had often suffered

from queer spells, when we did not know whether she was awake or

asleep. Only a few weeks after Tobias's death they buried poor

Adelheid.

"People said that heaven had punished the uncle for his misdeeds.

After the death of his son he never spoke to a living soul. Suddenly

he moved up to the Alp, to live there at enmity with God and man.

"My mother and I took Adelheid's little year-old baby, Heidi, to live

with us. When I went to Ragatz I took her with me; but in the spring

the family whose work I had done last year came from Frankfurt and

resolved to take me to their town-house. I am very glad to get such a

good position."

"And now you want to hand over the child to this terrible old man. I

really wonder how you can do it, Deta!" said Barbara with reproach in

her voice.

"It seems to me I have really done enough for the child. I do not know

where else to take her, as she is too young to come with me to

Frankfurt. By the way, Barbara, where are you going? We are half-way

up the Alm already."

Deta shook hands with her companion and stood still while Barbara

approached the tiny, dark-brown mountain hut, which lay in a hollow a

few steps away from the path.

Situated half-way up the Alm, the cottage was luckily protected from

the mighty winds. Had it been exposed to the tempests, it would have

been a doubtful habitation in the state of decay it was in. Even as it

was, the doors and windows rattled and the old rafters shook when the

south wind swept the mountain side. If the hut had stood on the Alm

top, the wind would have blown it down the valley without much ado

when the storm season came.

Here lived Peter the goatherd, a boy eleven years old, who daily

fetched the goats from the village and drove them up the mountain to

the short and luscious grasses of the pastures. Peter raced down in

the evening with the light-footed little goats. When he whistled

sharply through his fingers, every owner would come and get his or her

goat. These owners were mostly small boys and girls and, as the goats

were friendly, they did not fear them. That was the only time Peter

spent with other children, the rest of the day the animals were his

sole companions. At home lived his mother and an old blind

grandmother, but he only spent enough time in the hut to swallow his

bread and milk for breakfast and the same repast for supper. After

that he sought his bed to sleep. He always left early in the morning

and at night he came home late, so that he could be with his friends

as long as possible. His father had met with an accident some years

ago; he also had been called Peter the goatherd. His mother, whose

name was Brigida, was called "Goatherd Peter's wife" and his blind

grandmother was called by young and old from many miles about just

"grandmother."

Deta waited about ten minutes to see if the children were coming up

behind with the goats. As she could not find them anywhere, she

climbed up a little higher to get a better view down the valley from

there, and peered from side to side with marks of great impatience on

her countenance.

The children in the meantime were ascending slowly in a zigzag way,

Peter always knowing where to find all sorts of good grazing places

for his goats where they could nibble. Thus they strayed from side to

side. The poor little girl had followed the boy only with the greatest

effort and she was panting in her heavy clothes. She was so hot and

uncomfortable that she only climbed by exerting all her strength. She

did not say anything but looked enviously at Peter, who jumped about

so easily in his light trousers and bare feet. She envied even more

the goats that climbed over bushes, stones, and steep inclines with

their slender legs. Suddenly sitting down on the ground the child

swiftly took off her shoes and stockings. Getting up she undid the

heavy shawl and the two little dresses. Out she slipped without more

ado and stood up in only a light petticoat. In sheer delight at the

relief, she threw up her dimpled arms, that were bare up to her short

sleeves. To save the trouble of carrying them, her aunt had dressed

her in her Sunday clothes over her workday garments. Heidi arranged

her dresses neatly in a heap and joined Peter and the goats. She was

now as light-footed as any of them. When Peter, who had not paid much

attention, saw her suddenly in her light attire, he grinned. Looking

back, he saw the little heap of dresses on the ground and then he

grinned yet more, till his mouth seemed to reach from ear to ear; but

he said never a word.

The child, feeling free and comfortable, started to converse with

Peter, and he had to answer many questions. She asked him how many

goats he had, and where he led them, what he did with them when he got

there, and so forth.

[Illustration: SHE UNDID THE HEAVY SHAWL AND THE TWO LITTLE

DRESSES]

At last the children reached the summit in front of the hut. When Deta

saw the little party of climbers she cried out shrilly: "Heidi, what

have you done? What a sight you are! Where are your dresses and your

shawl? Are the new shoes gone that I just bought for you, and the new

stockings that I made myself? Where are they all, Heidi?"

The child quietly pointed down and said "There."

The aunt followed the direction of her finger and descried a little

heap with a small red dot in the middle, which she recognized as the

shawl.

"Unlucky child!" Deta said excitedly. "What does all this mean? Why

have you taken your things all off?"

"Because I do not need them," said the child, not seeming in the least

repentant of her deed.

"How can you be so stupid, Heidi? Have you lost your senses?" the aunt

went on, in a tone of mingled vexation and reproach. "Who do you think

will go way down there to fetch those things up again? It is

half-an-hour's walk. Please, Peter, run down and get them. Do not

stand and stare at me as if you were glued to the spot."

"I am late already," replied Peter, and stood without moving from the

place where, with his hands in his trousers' pockets, he had witnessed

the violent outbreak of Heidi's aunt.

"There you are, standing and staring, but that won't get you further,"

said Deta. "I'll give you this if you go down." With that she held a

five-penny-piece under his eyes. That made Peter start and in a great

hurry he ran down the straightest path. He arrived again in so short a

time that Deta had to praise him and gave him her little coin without

delay. He did not often get such a treasure, and therefore his face

was beaming and he laughingly dropped the money deep into his pocket.

"If you are going up to the uncle, as we are, you can carry the pack

till we get there," said Deta. They still had to climb a steep ascent

that lay behind Peter's hut. The boy readily took the things and

followed Deta, his left arm holding the bundle and his right swinging

the stick. Heidi jumped along gaily by his side with the goats.

After three quarters of an hour they reached the height where the hut

of the old man stood on a prominent rock, exposed to every wind, but

bathed in the full sunlight. From there you could gaze far down into

the valley. Behind the hut stood three old fir-trees with great shaggy

branches. Further back the old grey rocks rose high and sheer. Above

them you could see green and fertile pastures, till at last the stony

boulders reached the bare, steep cliffs.

Overlooking the valley the uncle had made himself a bench, by the side

of the hut. Here he sat, with his pipe between his teeth and both

hands resting on his knees. He quietly watched the children climbing

up with the goats and Aunt Deta behind them, for the children had

caught up to her long ago. Heidi reached the top first, and

approaching the old man she held out her hand to him and said: "Good

evening, grandfather!"

"Well, well, what does that mean?" replied the old man in a rough

voice. Giving her his hand for only a moment, he watched her with a

long and penetrating look from under his bushy brows. Heidi gazed back

at him with an unwinking glance and examined him with much curiosity,

for he was strange to look at, with his thick, grey beard and shaggy

eyebrows, that met in the middle like a thicket.

Heidi's aunt had arrived in the meantime with Peter, who was eager to

see what was going to happen.

"Good-day to you, uncle," said Deta as she approached. "This is

Tobias's and Adelheid's child. You won't be able to remember her,

because last time you saw her she was scarcely a year old."

"Why do you bring her here?" asked the uncle, and turning to Peter he

said: "Get away and bring my goats. How late you are already!"

Peter obeyed and disappeared on the spot; the uncle had looked at him

in such a manner that he was glad to go.

"Uncle, I have brought the little girl for you to keep," said Deta. "I

have done my share these last four years and now it is your turn to

provide for her."

The old man's eyes flamed with anger. "Indeed!" he said. "What on

earth shall I do, when she begins to whine and cry for you? Small

children always do, and then I'll be helpless."

"You'll have to look out for that!" Deta retorted. "When the little

baby was left in my hands a few years ago, I had to find out how to

care for the little innocent myself and nobody told me anything. I

already had mother on my hands and there was plenty for me to do. You

can't blame me if I want to earn some money now. If you can't keep the

child, you can do with her whatever you please. If she comes to harm

you are responsible and I am sure you do not want to burden your

conscience any further."

Deta had said more in her excitement than she had intended, just

because her conscience was not quite clear. The uncle had risen during

her last words and now he gave her such a look that she retreated a

few steps. Stretching out his arm in a commanding gesture, he said to

her: "Away with you! Begone! Stay wherever you came from and don't

venture soon again into my sight!"

