Books: Heidi

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"Then everything goes wrong, for God lets us then go where we
like, and when we get poor and miserable and begin to cry about
it no one pities us, but they say, You ran away from God, and so
God, who could have helped you, left you to yourself."

"That is true, Heidi; where did you learn that?"

"From grandmamma; she explained it all to me."

The grandfather walked on for a little while without speaking,
then he said, as if following his own train of thought: "And if
it once is so, it is so always; no one can go back, and he whom
God has forgotten, is forgotten for ever."

"Oh, no, grandfather, we can go back, for grandmamma told me so,
and so it was in the beautiful tale in my book--but you have not
heard that yet; but we shall be home directly now, and then I
will read it you, and you will see how beautiful it is." And in
her eagerness Heidi struggled faster and faster up the steep
ascent, and they were no sooner at the top than she let go her
grandfather's hand and ran into the hut. The grandfather slung
the basket off his shoulders in which he had brought up a part
of the contents of the trunk which was too heavy to carry up as
it was. Then he sat down on his seat and began thinking.

Heidi soon came running out with her book under her arm. "That's
right, grandfather," she exclaimed as she saw he had already
taken his seat, and in a second she was beside him and had her
book open at the particular tale, for she had read it so often
that the leaves fell open at it of their own accord. And now in
a sympathetic voice Heidi began to read of the son when he was
happily at home, and went out into the fields with his father's
flocks, and was dressed in a fine cloak, and stood leaning on
his shepherd's staff watching as the sun went down, just as he
was to be seen in the picture. But then all at once he wanted to
have his own goods and money and to be his own master, and so he
asked his father to give him his portion, and he left his home
and went and wasted all his substance. And when he had nothing
left he hired himself out to a master who had no flocks and
fields like his father, but only swine to keep; and so he was
obliged to watch these, and he only had rags to wear and a few
husks to eat such as the swine fed upon. And then he thought of
his old happy life at home and of how kindly his father had
treated him and how ungrateful he had been, and he wept for
sorrow and longing. And he thought to himself, "I will arise and
go to my father, and will say to him, 'Father, I am not worthy to
be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.'" And
when he was yet a great way off his father saw him . . . Here
Heidi paused in her reading. "What do you think happens now,
grandfather?" she said. "Do you think the father is still angry
and will say to him, 'I told you so!' Well, listen now to what
comes next." His father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and
fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said to him,
"Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight, and am no
more worthy to be called thy son." But the father said to his
servants, "Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put
a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet: and bring hither the
fatted calf and kill it; and let us eat and be merry, for this my
son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." And
they began to be merry.

"Isn't that a beautiful tale, grandfather," said Heidi, as the
latter continued to sit without speaking, for she had expected
him to express pleasure and astonishment.

"You are right, Heidi; it is a beautiful tale," he replied, but
he looked so grave as he said it that Heidi grew silent herself
and sat looking quietly at her pictures. Presently she pushed
her book gently in front of him and said, "See how happy he is
there," and she pointed with her finger to the figure of the
returned prodigal, who was standing by his father clad in fresh
raiment as one of his own sons again.

A few hours later, as Heidi lay fast asleep in her bed, the
grandfather went up the ladder and put his lamp down near her
bed so that the light fell on the sleeping child. Her hands were
still folded as if she had fallen asleep saying her prayers, an
expression of peace and trust lay on the little face, and
something in it seemed to appeal to the grandfather, for he
stood a long time gazing down at her without speaking. At last he
too folded his hands, and with bowed head said in a low voice,
"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee and am not
worthy to be called thy son." And two large tears rolled down
the old man's cheeks.

Early the next morning he stood in front of his hut and gazed
quietly around him. The fresh bright morning sun lay on mountain
and valley. The sound of a few early bells rang up from the
valley, and the birds were singing their morning song in the fir
trees. He stepped back into the hut and called up, "Come along,
Heidi! the sun is up! Put on your best frock, for we are going
to church together!"

Heidi was not long getting ready; it was such an unusual summons
from her grandfather that she must make haste. She put on her
smart Frankfurt dress and soon went down, but when she saw her
grandfather she stood still, gazing at him in astonishment.
"Why, grandfather!" she exclaimed, "I never saw you look like
that before! and the coat with the silver buttons! Oh, you do
look nice in your Sunday coat!"

The old man smiled and replied, "And you too; now come along!"
He took Heidi's hand in his and together they walked down the
mountain side. The bells were ringing in every direction now,
sounding louder and fuller as they neared the valley, and Heidi
listened to them with delight. "Hark at them, grandfather! it's
like a great festival!"

The congregation had already assembled and the singing had begun
when Heidi and her grandfather entered the church at Dorfli and
sat down at the back. But before the hymn was over every one was
nudging his neighbor and whispering, "Do you see? Alm-Uncle is
in church!"

Soon everybody in the church knew of Alm-Uncle's presence, and
the women kept on turning round to look and quite lost their
place in the singing. But everybody became more attentive when
the sermon began, for the preacher spoke with such warmth and
thankfulness that those present felt the effect of his words, as
if some great joy had come to them all. At the close of the
service Alm-Uncle took Heidi by the hand, and on leaving the
church made his way towards the pastor's house; the rest of the
congregation looked curiously after him, some even following to
see whether he went inside the pastor's house, which he did.
Then they collected in groups and talked over this strange event,
keeping their eyes on the pastor's door, watching to see whether
Alm-Uncle came out looking angry and quarrelsome, or as if the
interview had been a peaceful one, for they could not imagine
what had brought the old man down, and what it all meant. Some,
however, adopted a new tone and expressed their opinion that Alm-
Uncle was not so bad after all as they thought, "for see how
carefully he took the little one by the hand." And others
responded and said they had always thought people had
exaggerated about him, that if he was so downright bad he would
be afraid to go inside the pastor's house. Then the miller put in
his word, "Did I not tell you so from the first? What child is
there who would run away from where she had plenty to eat and
drink and everything of the best, home to a grandfather who was
cruel and unkind, and of whom she was afraid?"

And so everybody began to feel quite friendly towards Alm-Uncle,
and the women now came up and related all they had been told by
Peter and his grandmother, and finally they all stood there like
people waiting for an old friend whom they had long missed from
among their number.

Meanwhile Alm-Uncle had gone into the pastor's house and knocked
at the study door. The latter came out and greeted him, not as
if he was surprised to see him, but as if he had quite expected
to see him there; he probably had caught sight of the old man in
church. He shook hands warmly with him, and Alm-Uncle was unable
at first to speak, for he had not expected such a friendly
reception. At last he collected himself and said, "I have come
to ask you, pastor, to forget the words I spoke to you when you
called on me, and to beg you not to owe me ill-will for having
been so obstinately set against your well-meant advice. You were
right, and I was wrong, but I have now made up my mind to follow
your advice and to find a place for myself at Dorfli for the
winter, for the child is not strong enough to stand the bitter
cold up on the mountain. And if the people down here look
askance at me, as at a person not to be trusted, I know it is my
own fault, and you will, I am sure, not do so."

The pastor's kindly eyes shone with pleasure. He pressed the old
man's hand in his, and said with emotion, "Neighbor, you went
into the right church before you came to mine; I am greatly
rejoiced. You will not repent coming to live with us again; as
for myself you will always be welcome as a dear friend and
neighbor, and I look forward to our spending many a pleasant
winter evening together, for I shall prize your companionship,
and we will find some nice friends too for the little one." And
the pastor laid his hand kindly on the child's curly head and
took her by the hand as he walked to the door with the old man.
He did not say good-bye to him till they were standing outside,
so that all the people standing about saw him shake hands as if
parting reluctantly from his best friend. The door had hardly
shut behind him before the whole congregation now came forward
to greet Alm-Uncle, every one striving to be the first to shake
hands with him, and so many were held out that Alm-Uncle did not
know with which to begin; and some said, "We are so pleased to
see you among us again," and another, "I have long been wishing
we could have a talk together again," and greetings of all kinds
echoed from every side, and when Alm-Uncle told them he was
thinking of returning to his old quarters in Dorfli for the
winter, there was such a general chorus of pleasure that any one
would have thought he was the most beloved person in all Dorfli,
and that they had hardly known how to live without him. Most of
his friends accompanied him and Heidi some way up the mountain,
and each as they bid him good-bye made him promise that when he
next came down he would without fail come and call. As the old
man at last stood alone with the child, watching their
retreating figures, there was a light upon his face as if
reflected from some inner sunshine of heart. Heidi, looking up at
him with her clear steady eyes, said, "Grandfather, you look
nicer and nicer to-day, I never saw you quite like that before."