Deta did not have to be told twice. She said "Good-bye" to Heidi and

"Farewell" to the uncle, and started down the mountain. Like steam her

excitement seemed to drive her forward, and she ran down at a

tremendous rate. The people in the village called to her now more than

they had on her way up, because they all were wondering where she had

left the child. They were well acquainted with both and knew their

history. When she heard from door and windows: "Where is the child?"

"Where have you left her, Deta?" and so forth, she answered more and

more reluctantly: "Up with the Alm-Uncle,--with the Alm-Uncle!" She

became much provoked because the women called to her from every side:

"How could you do it?" "The poor little creature!" "The idea of

leaving such a helpless child up there!" and, over and over again:

"The poor little dear!" Deta ran as quickly as she could and was glad

when she heard no more calls, because, to tell the truth, she herself

was uneasy. Her mother had asked her on her deathbed to care for

Heidi. But she consoled herself with the thought that she would be

able to do more for the child if she could earn some money. She was

very glad to go away from people who interfered in her affairs, and

looked forward with great delight to her new place.

[Illustration]

II

WITH THE GRANDFATHER

After Deta had disappeared, the Uncle sat down again on the bench,

blowing big clouds of smoke out of his pipe. He did not speak, but

kept his eyes fastened on the ground. In the meantime Heidi looked

about her, and discovering the goat-shed, peeped in. Nothing could be

seen inside. Searching for some more interesting thing, she saw the

three old fir-trees behind the hut. Here the wind was roaring through

the branches and the tree-tops were swaying to and fro. Heidi stood

still to listen. After the wind had ceased somewhat, she walked round

the hut back to her grandfather. She found him in exactly the same

position, and planting herself in front of the old man, with arms

folded behind her back, she gazed at him. The grandfather, looking up,

saw the child standing motionless before him. "What do you want to do

now?" he asked her.

"I want to see what's in the hut," replied Heidi.

"Come then," and with that the grandfather got up and entered the

cottage.

"Take your things along," he commanded.

"I do not want them any more," answered Heidi.

The old man, turning about, threw a penetrating glance at her. The

child's black eyes were sparkling in expectation of all the things to

come. "She is not lacking in intelligence," he muttered to himself.

Aloud he added: "Why don't you need them any more?"

"I want to go about like the light-footed goats!"

"All right, you can; but fetch the things and we'll put them in the

cupboard." The child obeyed the command. The old man now opened the

door, and Heidi followed him into a fairly spacious room, which took

in the entire expanse of the hut. In one corner stood a table and a

chair, and in another the grandfather's bed. Across the room a large

kettle was suspended over the hearth, and opposite to it a large door

was sunk into the wall. This the grandfather opened. It was the

cupboard, in which all his clothes were kept. In one shelf were a few

shirts, socks and towels; on another a few plates, cups and glasses;

and on the top shelf Heidi could see a round loaf of bread, some bacon

and cheese. In this cupboard the grandfather kept everything that he

needed for his subsistence. When he opened it, Heidi pushed her things

as far behind the grandfather's clothes as she could reach. She did

not want them found again in a hurry. After looking around attentively

in the room, she asked, "Where am I going to sleep, grandfather?"

"Wherever you want to," he replied. That suited Heidi exactly. She

peeped into all the corners of the room and looked at every little

nook to find a cosy place to sleep. Beside the old man's bed she saw a

ladder. Climbing up, she arrived at a hayloft, which was filled with

fresh and fragrant hay. Through a tiny round window she could look far

down into the valley.

[Illustration: HERE A NEAT LITTLE BED WAS PREPARED]

"I want to sleep up here," Heidi called down. "Oh, it is lovely here.

Please come up, grandfather, and see it for yourself."

"I know it," sounded from below.

"I am making the bed now," the little girl called out again, while she

ran busily to and fro. "Oh, do come up and bring a sheet, grandfather,

for every bed must have a sheet."

"Is that so?" said the old man. After a while he opened the cupboard

and rummaged around in it. At last he pulled out a long coarse cloth

from under the shirts. It somewhat resembled a sheet, and with this he

climbed up to the loft. Here a neat little bed was already prepared.

On top the hay was heaped up high so that the head of the occupant

would lie exactly opposite the window.

The grandfather was well pleased with the arrangement. To prevent the

hard floor from being felt, he made the couch twice as thick. Then he

and Heidi together put the heavy sheet on, tucking the ends in well.

Heidi looked thoughtfully at her fresh, new bed and said,

"Grandfather, we have forgotten something."

"What?" he asked.

"I have no cover. When I go to bed I always creep in between the sheet

and the cover."

"What shall we do if I haven't any?" asked the grandfather.

"Never mind, I'll just take some more hay to cover me," Heidi

reassured him, and was just going to the heap of hay when the old man

stopped her.

"Just wait one minute," he said, and went down to his own bed. From it

he took a large, heavy linen bag and brought it to the child.

"Isn't this better than hay?" he asked.

Heidi pulled the sack to and fro with all her might, but she could not

unfold it, for it was too heavy for her little arms. The grandfather

put the thick cover on the bed while Heidi watched him. After it was

all done, she said: "What a nice bed I have now, and what a splendid

cover! I only wish the evening was here, that I might go to sleep in

it."

"I think we might eat something first," said the grandfather. "Don't

you think so?"

Heidi had forgotten everything else in her interest for the bed; but

when she was reminded of her dinner, she noticed how terribly hungry

she really was. She had had only a piece of bread and a cup of thin

coffee very early in the morning, before her long journey. Heidi said

approvingly: "I think we might, grandfather!"

"Let's go down then, if we agree," said the old man, and followed

close behind her. Going up to the fireplace, he pushed the big kettle

aside and reached for a smaller one that was suspended on a chain.

Then sitting down on a three-legged stool, he kindled a bright fire.

When the kettle was boiling, the old man put a large piece of cheese

on a long iron fork, and held it over the fire, turning it to and fro,

till it was golden-brown on all sides. Heidi had watched him eagerly.

Suddenly she ran to the cupboard. When her grandfather brought a pot

and the toasted cheese to the table, he found it already nicely set

with two plates and two knives and the bread in the middle. Heidi had

seen the things in the cupboard and knew that they would be needed for

the meal.

"I am glad to see that you can think for yourself," said the

grandfather, while he put the cheese on top of the bread, "but

something is missing yet."

Heidi saw the steaming pot and ran back to the cupboard in all haste.

A single little bowl was on the shelf. That did not perplex Heidi

though, for she saw two glasses standing behind. With those three

things she returned to the table.

"You certainly can help yourself! Where shall you sit, though?" asked

the grandfather, who occupied the only chair himself, Heidi flew to

the hearth, and bringing back the little stool, sat down on it.

"Now you have a seat, but it is much too low. In fact, you are too

little to reach the table from my chair. Now you shall have something

to eat at last!" and with that the grandfather filled the little bowl

with milk. Putting it on his chair, he pushed it as near to the stool

as was possible, and in that way Heidi had a table before her. He

commanded her to eat the large piece of bread and the slice of golden

cheese. He sat down himself on a corner of the table and started his

own dinner. Heidi drank without stopping, for she felt exceedingly

thirsty after her long journey. Taking a long breath, she put down her

little bowl.

"How do you like the milk?" the grandfather asked her.

"I never tasted better," answered Heidi.

"Then you shall have more," and with that the grandfather filled the

little bowl again. The little girl ate and drank with the greatest

enjoyment. After she was through, both went out into the goat-shed.

Here the old man busied himself, and Heidi watched him attentively

while he was sweeping and putting down fresh straw for the goats to

sleep on. Then he went to the little shop alongside and fashioned a

high chair for Heidi, to the little girl's greatest amazement.

"What is this?" asked the grandfather.

"This is a chair for me. I am sure of it because it is so high. How

quickly it was made!" said the child, full of admiration and wonder.

"She knows what is what and has her eyes on the right place," the

grandfather said to himself, while he walked around the hut, fastening

a nail or a loose board here and there. He wandered about with his

hammer and nails, repairing whatever was in need of fixing. Heidi

followed him at every step and watched the performance with great

enjoyment and attention.

At last the evening came. The old fir-trees were rustling and a mighty

wind was roaring and howling through the tree-tops. Those sounds

thrilled Heidi's heart and filled it with happiness and joy. She

danced and jumped about under the trees, for those sounds made her

feel as if a wonderful thing had happened to her. The grandfather

stood under the door, watching her, when suddenly a shrill whistle was

heard. Heidi stood still and the grandfather joined her outside. Down

from the heights came one goat after another, with Peter in their

midst. Uttering a cry of joy, Heidi ran into the middle of the flock,

greeting her old friends. When they had all reached the hut, they

stopped on their way and two beautiful slender goats came out of the

herd, one of them white and the other brown. They came up to the

grandfather, who held out some salt in his hands to them, as he did

every night. Heidi tenderly caressed first one and then the other,

seeming beside herself with joy.

"Are they ours, grandfather? Do they both belong to us? Are they going

to the stable? Are they going to stay with us?" Heidi kept on asking

in her excitement. The grandfather hardly could put in a "yes, yes,

surely" between her numerous questions. When the goats had licked up

all the salt, the old man said, "Go in, Heidi, and fetch your bowl

and the bread."

Heidi obeyed and returned instantly. The grandfather milked a full

bowl from the white goat, cut a piece of bread for the child, and told

her to eat. "Afterwards you can go to bed. If you need some shirts and

other linen, you will find them in the bottom of the cupboard. Aunt

Deta has left a bundle for you. Now good-night, I have to look after

the goats and lock them up for the night."

"Good-night, grandfather! Oh, please tell me what their names are,"

called Heidi after him.

"The white one's name is Schwänli and the brown one I call Bärli," was

his answer.

"Good-night, Schwänli! Good-night, Bärli," the little girl called

loudly, for they were just disappearing in the shed. Heidi now sat

down on the bench and took her supper. The strong wind nearly blew her

from her seat, so she hurried with her meal, to be able to go inside

and up to her bed. She slept in it as well as a prince on his royal

couch.

Very soon after Heidi had gone up, before it was quite dark, the old

man also sought his bed. He was always up in the morning with the sun,

which rose early over the mountain-side in those summer days. It was a

wild, stormy night; the hut was shaking in the gusts and all the

boards were creaking. The wind howled through the chimney and the old

fir-trees shook so strongly that many a dry branch came crashing down.

In the middle of the night the grandfather got up, saying to himself:

"I am sure she is afraid." Climbing up the ladder, he went up to

Heidi's bed. The first moment everything lay in darkness, when all of

a sudden the moon came out behind the clouds and sent his brilliant

light across Heidi's bed. Her cheeks were burning red and she lay

peacefully on her round and chubby arms. She must have had a happy

dream, for she was smiling in her sleep. The grandfather stood and

watched her till a cloud flew over the moon and left everything in

total darkness. Then he went down to seek his bed again.

III

ON THE PASTURE

Heidi was awakened early next morning by a loud whistle. Opening her

eyes, she saw her little bed and the hay beside her bathed in golden

sunlight. For a short while she did not know where she was, but when

she heard her grandfather's deep voice outside, she recollected

everything. She remembered how she had come up the mountain the day

before and left old Ursula, who was always shivering with cold and sat

near the stove all day. While Heidi lived with Ursula, she had always

been obliged to keep in the house, where the old woman could see her.

Being deaf, Ursula was afraid to let Heidi go outdoors, and the child

had often fretted in the narrow room and had longed to run outside.

She was therefore delighted to find herself in her new home and hardly

could wait to see the goats again. Jumping out of bed, she put on her

few things and in a short time went down the ladder and ran outside.

Peter was already there with his flock, waiting for Schwänli and

Bärli, whom the grandfather was just bringing to join the other goats.

"Do you want to go with him to the pasture?" asked the grandfather.

"Yes," cried Heidi, clapping her hands.

"Go now, and wash yourself first, for the sun will laugh at you if he

sees how dirty you are. Everything is ready there for you," he added,

pointing to a large tub of water that stood in the sun. Heidi did as

she was told, and washed and rubbed herself till her cheeks were

glowing. In the meanwhile the grandfather called to Peter to come into

the hut and bring his bag along. The boy followed the old man, who

commanded him to open the bag in which he carried his scanty dinner.

The grandfather put into the bag a piece of bread and a slice of

cheese, that were easily twice as large as those the boy had in the

bag himself.

"The little bowl goes in, too," said the Uncle, "for the child does

not know how to drink straight from the goat, the way you do. She is

going to stay with you all day, therefore milk two bowls full for her

dinner. Look out that she does not fall over the rocks! Do you hear?"

Just then Heidi came running in. "Grandfather, can the sun still laugh

at me?" she asked. The child had rubbed herself so violently with the

coarse towel which the grandfather had put beside the tub that her

face, neck and arms were as red as a lobster. With a smile the

grandfather said: "No, he can't laugh any more now; but when you come

home to-night you must go into the tub like a fish. When one goes

about like the goats, one gets dirty feet. Be off!"

They started merrily up the Alp. A cloudless, deep-blue sky looked

down on them, for the wind had driven away every little cloud in the

night. The fresh green mountain-side was bathed in brilliant sunlight,

and many blue and yellow flowers had opened. Heidi was wild with joy

and ran from side to side. In one place she saw big patches of fine

red primroses, on another spot blue gentians sparkled in the grass,

and everywhere the golden rock-roses were nodding to her. In her

transport at finding such treasures, Heidi even forgot Peter and his

goats. She ran far ahead of him and then strayed away off to one side,

for the sparkling flowers tempted her here and there. Picking whole

bunches of them to take home with her, she put them all into her

little apron.

Peter, whose round eyes could only move about slowly, had a hard time

looking out for her. The goats were even worse, and only by shouting

and whistling, especially by swinging his rod, could he drive them

together.

"Heidi, where are you now?" he called quite angrily.

"Here," it sounded from somewhere. Peter could not see her, for she

was sitting on the ground behind a little mound, which was covered

with fragrant flowers. The whole air was filled with their perfume,

and the child drew it in, in long breaths.

"Follow me now!" Peter called out. "The grandfather has told me to

look out for you, and you must not fall over the rocks."

"Where are they?" asked Heidi without even stirring.

"Way up there, and we have still far to go. If you come quickly, we

may see the eagle there and hear him shriek."

That tempted Heidi, and she came running to Peter, with her apron full

of flowers.

"You have enough now," he declared. "If you pick them all to-day,

there won't be any left to-morrow." Heidi admitted that, besides which

she had her apron already full. From now on she stayed at Peter's

side. The goats, scenting the pungent herbs, also hurried up without

delay.

Peter generally took his quarters for the day at the foot of a high

cliff, which seemed to reach far up into the sky. Overhanging rocks on

one side made it dangerous, so that the grandfather was wise to warn

Peter.

After they had reached their destination, the boy took off his bag,

putting it in a little hollow in the ground. The wind often blew in

violent gusts up there, and Peter did not want to lose his precious

load. Then he lay down in the sunny grass, for he was very tired.

Heidi, taking off her apron, rolled it tightly together and put it

beside Peter's bag. Then, sitting down beside the boy, she looked

about her. Far down she saw the glistening valley; a large field of

snow rose high in front of her. Heidi sat a long time without

stirring, with Peter asleep by her side and the goats climbing about

between the bushes. A light breeze fanned her cheek and those big

mountains about her made her feel happy as never before. She looked up

at the mountain-tops till they all seemed to have faces, and soon they

were familiar to her, like old friends. Suddenly she heard a loud,

sharp scream, and looking up she beheld the largest bird she had ever

seen, flying above her. With outspread wings he flew in large circles

over Heidi's head.

"Wake up, Peter!" Heidi called. "Look up, Peter, and see the eagle

there!"

Peter got wide wake, and then they both watched the bird breathlessly.

It rose higher and higher into the azure, till it disappeared at last

behind the mountain-peak.

"Where has it gone?" Heidi asked.

"Home to its nest," was Peter's answer.

"Oh, does it really live way up there? How wonderful that must be! But

tell me why it screams so loud?" Heidi inquired.