"Do you think so?" he answered with a smile. "Well, yes, Heidi,
I am happier to-day than I deserve, happier than I had thought
possible; it is good to be at peace with God and man! God was
good to me when He sent you to my hut."

When they reached Peter's home the grandfather opened the door
and walked straight in. "Good-morning, grandmother," he said. "I
think we shall have to do some more patching, up before the
autumn winds come."

"Dear God, if it is not Uncle!" cried the grandmother in pleased
surprise. "That I should live to see such a thing! and now I can
thank you for all that you have done for me. May God reward you!
may God reward you!" She stretched out a trembling hand to him,
and when the grandfather shook it warmly, she went on, still
holding his, "And I have something on my heart I want to say, a
prayer to make to you! If I have injured you in any way, do not
punish me by sending the child away again before I lie under the
grass. Oh, you do not know what that child is to me!" and she
clasped the child to her, for Heidi had already taken her usual
stand close to the grandmother.

"Have no fear, grandmother," said Uncle in a reassuring voice,
"I shall not punish either you or myself by doing so. We are all
together now, and pray God we may continue so for long."

Brigitta now drew the Uncle aside towards a corner of the room
and showed him the hat with the feathers, explaining to him how
it came there, and adding that of course she could not take such
a thing from a child.

But the grandfather looked towards Heidi without any displeasure
of countenance and said, "The hat is hers, and if she does not
wish to wear it any more she has a right to say so and to give
it to you, so take it, pray."

Brigitta was highly delighted at this. "It is well worth more
than ten shillings!" she said as she held it up for further
admiration. "And what a blessing Heidi has brought home with her
from Frankfurt! I have thought sometimes that it might be good
to send Peter there for a little while; what do you think,
Uncle?"

A merry look came into the grandfather's eye. He thought it
would do Peter no harm, but he had better wait for a good
opportunity before starting. At this moment the subject of their
conversation himself rushed in, evidently in a great hurry,
knocking his head violently against the door in his haste, so
that everything in the room rattled. Gasping and breathless he
stood still after this and held out a letter. This was another
great event, for such a thing had never happened before; the
letter was addressed to Heidi and had been delivered at the post-
office in Dorfli. They all sat down round the table to hear what
was in it, for Heidi opened it at once and read it without
hesitation. The letter was from Clara. The latter wrote that the
house had been so dull since Heidi left that she did not know how
to bear herself, and she had at last persuaded her father to take
her to the baths at Ragatz in the coming autumn; grandmamma had
arranged to join them there, and they both were looking forward
to paying her and her grandfather a visit. And grandmamma sent a
further message to Heidi which was that the latter had done quite
right to take the rolls to the grandmother, and so that she might
not have to eat them dry, she was sending some coffee, which was
already on its way, and grandmamma hoped when she came to the
Alm in the autumn that Heidi would take her to see her old
friend.

There were exclamations of pleasure and astonishment on hearing
all this news, and so much to talk and ask about that even the
grandfather did not notice how the time was passing; there was
general delight at the thought of the coming days, and even more
at the meeting which had taken place on this one, and the
grandmother spoke and said, "The happiest of all things is when
an old friend comes and greets us as in former times; the heart
is comforted with the assurance that some day everything that we
have loved will be given back to us.--You will come soon again,
uncle, and you child, to-morrow?"

The old man and Heidi promised her faithfully to do so; then it
was time to break up the party, and these two went back up the
mountain. As they had been greeted with bells when they made
their journey down in the morning, so now they were accompanied
by the peaceful evening chimes as they climbed to the hut, which
had quite a Sunday-like appearance as it stood bathed in the
light of the low evening sun.

But when grandmamma comes next autumn there will be many fresh
joys and surprises both for Heidi and grandmother; without doubt
a proper bed will be put up in the hay-loft, for wherever
grandmamma steps in, there everything is soon in right order,
outside and in.