"Because it has to," Peter replied.

"Oh, let's climb up there and see its nest!" implored Heidi, but

Peter, expressing decided disapproval in his voice, answered: "Oh

dear, Oh dear, not even goats could climb up there! Grandfather has

told me not to let you fall down the rocks, so we can't go!"

Peter now began to call loudly and to whistle, and soon all the goats

were assembled on the green field. Heidi ran into their midst, for she

loved to see them leaping and playing about.

Peter in the meantime was preparing dinner for Heidi and himself, by

putting her large pieces on one side and his own small ones on the

other. Then he milked Bärli and put the full bowl in the middle. When

he was ready, he called to the little girl. But it took some time

before she obeyed his call.

[Illustration: SHE HANDED HIM ALSO THE WHOLE SLICE OF CHEESE]

"Stop jumping, now," said Peter, "and sit down; your dinner is ready."

"Is this milk for me?" she inquired.

"Yes it is; those large pieces also belong to you. When you are

through with the milk, I'll get you some more. After that I'll get

mine."

"What milk do you get?" Heidi inquired.

"I get it from my own goat, that speckled one over there. But go ahead

and eat!" Peter commanded again. Heidi obeyed, and when the bowl was

empty, he filled it again. Breaking off a piece of bread for herself,

she gave Peter the rest, which was still bigger than his own portion

had been. She handed him also the whole slice of cheese, saying: "You

can eat that, I have had enough!"

Peter was speechless with surprise, for it would have been impossible

for him ever to give up any of his share. Not taking Heidi in earnest,

he hesitated till she put the things on his knees. Then he saw she

really meant it, and he seized his prize. Nodding his thanks to her,

he ate the most luxurious meal he had ever had in all his life. Heidi

was watching the goats in the meantime, and asked Peter for their

names.

The boy could tell them all to her, for their names were about the

only thing he had to carry in his head. She soon knew them, too, for

she had listened attentively. One of them was the Big Turk, who tried

to stick his big horns into all the others. Most of the goats ran away

from their rough comrade. The bold Thistlefinch alone was not afraid,

and running his horns three or four times into the other, so

astonished the Turk with his great daring that he stood still and gave

up fighting, for the Thistlefinch had sharp horns and met him in the

most warlike attitude. A small, white goat, called Snowhopper, kept up

bleating in the most piteous way, which induced Heidi to console it

several times. Heidi at last went to the little thing again, and

throwing her arms around its head, she asked, "What is the matter with

you, Snowhopper? Why do you always cry for help?" The little goat

pressed close to Heidi's side and became perfectly quiet. Peter was

still eating, but between the swallows he called to Heidi: "She is so

unhappy, because the old goat has left us. She was sold to somebody in

Mayenfeld two days ago."

"Who was the old goat?"

"Her mother, of course."

"Where is her grandmother?"

"She hasn't any."

"And her grandfather?"

"Hasn't any either."

"Poor little Snowhopper!" said Heidi, drawing the little creature

tenderly to her. "Don't grieve any more; see, I am coming up with you

every day now, and if there is anything the matter, you can come to

me."

Snowhopper rubbed her head against Heidi's shoulder and stopped

bleating. When Peter had finally finished his dinner, he joined Heidi.

The little girl had just been observing that Schwänli and Bärli were

by far the cleanest and prettiest of the goats. They evaded the

obtrusive Turk with a sort of contempt and always managed to find the

greenest bushes for themselves. She mentioned it to Peter, who

replied: "I know! Of course they are the prettiest, because the uncle

washes them and gives them salt. He has the best stable by far."

All of a sudden Peter, who had been lying on the ground, jumped up and

bounded after the goats. Heidi, knowing that something must have

happened, followed him. She saw him running to a dangerous abyss on

the side. Peter had noticed how the rash Thistlefinch had gone nearer

and nearer to the dangerous spot. Peter only just came in time to

prevent the goat from falling down over the very edge. Unfortunately

Peter had stumbled over a stone in his hurry and was only able to

catch the goat by one leg. The Thistlefinch, being enraged to find

himself stopped in his charming ramble, bleated furiously. Not being

able to get up, Peter loudly called for help. Heidi immediately saw

that Peter was nearly pulling off the animal's leg. She quickly picked

some fragrant herbs and holding them under the animal's nose, she said

soothingly: "Come, come, Thistlefinch, and be sensible. You might fall

down there and break your leg. That would hurt you horribly."

The goat turned about and devoured the herbs Heidi held in her hand.

When Peter got to his feet, he led back the runaway with Heidi's help.

When he had the goat in safety, he raised his rod to beat it for

punishment. The goat retreated shyly, for it knew what was coming.

Heidi screamed loudly: "Peter, no, do not beat him! look how scared he

is."

"He well deserves it," snarled Peter, ready to strike. But Heidi,

seizing his arm, shouted, full of indignation: "You mustn't hurt him!

Let him go!"

Heidi's eyes were sparkling, and when he saw her with her commanding

mien, he desisted and dropped his rope. "I'll let him go, if you give

me a piece of your cheese again to-morrow," he said, for he wanted a

compensation for his fright.

"You may have it all to-morrow and every day, because I don't need

it," Heidi assured him. "I shall also give you a big piece of bread,

if you promise never to beat any of the goats."

"I don't care," growled Peter, and in that way he gave his promise.

Thus the day had passed, and the sun was already sinking down behind

the mountains. Sitting on the grass, Heidi looked at the bluebells and

the wild roses that were shining in the last rays of the sun. The

peaks also started to glow, and Heidi suddenly called to the boy: "Oh,

Peter, look! everything is on fire. The mountains are burning and the

sky, too. Oh, look! the moon over there is on fire, too. Do you see

the mountains all in a glow? Oh, how beautiful the snow looks! Peter,

the eagle's nest is surely on fire, too. Oh, look at the fir-trees

over there!"

Peter was quietly peeling his rod, and looking up, said to Heidi:

"This is no fire; it always looks like that."

"But what is it then?" asked Heidi eagerly, gazing about her

everywhere.

"It gets that way of itself," explained Peter.

"Oh look! Everything is all rosy now! Oh, look at this mountain over

there with the snow and the sharp peaks. What is its name?"

"Mountains have no names," he answered.

"Oh, see, how beautiful! It looks as if many, many roses were growing

on those cliffs. Oh, now they are getting grey. Oh dear! the fire has

gone out and it is all over. What a terrible shame!" said Heidi quite

despondently.

"It will be the same again tomorrow," Peter reassured her. "Come now,

we have to go home."

When Peter had called the goats together, they started downwards.

"Will it be like that every day when we are up?" asked Heidi, eagerly.

"It usually is," was the reply.

"What about tomorrow?" she inquired.

"Tomorrow it will be like that, I am sure," Peter affirmed.

That made Heidi feel happy again. She walked quietly by Peter's side,

thinking over all the new things she had seen. At last, reaching the

hut, they found the grandfather waiting for them on a bench under the

fir-trees. Heidi ran up to him and the two goats followed, for they

knew their master. Peter called to her: "Come again tomorrow!

Good-night!"

Heidi gave him her hand, assuring him that she would come, and finding

herself surrounded by the goats, she hugged Snowhopper a last time.

When Peter had disappeared, Heidi returned to her grandfather. "Oh

grandfather! it was so beautiful! I saw the fire and the roses on the

rocks! And see the many, many flowers I am bringing you!" With that

Heidi shook them out of her apron. But oh, how miserable they looked!

Heidi did not even know them any more.

"What is the matter with them, grandfather? They looked so different!"

Heidi exclaimed in her fright.

"They are made to bloom in the sun and not to be shut up in an apron,"

said the grandfather.

"Then I shall never pick them any more! Please, grandfather, tell me

why the eagle screeches so loudly," asked Heidi.

"First go and take a bath, while I go into the shed to get your milk.

Afterwards we'll go inside together and I'll tell you all about it

during supper-time."

They did as was proposed, and when Heidi sat on her high chair before

her milk, she asked the same question as before.

"Because he is sneering at the people down below, who sit in the

villages and make each other angry. He calls down to them:--'If you

would go apart to live up on the heights like me, you would feel much

better!'" The grandfather said these last words with such a wild

voice, that it reminded Heidi of the eagle's screech.

"Why do the mountains have no names, grandfather?" asked Heidi.

"They all have names, and if you tell me their shape I can name them

for you."

Heidi described several and the old man could name them all. The child

told him now about all the happenings of the day, and especially about

the wonderful fire. She asked how it came about.

"The sun does it," he exclaimed. "Saying good-night to the mountains,

he throws his most beautiful rays to them, that they may not forget

him till the morning."

Heidi was so much pleased with this explanation, that she could hardly

wait to see the sun's good-night greetings repeated. It was time now

to go to bed, and Heidi slept soundly all night. She dreamt that the

little Snowhopper was bounding happily about on the glowing mountains

with many glistening roses blooming round her.

IV

IN THE GRANDMOTHER'S HUT

Next morning Peter came again with his goats, and Heidi went up to the

pasture with them. This happened day after day, and in this healthy

life Heidi grew stronger, and more sunburnt every day. Soon the autumn

came and when the wind was blowing across the mountainside, the

grandfather would say: "You must stay home to-day, Heidi; for the wind

can blow such a little thing as you down into the valley with a single

gust."

It always made Peter unhappy when Heidi did not come along, for he saw

nothing but misfortunes ahead of him; he hardly knew how to pass his

time, and besides, he was deprived of his abundant dinner. The goats

were so accustomed to Heidi by this time, that they did not follow

Peter when she was not with him.

Heidi herself did not mind staying at home, for she loved nothing

better than to watch her grandfather with his saw and hammer.

Sometimes the grandfather would make small round cheeses on those

days, and there was no greater pleasure for Heidi than to see him stir

the butter with his bare arms. When the wind would howl through the

fir-trees on those stormy days, Heidi would run out to the grove,

thrilled and happy by the wondrous roaring in the branches. The sun

had lost its vigor, and the child had to put on her shoes and

stockings and her little dress.

The weather got colder and colder, and when Peter came up in the

morning, he would blow into his hands, he was so frozen. At last even

Peter could not come any more, for a deep snow had fallen over night.

Heidi stood at the window, watching the snow falling down. It kept on

snowing till it reached the windows; still it did not stop, and soon

the windows could not be opened, and they were all shut in. When it

had lasted for several days, Heidi thought that it would soon cover

up the cottage. It finally stopped, and the grandfather went out to

shovel the snow away from the door and windows, piling it up high here

and there. In the afternoon the two were sitting near the fire when

noisy steps were heard outside and the door was pushed open. It was

Peter, who had come up to see Heidi. Muttering, "Good-evening," he

went up to the fire. His face was beaming, and Heidi had to laugh when

she saw little waterfalls trickling down from his person, for all the

ice and snow had melted in the great heat.

The grandfather now asked Peter how he got along in school. Heidi was

so interested that she asked him a hundred questions. Poor Peter, who

was not an easy talker, found himself in great difficulty answering

the little girl's inquiries, but at least it gave him leisure to dry

his clothes.

During this conversation the grandfather's eyes had been twinkling,

and at last he said to the boy: "Now that you have been under fire,

general, you need some strengthening. Come and join us at supper."

With that the old man prepared a meal which amply satisfied Peter's

appetite. It had begun to get dark, and Peter knew that it was time to

go. He had said good-bye and thank you, when turning to Heidi he

remarked:

"I'll come next Sunday, if I may. By the way, Heidi, grandmother asked

me to tell you that she would love to see you."

Heidi immediately approved of this idea, and her first word next

morning was: "Grandfather, I must go down to grandmother. She is

expecting me."

Four days later the sun was shining and the tight-packed frozen snow

was crackling under every step. Heidi was sitting at the dinner-table,

imploring the old man to let her make the visit then, when he got up,

and fetching down her heavy cover, told her to follow him. They went

out into the glistening snow; no sound was heard and the snow-laden

fir-trees shone and glittered in the sun. Heidi in her transport was

running to and fro: "Grandfather, come out! Oh, look at the trees!

They are all covered with silver and gold," she called to the

grandfather, who had just come out of his workshop with a wide sled.

Wrapping the child up in her cover, he put her on the sled, holding

her fast. Off they started at such a pace that Heidi shouted for joy,

for she seemed to be flying like a bird. The sled had stopped in front

of Peter's hut, and grandfather said: "Go in. When it gets dark, start

on your way home." When he had unwrapped her, he turned homewards with

his sled.

[Illustration: OFF THEY STARTED AT SUCH A PACE THAT HEIDI SHOUTED FOR

JOY]

Opening the door, Heidi found herself in a tiny, dark kitchen, and

going through another door, she entered a narrow chamber. Near a table

a woman was seated, busy with mending Peter's coat, which Heidi had

recognized immediately. A bent old woman was sitting in a corner, and

Heidi, approaching her at once, said: "How do you do, grandmother? I

have come now, and I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long!"

Lifting her head, the grandmother sought for Heidi's hand. Feeling it

thoughtfully, she said: "Are you the little girl who lives up with the

uncle? Is your name Heidi?"

"Yes," Heidi replied. "The grandfather just brought me down in the

sled."

"How is it possible? Your hands are as warm as toast! Brigida, did the

uncle really come down with the child?"

Brigida, Peter's mother, had gotten up to look at the child. She said:

"I don't know if he did, but I don't think so. She probably doesn't

know."

Heidi, looking up, said quite decidedly: "I know that grandfather

wrapped me up in a cover when we coasted down together."

"Peter was right after all," said the grandmother. "We never thought

the child would live more than three weeks with him. Brigida, tell me

what she looks like."

"She has Adelheid's fine limbs and black eyes, and curly hair like

Tobias and the old man. I think she looks like both of them."

While the women were talking, Heidi had been taking in everything.

Then she said: "Grandmother, look at the shutter over there. It is

hanging loose. If grandfather were here, he would fasten it. It will

break the window-pane! Just look at it."

"What a sweet child you are," said the grandmother tenderly. "I can

hear it, but I cannot see it, child. This cottage rattles and creaks,

and when the wind blows, it comes in through every chink. Some day the

whole house will break to pieces and fall on top of us. If only Peter

knew how to mend it! We have no one else."

"Why, grandmother, can't you see the shutter?" asked Heidi.

"Child, I cannot see anything," lamented the old woman.

"Can you see it when I open the shutter to let in the light?"

"No, no, not even then. Nobody can ever show me the light again."

"But you can see when you go out into the snow, where everything is

bright. Come with me, grandmother, I'll show you!" and Heidi, taking

the old woman by the hand, tried to lead her out. Heidi was frightened

and got more anxious all the time.

"Just let me stay here, child. Everything is dark for me, and my poor

eyes can neither see the snow nor the light."

"But grandmother, does it not get light in the summer, when the sun

shines down on the mountains to say good-night, setting them all

aflame?"

"No, child, I can never see the fiery mountains any more. I have to

live in darkness, always."

Heidi burst out crying now and sobbed aloud. "Can nobody make it light

for you? Is there nobody who can do it, grandmother? Nobody?"

The grandmother tried all possible means to comfort the child; it

wrung her heart to see her terrible distress. It was awfully hard for

Heidi to stop crying when she had once begun, for she cried so seldom.

The grandmother said: "Heidi, let me tell you something. People who

cannot see love to listen to friendly words. Sit down beside me and

tell me all about yourself. Talk to me about your grandfather, for it

has been long since I have heard anything about him. I used to know

him very well."

Heidi suddenly wiped away her tears, for she had had a cheering

thought. "Grandmother, I shall tell grandfather about it, and I am

sure he can make it light for you. He can mend your little house and

stop the rattling."

The old woman remained silent, and Heidi, with the greatest vivacity,

began to describe her life with the grandfather. Listening

attentively, the two women would say to each other sometimes: "Do you

hear what she says about the uncle? Did you listen?"

Heidi's tale was interrupted suddenly by a great thumping on the door;

and who should come in but Peter. No sooner had he seen Heidi, than he

smiled, opening his round eyes as wide as possible. Heidi called,

"Good-evening, Peter!"