CHAPTER XV. PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY

The kind doctor who had given the order that Heidi was to be
sent home was walking along one of the broad streets towards Herr
Sesemann's house. It was a sunny September morning, so full of
light and sweetness that it seemed as if everybody must rejoice.
But the doctor walked with his eyes fastened to the ground and
did not once lift them to the blue sky above him. There was an
expression of sadness on his face, formerly so cheerful, and his
hair had grown greyer since the spring. The doctor had had an
only daughter, who, after his wife's death, had been his sole
and constant companion, but only a few months previously death
had deprived him of his dear child, and he had never been the
same bright and cheery man since.

Sebastian opened the door to him, greeting him with every mark
of respectful civility, for the doctor was not only the most
cherished friend of the master and his daughter, but had by his
kindness won the hearts of the whole household.

"Everything as usual, Sebastian?" asked the doctor in his
pleasant voice as he preceded Sebastian up the stairs.

"I am glad you have come, doctor," exclaimed Herr Sesemann as
the latter entered. "We must really have another talk over this
Swiss journey; do you still adhere to your decision, even though
Clara is decidedly improving in health?"

"My dear Sesemann, I never knew such a man as you!" said the
doctor as he sat down beside his friend. "I really wish your
mother was here; everything would be clear and straightforward
then and she would soon put things in right train. You sent for
me three times yesterday only to ask me the same question,
though you know what I think."

"Yes, I know, it's enough to make you out of patience with me;
but you must understand, dear friend"--and Herr Sesemann laid
his hand imploringly on the doctor's shoulder--"that I feel I
have not the courage to refuse the child what I have been
promising her all along, and for months now she has been living
on the thought of it day and night. She bore this last bad attack
so patiently because she was buoyed up with the hope that she
should soon start on her Swiss journey, and see her friend Heidi
again; and now must I tell the poor child, who has to give up so
many pleasures, that this visit she has so long looked forward to
must also be cancelled? I really have not the courage to do it."

"You must make up your mind to it, Sesemann," said the doctor
with authority, and as his friend continued silent and dejected
he went on after a pause, "Consider yourself how the matter
stands. Clara has not had such a bad summer as this last one for
years. Only the worst results would follow from the fatigue of
such a journey, and it is out of the question for her. And then
we are already in September, and although it may still be warm
and fine up there, it may just as likely be already very cold.
The days too are growing short, and as Clara cannot spend the
night up there she would only have a two hours' visit at the
outside. The journey from Ragatz would take hours, for she would
have to be carried up the mountain in a chair. In short,
Sesemann, it is impossible. But I will go in with you and talk
to Clara; she is a reasonable child, and I will tell her what my
plans are. Next May she shall be taken to the baths and stay
there for the cure until it is quite hot weather. Then she can
be carried up the mountain from time to time, and when she is
stronger she will enjoy these excursions far more than she would
now. Understand, Sesemann, that if we want to give the child a
chance of recovery we must use the utmost care and
watchfulness."

Herr Sesemann, who had listened to the doctor in sad and
submissive silence, now suddenly jumped up. "Doctor," he said,
"tell me truly: have you really any hope of her final recovery?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Very little," he replied
quietly. "But, friend, think of my trouble. You have still a
beloved child to look for you and greet you on your return home.
You do not come back to an empty house and sit down to a
solitary meal. And the child is happy and comfortable at home
too. If there is much that she has to give up, she has on the
other hand many advantages. No, Sesemann, you are not so greatly
to be pitied--you have still the happiness of being together.
Think of my lonely house!"

Herr Sesemann was now striding up and down the room as was his
habit when deeply engaged in thought. Suddenly he came to a
pause beside his friend and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Doctor, I have an idea; I cannot bear to see you look as you do;
you are no longer the same man. You must be taken out of yourself
for a while, and what do you think I propose? That you shall take
the journey and go and pay Heidi a visit in our name."

The doctor was taken aback at this sudden proposal and wanted to
make objections, but his friend gave him no time to say
anything. He was so delighted with his idea, that he seized the
doctor by the arm and drew him into Clara's room. The kind doctor
was always a welcome visitor to Clara, for he generally had
something amusing to tell her. Lately, it is true, he had been
graver, but Clara knew the reason why and would have given much
to see him his old lively self again. She held out her hand to
him as he came up to her; he took a seat beside her, and her
father also drew up his chair, and taking Clara's hand in his
began to talk to her of the Swiss journey and how he himself had
looked forward to it. He passed as quickly as he could over the
main point that it was now impossible for her to undertake it,
for he dreaded the tears that would follow; but he went on
without pause to tell her of his new plan, and dwelt on the great
benefit it would be to his friend if he could be persuaded to
take this holiday.