"Is it really time for him to come home!" exclaimed Peter's

grandmother. "How quickly the time has flown. Good-evening, little

Peter; how is your reading going?"

"Just the same," the boy replied.

"Oh, dear, I was hoping for a change at last. You are nearly twelve

years old, my boy."

"Why should there be a change?" inquired Heidi with greatest interest.

"I am afraid he'll never learn it after all. On the shelf over there

is an old prayer-book with beautiful songs. I have forgotten them all,

for I do not hear them any more. I longed that Peter should read them

to me some day, but he will never be able to!"

Peter's mother got up from her work now, saying, "I must make a light.

The afternoon has passed and now it's getting dark."

When Heidi heard those words, she started, and holding out her hand to

all, she said: "Good-night. I have to go, for it is getting dark." But

the anxious grandmother called out: "Wait, child, don't go up alone!

Go with her, Peter, and take care that she does not fall. Don't let

her get cold, do you hear? Has Heidi a shawl?"

"I haven't, but I won't be cold," Heidi called back, for she had

already escaped through the door. She ran so fast that Peter could

hardly follow her. The old woman frettingly called out: "Brigida, run

after her. Get a warm shawl, she'll freeze in this cold night. Hurry

up!" Brigida obeyed. The children had hardly climbed any distance,

when they saw the old man coming and with a few vigorous steps he

stood beside them.

"I am glad you kept your word, Heidi," he said; and packing her into

her cover, he started up the hill, carrying the child in his arms.

Brigida had come in time to see it, and told the grandmother what she

had witnessed.

"Thank God, thank God!" the old woman said. "I hope she'll come again;

she has done me so much good! What a soft heart she has, the darling,

and how nicely she can talk." All evening the grandmother said to

herself, "If only he lets her come again! I have something to look

forward to in this world now, thank God!"

Heidi could hardly wait before they reached the cottage. She had tried

to talk on the way, but no sound could be heard through the heavy

cover. As soon as they were inside the hut she began: "Grandfather, we

must take some nails and a hammer down tomorrow; a shutter is loose in

grandmother's house and many other places shake. Everything rattles in

her house."

"Is that so? Who says we must?"

"Nobody told me, but I know," Heidi replied. "Everything is loose in

the house, and poor grandmother told me she was afraid that the house

might tumble down. And grandfather, she cannot see the light. Can you

help her and make it light for her? How terrible it must be to be

afraid in the dark and nobody there to help you! Oh, please,

grandfather, do something to help her! I know you can."

Heidi had been clinging to her grandfather and looking up to him with

trusting eyes. At last he said, glancing down: "All right, child,

we'll see that it won't rattle any more. We can do it tomorrow."

Heidi was so overjoyed at these words that she danced around the room

shouting: "We'll do it tomorrow! We can do it tomorrow!"

The grandfather, keeping his word, took Heidi down the following day

with the same instructions as before. After Heidi had disappeared, he

went around the house inspecting it.

The grandmother, in her joy at seeing the child again, had stopped the

wheel and called: "Here is the child again! She has come again!"

Heidi, grasping her outstretched hands, sat herself on a low stool at

the old woman's feet and began to chat. Suddenly violent blows were

heard outside; the grandmother in her fright nearly upset the

spinning-wheel and screamed: "Oh, God, it has come at last. The hut is

tumbling down!"

"Grandmother, don't be frightened," said the child, while she put her

arms around her. "Grandfather is just fastening the shutter and fixing

everything for you."

"Is it possible? Has God not forgotten us after all? Brigida, have you

heard it? Surely that is a hammer. Ask him to come in a moment, if it

is he, for I must thank him."

When Brigida went out, she found the old man busy with putting a new

beam along the wall. Approaching him, she said: "Mother and I wish you

a good-afternoon. We are very much obliged to you for doing us such a

service, and mother would like to see you. There are few that would

have done it, uncle, and how can we thank you?"

"That will do," he interrupted. "I know what your opinion about me is.

Go in, for I can find what needs mending myself."

Brigida obeyed, for the uncle had a way that nobody could oppose. All

afternoon the uncle hammered around; he even climbed up on the roof,

where much was missing. At last he had to stop, for the last nail was

gone from his pocket. The darkness had come in the meantime, and

Heidi was ready to go up with him, packed warmly in his arms.

Thus the winter passed. Sunshine had come again into the blind woman's

life, and made her days less dark and dreary. Early every morning she

would begin to listen for Heidi's footsteps, and when the door was

opened and the child ran in, the grandmother exclaimed every time more

joyfully: "Thank God, she has come again!"

Heidi would talk about her life, and make the grandmother smile and

laugh, and in that way the hours flew by. In former times the old

woman had always sighed: "Brigida, is the day not over yet?" but now

she always exclaimed after Heidi's departure: "How quickly the

afternoon has gone by. Don't you think so, too, Brigida?" Her daughter

had to assent, for Heidi had long ago won her heart. "If only God will

spare us the child!" the grandmother would often say. "I hope the

uncle will always be kind, as he is now."--"Does Heidi look well,

Brigida?" was a frequent question, which always got a reassuring

answer.

Heidi also became very fond of the old grandmother, and when the

weather was fair, she visited her every day that winter. Whenever the

child remembered that the grandmother was blind, she would get very

sad; her only comfort was that her coming brought such happiness. The

grandfather soon had mended the cottage; often he would take down big

loads of timber, which he used to good purpose. The grandmother vowed

that no rattling could be heard any more, and that, thanks to the

uncle's kindness, she slept better that winter than she had done for

many a year.

[Illustration]

V

TWO VISITORS

Two winters had nearly passed. Heidi was happy, for the spring was

coming again, with the soft delicious wind that made the fir-trees

roar. Soon she would be able to go up to the pasture, where blue and

yellow flowers greeted her at every step. She was nearly eight years

old, and had learned to take care of the goats, who ran after her like

little dogs. Several times the village teacher had sent word by Peter

that the child was wanted in school, but the old man had not paid any

attention to the message and had kept her with him as before. It was a

beautiful morning in March. The snow had melted on the slopes, and was

going fast. Snowdrops were peeping through the ground, which seemed to

be getting ready for spring. Heidi was running to and fro before the

door, when she suddenly saw an old gentleman, dressed in black,

standing beside her. As she appeared frightened, he said kindly: "You

must not be afraid of me, for I love children. Give me your hand,

Heidi, and tell me where your grandfather is."

"He is inside, making round wooden spoons," the child replied, opening

the door while she spoke.

It was the old pastor of the village, who had known the grandfather

years ago. After entering, he approached the old man, saying:

"Good-morning, neighbor."

The old man got up, surprised, and offering a seat to the visitor,

said: "Good-morning, Mr. Parson. Here is a wooden chair, if it is good

enough."

Sitting down, the parson said: "It is long since I have seen you,

neighbor. I have come to-day to talk over a matter with you. I am sure

you can guess what it is about."

The clergyman here looked at Heidi, who was standing near the door.

"Heidi, run out to see the goats," said the grandfather, "and bring

them some salt; you can stay till I come."

Heidi disappeared on the spot. "The child should have come to school a

year ago," the parson went on to say. "Didn't you get the teacher's

warning? What do you intend to do with the child?"

"I do not want her to go to school," said the old man, unrelentingly.

"What do you want the child to be?"

"I want her to be free and happy as a bird!"

"But she is human, and it is high time for her to learn something. I

have come now to tell you about it, so that you can make your plans.

She must come to school next winter; remember that."

"I shan't do it, pastor!" was the reply.

"Do you think there is no way?" the clergyman replied, a little hotly.

"You know the world, for you have travelled far. What little sense you

show!"

"You think I am going to send this delicate child to school in every

storm and weather!" the old man said excitedly. "It is a two hours'

walk, and I shall not let her go; for the wind often howls so that it

chokes me if I venture out. Did you know Adelheid, her mother? She was

a sleep-walker, and had fainting-fits. Nobody shall compel me to let

her go; I will gladly fight it out in court."

"You are perfectly right," said the clergyman kindly. "You could not

send her to school from here. Why don't you come down to live among us

again? You are leading a strange life here; I wonder how you can keep

the child warm in winter."

"She has young blood and a good cover. I know where to find good wood,

and all winter I keep a fire going. I couldn't live in the village,

for the people there and I despise each other; we had better keep

apart."

"You are mistaken, I assure you! Make your peace with God, and then

you'll see how happy you will be."

The clergyman had risen, and holding out his hand, he said cordially:

"I shall count on you next winter, neighbor. We shall receive you

gladly, reconciled with God and man."

But the uncle replied firmly, while he shook his visitor by the hand:

"Thank you for your kindness, but you will have to wait in vain."

"God be with you," said the parson, and left him sadly.

The old man was out of humor that day, and when Heidi begged to go to

the grandmother, he only growled: "Not to-day." Next day they had

hardly finished their dinner, when another visitor arrived. It was

Heidi's aunt Deta; she wore a hat with feathers and a dress with such

a train that it swept up everything that lay on the cottage floor.

While the uncle looked at her silently, Deta began to praise him and

the child's red cheeks. She told him that it had not been her

intention to leave Heidi with him long, for she knew she must be in

his way. She had tried to provide for the child elsewhere, and at

last she had found a splendid chance for her. Very rich relations of

her lady, who owned the largest house in Frankfurt, had a lame

daughter. This poor little girl was confined to her rolling-chair and

needed a companion at her lessons. Deta had heard from her lady that a

sweet, quaint child was wanted as playmate and schoolmate for the

invalid. She had gone to the housekeeper and told her all about Heidi.

The lady, delighted with the idea, had told her to fetch the child at

once. She had come now, and it was a lucky chance for Heidi, "for one

never knew what might happen in such a case, and who could tell--"

"Have you finished?" the old man interrupted her at last.

"Why, one might think I was telling you the silliest things. There is

not a man in Prätiggan who would not thank God for such news."

"Bring them to somebody else, but not to me," said the uncle, coldly.

Deta, flaming up, replied: "Do you want to hear what I think? Don't I

know how old she is; eight years old and ignorant of everything. They

have told me that you refuse to send her to church and to school. She

is my only sister's child, and I shall not bear it, for I am

responsible. You do not care for her, how else could you be

indifferent to such luck. You had better give way or I shall get the

people to back me. If I were you, I would not have it brought to

court; some things might be warmed up that you would not care to hear

about."

"Be quiet!" the uncle thundered with flaming eyes. "Take her and ruin

her, but do not bring her before my sight again. I do not want to see

her with feathers in her hat and wicked words like yours."

With long strides he went out.

"You have made him angry!" said Heidi with a furious look.

"He won't be cross long. But come now, where are your things?" asked

Deta.

"I won't come," Heidi replied.

"What?" Deta said passionately. But changing her tone, she continued

in a more friendly manner: "Come now; you don't understand me. I am

taking you to the most beautiful place you have ever seen." After

packing up Heidi's clothes she said again, "Come, child, and take your

hat. It is not very nice, but we can't help it."

"I shall not come," was the reply.

"Don't be stupid and obstinate, like a goat. Listen to me. Grandfather

is sending us away and we must do what he commands, or he will get

more angry still. You'll see how fine it is in Frankfurt. If you do

not like it, you can come home again and by that time grandfather will

have forgiven us."

"Can I come home again to-night?" asked Heidi.

"Come now, I told you you could come back. If we get to Mayenfeld

today, we can take the train to-morrow. That will make you fly home

again in the shortest time!"

Holding the bundle, Deta led the child down the mountain. On their

way they met Peter, who had not gone to school that day. The boy

thought it was a more useful occupation to look for hazel-rods than to

learn to read, for he always needed the rods. He had had a most

successful day, for he carried an enormous bundle on his shoulder.

When he caught sight of Heidi and Deta, he asked them where they were

going.

"I am going to Frankfurt with Aunt Deta," Heidi replied; "but first I

must see grandmother, for she is waiting."

"Oh no, it is too late. You can see her when you come back, but not

now," said Deta, pulling Heidi along with her, for she was afraid that

the old woman might detain the child.

Peter ran into the cottage and hit the table with his rods. The

grandmother jumped up in her fright and asked him what that meant.

"They have taken Heidi away," Peter said with a groan.

"Who has, Peter? Where has she gone?" the unhappy grandmother asked.

Brigida had seen Deta walking up the footpath a short while ago and

soon they guessed what had happened. With a trembling hand the old

woman opened a window and called out as loudly as she could: "Deta,

Deta, don't take the child away. Don't take her from us."

When Heidi heard that she struggled to get free, and said: "I must go

to grandmother; she is calling me."

But Deta would not let her go. She urged her on by saying that she

might return soon again. She also suggested that Heidi might bring a

lovely present to the grandmother when she came back.

Heidi liked this prospect and followed Deta without more ado. After a

while she asked: "What shall I bring to the grandmother?"

"You might bring her some soft white rolls, Heidi. I think the black

bread is too hard for poor grandmother to eat."

"Yes, I know, aunt, she always gives it to Peter," Heidi confirmed

her. "We must go quickly now; we might get to Frankfurt today and

then I can be back tomorrow with the rolls."

[Illustration: WHEN HEIDI HEARD THAT SHE STRUGGLED TO GET FREE]

Heidi was running now, and Deta had to follow. She was glad enough to

escape the questions that people might ask her in the village. People

could see that Heidi was pulling her along, so she said: "I can't

stop. Don't you see how the child is hurrying? We have still far to

go," whenever she heard from all sides: "Are you taking her with you?"

"Is she running away from the uncle?" "What a wonder she is still

alive!" "What red cheeks she has," and so on. Soon they had escaped

and had left the village far behind them.

From that time on the uncle looked more angry than ever when he came

to the village. Everybody was afraid of him, and the women would warn

their children to keep out of his sight.

He came down but seldom, and then only to sell his cheese and buy his

provisions. Often people remarked how lucky it was that Heidi had left

him. They had seen her hurrying away, so they thought that she had

been glad to go.

The old grandmother alone stuck to him faithfully. Whenever anybody

came up to her, she would tell them what good care the old man had

taken of Heidi. She also told them that he had mended her little

house. These reports reached the village, of course, but people only

half believed them, for the grandmother was infirm and old. She began

her days with sighing again. "All happiness has left us with the

child. The days are so long and dreary, and I have no joy left. If

only I could hear Heidi's voice before I die," the poor old woman

would exclaim, day after day.

[Illustration]

VI

A NEW CHAPTER WITH NEW THINGS

In a beautiful house in Frankfurt lived a sick child by the name of

Clara Sesemann. She was sitting in a comfortable rolling-chair, which

could be pushed from room to room. Clara spent most of her time in the

study, where long rows of bookcases lined the walls. This room was

used as a living-room, and here she was also given her lessons.

Clara had a pale, thin face with soft blue eyes, which at that moment

were watching the clock impatiently. At last she said: "Oh Miss

Rottenmeier, isn't it time yet?"

The lady so addressed was the housekeeper, who had lived with Clara

since Mrs. Sesemann's death. Miss Rottenmeier wore a peculiar uniform

with a long cape, and a high cap on her head. Clara's father, who was

away from home a great deal, left the entire management of the house

to this lady, on the condition that his daughter's wishes should

always be considered.

While Clara was waiting, Deta had arrived at the front door with

Heidi. She was asking the coachman who had brought her if she could go

upstairs.

"That's not my business," grumbled the coachman; "you must ring for

the butler."

Sebastian, the butler, a man with large brass buttons on his coat,

soon stood before her.

"May I see Miss Rottenmeier?" Deta asked.

"That's not my business," the butler announced. "Ring for Tinette, the

maid." With that, he disappeared.

Deta, ringing again, saw a girl with a brilliant white cap on her

head, coming down the stairway. The maid stopped half-way down and

asked scornfully: "What do you want?"

Deta repeated her wish again. Tinette told her to wait while she went

upstairs, but it did not take long before the two were asked to come

up.

Following the maid, they found themselves in the study. Deta held on

to Heidi's hand and stayed near the door.

Miss Rottenmeier, slowly getting up, approached the newcomers. She did

not seem pleased with Heidi, who wore her hat and shawl and was

looking up at the lady's headdress with innocent wonder.

"What is your name?" the lady asked.

"Heidi," was the child's clear answer.