The tears were indeed swimming in the blue eyes, although Clara
struggled to keep them down for her father's sake, but it was a
bitter disappointment to give up the journey, the thought of
which had been her only joy and solace during the lonely hours
of her long illness. She knew, however, that her father would
never refuse her a thing unless he was certain that it would be
harmful for her. So she swallowed her tears as well as she could
and turned her thoughts to the one hope still left her. Taking
the doctor's hand and stroking it, she said pleadingly,--

"Dear doctor, you will go and see Heidi, won't you? and then you
can come and tell me all about it, what it is like up there, and
what Heidi and the grandfather, and Peter and the goats do all
day. I know them all so well! And then you can take what I want
to send to Heidi; I have thought about it all, and also
something for the grandmother. Do pray go, dear doctor, and I
will take as much cod liver oil as you like."

Whether this promise finally decided the doctor it is impossible
to say, but it is certain that he smiled and said,--

"Then I must certainly go, Clara, for you will then get as plump
and strong as your father and I wish to see you. And have you
decided when I am to start?"

"To-morrow morning--early if possible," replied Clara.

"Yes, she is right," put in Herr Sesemann; "the sun is shining
and the sky is blue, and there is no time to be lost; it is a
pity to miss a single one of these days on the mountain."

The doctor could not help laughing. "You will be reproaching me
next for not being there already; well, I must go and make
arrangements for getting off."

But Clara would not let him go until she had given him endless
messages for Heidi, and had explained all he was to look at so
as to give her an exact description on his return. Her presents
she would send round later, as Fraulein Rottenmeier must first
help her to pack them up; at that moment she was out on one of
her excursions into the town which always kept her engaged for
some time. The doctor promised to obey Clara's directions in
every particular; he would start some time during the following
day if not the first thing in the morning, and would bring back a
faithful account of his experiences and of all he saw and heard.

The servants of a household have a curious faculty of divining
what is going on before they are actually told about anything.
Sebastian and Tinette must have possessed this faculty in a high
degree, for even as the doctor was going downstairs, Tinette,
who had been rung for, entered Clara's room.

"Take that box and bring it back filled with the soft cakes
which we have with coffee," said Clara, pointing to a box which
had been brought long before in preparation for this. Tinette
took it up, and carried it out, dangling it contemptuously in her
hand.

"Hardly worth the trouble I should have thought," she said
pertly as she left the room.

As Sebastian opened the door for the doctor he said with a bow,
"Will the Herr Doctor be so kind as to give the little miss my
greetings?"

"I see," said the doctor, "you know then already that I am off
on a journey."

Sebastian hesitated and gave an awkward little cough. "I am--I
have--I hardly know myself. O yes, I remember; I happened to
pass through the dining-room and caught little miss's name, and I
put two and two together--and so I thought--"

"I see, I see," smiled the doctor, "one can find out a great
many thinks by thinking. Good-bye till I see you again,
Sebastian, I will be sure and give your message."

The doctor was hastening off when he met with a sudden obstacle;
the violent wind had prevented Fraulein Rottenmeier prosecuting
her walk any farther, and she was just returning and had reached
the door as he was coming out. The white shawl she wore was so
blown out by the wind that she looked like a ship in full sail.
The doctor drew back, but Fraulein Rottenmeier had always
evinced peculiar appreciation and respect for this man, and she
also drew back with exaggerated politeness to let him pass. The
two stood for a few seconds, each anxious to make way for the
other, but a sudden gust of wind sent Fraulein Rottenmeier flying
with all her sails almost into the doctor's arms, and she had to
pause and recover herself before she could shake hands with the
doctor with becoming decorum. She was put out at having been
forced to enter in so undignified a manner, but the doctor had a
way of smoothing people's ruffled feathers, and she was soon
listening with her usual composure while he informed her of his
intended journey, begging her in his most conciliatory voice to
pack up the parcels for Heidi as she alone knew how to pack. And
then he took his leave.

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