"What? Is that a Christian name? What name did you receive in

baptism?" inquired the lady again.

"I don't remember that any more," the child replied.

"What an answer! What does that mean?" said the housekeeper, shaking

her head. "Is the child ignorant or pert, Miss Deta?"

"I shall speak for the child, if I may, madam," Deta said, after

giving Heidi a little blow for her unbecoming answer. "The child has

never been in such a fine house and does not know how to behave. I

hope the lady will forgive her manners. She is called Adelheid after

her mother, who was my sister."

"Oh well, that is better. But Miss Deta, the child seems peculiar for

her age. I thought I told you that Miss Clara's companion would have

to be twelve years old like her, to be able to share her studies. How

old is Adelheid?"

"I am sorry, but I am afraid she is somewhat younger than I thought. I

think she is about ten years old."

"Grandfather said that I was eight years old," said Heidi now. Deta

gave her another blow, but as the child had no idea why, she did not

get embarrassed.

"What, only eight years old!" Miss Rottenmeier exclaimed indignantly.

"How can we get along? What have you learned? What books have you

studied?"

"None," said Heidi.

"But how did you learn to read?"

"I can't read and Peter can't do it either," Heidi retorted.

"For mercy's sake! you cannot read?" cried the lady in her surprise.

"How is it possible? What else have you studied?"

"Nothing," replied Heidi, truthfully.

"Miss Deta, how could you bring this child?" said the housekeeper,

when she was more composed.

Deta, however, was not easily intimidated, and said: "I am sorry, but

I thought this child would suit you. She _is_ small, but older

children are often spoilt and not like her. I must go now, for my

mistress is waiting. As soon as I can, I'll come to see how the child

is getting along." With a bow she was outside and with a few quick

steps hurried down-stairs.

Miss Rottenmeier followed her and tried to call her back, for she

wanted to ask Deta a number of questions.

Heidi was still standing on the same spot. Clara had watched the

scene, and called to the child now to come to her.

Heidi approached the rolling-chair.

"Do you want to be called Heidi or Adelheid?" asked Clara.

"My name is Heidi and nothing else," was the child's answer.

"I'll call you Heidi then, for I like it very much," said Clara. "I

have never heard the name before. What curly hair you have! Was it

always like that?"

"I think so."

"Did you like to come to Frankfurt?" asked Clara again.

"Oh, no, but then I am going home again to-morrow, and shall bring

grandmother some soft white rolls," Heidi explained.

"What a curious child you are," said Clara. "You have come to

Frankfurt to stay with me, don't you know that? We shall have our

lessons together, and I think it will be great fun when you learn to

read. Generally the morning seems to have no end, for Mr. Candidate

comes at ten and stays till two. That is a long time, and he has to

yawn himself, he gets so tired. Miss Rottenmeier and he both yawn

together behind their books, but when I do it, Miss Rottenmeier makes

me take cod-liver oil and says that I am ill. So I must swallow my

yawns, for I hate the oil. What fun it will be now, when you learn to

read!"

Heidi shook her head doubtfully at these prospects.

"Everybody must learn to read, Heidi. Mr. Candidate is very patient

and will explain it all to you. You won't know what he means at first,

for it is difficult to understand him. It won't take long to learn,

though, and then you will know what he means."

When Miss Rottenmeier found that she was unable to recall Deta, she

came back to the children. She was in a very excited mood, for she

felt responsible for Heidi's coming and did not know how to cancel

this unfortunate step. She soon got up again to go to the dining-room,

criticising the butler and giving orders to the maid. Sebastian, not

daring to show his rage otherwise, noisily opened the folding doors.

When he went up to Clara's chair, he saw Heidi watching him intently.

At last she said: "You look like Peter."

Miss Rottenmeier was horrified with this remark, and sent them all

into the dining-room. After Clara was lifted on to her chair, the

housekeeper sat down beside her. Heidi was motioned to sit opposite

the lady. In that way they were placed at the enormous table. When

Heidi saw a roll on her plate, she turned to Sebastian, and pointing

at it, asked, "Can I have this?" Heidi had already great confidence in

the butler, especially on account of the resemblance she had

discovered. The butler nodded, and when he saw Heidi put the bread in

her pocket, could hardly keep from laughing. He came to Heidi now with

a dish of small baked fishes. For a long time the child did not move;

then turning her eyes to the butler, she said: "Must I eat that?"

Sebastian nodded, but another pause ensued. "Why don't you give it to

me?" the child quietly asked, looking at her plate. The butler, hardly

able to keep his countenance, was told to place the dish on the table

and leave the room.

When he was gone, Miss Rottenmeier explained to Heidi with many signs

how to help herself at table. She also told her never to speak to

Sebastian unless it was important. After that the child was told how

to accost the servants and the governess. When the question came up of

how to call Clara, the older girl said, "Of course you shall call me

Clara."

A great many rules followed now about behavior at all times, about the

shutting of doors and about going to bed, and a hundred other things.

Poor Heidi's eyes were closing, for she had risen at five that

morning, and leaning against her chair she fell asleep. When Miss

Rottenmeier had finished instructions, she said: "I hope you will

remember everything, Adelheid. Did you understand me?"

"Heidi went to sleep a long time ago," said Clara, highly amused.

"It is atrocious what I have to bear with this child," exclaimed Miss

Rottenmeier, ringing the bell with all her might. When the two

servants arrived, they were hardly able to rouse Heidi enough to show

her to her bed-room.

VII

MISS ROTTENMEIER HAS AN UNCOMFORTABLE DAY

When Heidi opened her eyes next morning, she did not know where she

was. She found herself on a high white bed in a spacious room. Looking

around she observed long white curtains before the windows, several

chairs, and a sofa covered with cretonne; in a corner she saw a

wash-stand with many curious things standing on it.

Suddenly Heidi remembered all the happenings of the previous day.

Jumping out of bed, she dressed in a great hurry. She was eager to

look at the sky and the ground below, as she had always done at home.

What was her disappointment when she found that the windows were too

high for her to see anything except the walls and windows opposite.

Trying to open them, she turned from one to the other, but in vain.

The poor child felt like a little bird that is placed in a glittering

cage for the first time. At last she had to resign herself, and sat

down on a low stool, thinking of the melting snow on the slopes and

the first flowers of spring that she had hailed with such delight.

Suddenly Tinette opened the door and said curtly: "Breakfast's ready."

Heidi did not take this for a summons, for the maid's face was

scornful and forbidding. She was waiting patiently for what would

happen next, when Miss Rottenmeier burst into the room, saying: "What

is the matter, Adelheid? Didn't you understand? Come to breakfast!"

Heidi immediately followed the lady into the dining-room, where Clara

greeted her with a smile. She looked much happier than usual, for she

expected new things to happen that day. When breakfast had passed

without disturbance, the two children were allowed to go into the

library together and were soon left alone.

"How can I see down to the ground?" Heidi asked.

"Open a window and peep out," replied Clara, amused at the question.

"But it is impossible to open them," Heidi said, sadly.

"Oh no. You can't do it and I can't help you, either, but if you ask

Sebastian he'll do it for you."

Heidi was relieved. The poor child had felt like a prisoner in her

room. Clara now asked Heidi what her home had been like, and Heidi

told her gladly about her life in the hut.

The tutor had arrived in the meantime, but he was not asked to go to

the study as usual. Miss Rottenmeier was very much excited about

Heidi's coming and all the complications that arose therefrom. She was

really responsible for it, having arranged everything herself. She

presented the unfortunate case before the teacher, for she wanted him

to help her to get rid of the child. Mr. Candidate, however, was

always careful of his judgments, and not afraid of teaching beginners.

When the lady saw that he would not side with her, she let him enter

the study alone, for the A,B,C held great horrors for her. While she

considered many problems, a frightful noise as of something falling

was heard in the adjoining room, followed by a cry to Sebastian for

help. Running in, she beheld a pile of books and papers on the floor,

with the table-cover on top. A black stream of ink flowed across the

length of the room. Heidi had disappeared.

"There," Miss Rottenmeier exclaimed, wringing her hands. "Everything

drenched with ink. Did such a thing ever happen before? This child

brings nothing but misfortunes on us."