Heidi (8 page)

So the winter went by. After many years of joyless life, the
blind grandmother had at last found something to make her happy;
her days were no longer passed in weariness and darkness, one
like the other without pleasure or change, for now she had
always something to which she could look forward. She listened
for the little tripping footstep as soon as day had come, and
when she heard the door open and knew the child was really there,
she would call out, "God be thanked, she has come again!" And
Heidi would sit by her and talk and tell her everything she knew
in so lively a manner that the grandmother never noticed how the
time went by, and never now as formerly asked Brigitta, "Isn't
the day done yet?" but as the child shut the door behind her on
leaving, would exclaim, "How short the afternoon has seemed;
don't you think so, Brigitta?" And this one would answer, "I do
indeed; it seems as if I had only just cleared away the mid-day
meal." And the grandmother would continue, "Pray God the child is
not taken from me, and that Alm-Uncle continues to let her come!
Does she look well and strong, Brigitta?" And the latter would
answer, "She looks as bright and rosy as an apple."

And Heidi had also grown very fond of the old grandmother, and
when at last she knew for certain that no one could make it
light for her again, she was overcome with sorrow; but the
grandmother told her again that she felt the darkness much less
when Heidi was with her, and so every fine winter's day the child
came travelling down in her sleigh. The grandfather always took
her, never raising any objection, indeed he always carried the
hammer and sundry other things down in the sleigh with him, and
many an afternoon was spent by him in making the goatherd's
cottage sound and tight. It no longer groaned and rattled the
whole night through, and the grandmother, who for many winters
had not been able to sleep in peace as she did now, said she
should never forget what the Uncle had done for her.

Quickly the winter passed, and still more quickly the bright
glad summer, and now another winter was drawing to its close.
Heidi was still as light-hearted and happy as the birds, and
looked forward with more delight each day to the coming spring,
when the warm south wind would roar through the fir trees and
blow away the snow, and the warm sun would entice the blue and
yellow flowers to show their heads, and the long days out on the
mountain would come again, which seemed to Heidi the greatest
joy that the earth could give. Heidi was now in her eighth year;
she had learnt all kinds of useful things from her grandfather;
she knew how to look after the goats as well as any one, and
Little Swan and Bear would follow her like two faithful dogs, and
give a loud bleat of pleasure when they heard her voice. Twice
during the course of this last winter Peter had brought up a
message from the schoolmaster at Dorfli, who sent word to Alm-
Uncle that he ought to send Heidi to school, as she was over the
usual age, and ought indeed to have gone the winter before. Uncle
had sent word back each time that the schoolmaster would find him
at home if he had anything he wished to say to him, but that he
did not intend to send Heidi to school, and Peter had faithfully
delivered his message.

When the March sun had melted the snow on the mountain side and
the snowdrops were peeping out all over the valley, and the fir
trees had shaken off their burden of snow and were again merrily
waving their branches in the air, Heidi ran backwards and
forwards with delight first to the goat-shed then to the fir-
trees, and then to the hut-door, in order to let her grandfather
know how much larger a piece of green there was under the trees,
and then would run off to look again, for she could hardly wait
till everything was green and the full beautiful summer had
clothed the mountain with grass and flowers. As Heidi was thus
running about one sunny March morning, and had just jumped over
the water-trough for the tenth time at least, she nearly fell
backwards into it with fright, for there in front of her, looking
gravely at her, stood an old gentleman dressed in black. When he
saw how startled she was, he said in a kind voice, "Don't be
afraid of me, for I am very fond of children. Shake hands! You
must be the Heidi I have heard of; where is your grandfather?"

"He is sitting by the table, making round wooden spoons," Heidi
informed him, as she opened the door.

He was the old village pastor from Dorfli who had been a
neighbor of Uncle's when he lived down there, and had known him
well. He stepped inside the hut, and going up to the old man, who
was bending over his work, said, "Good-morning, neighbor."

The grandfather looked up in surprise, and then rising said,
"Good-morning" in return. He pushed his chair towards the
visitor as he continued, "If you do not mind a wooden seat there
is one for you."

The pastor sat down. "It is a long time since I have seen you,
neighbor," he said.

"Or I you," was the answer.

"I have come to-day to talk over something with you," continued
the pastor. "I think you know already what it is that has
brought me here," and as he spoke he looked towards the child who
was standing at the door, gazing with interest and surprise at
the stranger.

"Heidi, go off to the goats," said her grandfather. "You take
them a little salt and stay with them till I come."

Heidi vanished on the spot.

"The child ought to have been at school a year ago, and most
certainly this last winter," said the pastor. "The schoolmaster
sent you word about it, but you gave him no answer. What are you
thinking of doing with the child, neighbor?"

"I am thinking of not sending her to school," was the answer.

The visitor, surprised, looked across at the old man, who was
sitting on his bench with his arms crossed and a determined
expression about his whole person.

"How are you going to let her grow up then?" he asked.

"I am going to let her grow up and be happy among the goats and
birds; with them she is safe, and will learn nothing evil."

"But the child is not a goat or a bird, she is a human being. If
she learns no evil from these comrades of hers, she will at the
same time learn nothing; but she ought not to grow up in
ignorance, and it is time she began her lessons. I have come now
that you may have leisure to think over it, and to arrange about
it during the summer. This is the last winter that she must be
allowed to run wild; next winter she must come regularly to
school every day."

"She will do no such thing," said the old man with calm
determination.

"Do you mean that by no persuasion can you be brought to see
reason, and that you intend to stick obstinately to your
decision?" said the pastor, growing somewhat angry. "You have
been about the world, and must have seen and learnt much, and I
should have given you credit for more sense, neighbor."

"Indeed," replied the old man, and there was a tone in his voice
that betrayed a growing irritation on his part too, "and does
the worthy pastor really mean that he would wish me next winter
to send a young child like that some miles down the mountain on
ice-cold mornings through storm and snow, and let her return at
night when the wind is raging, when even one like ourselves
would run a risk of being blown down by it and buried in the
snow? And perhaps he may not have forgotten the child's mother,
Adelaide? She was a sleep-walker, and had fits. Might not the
child be attacked in the same way if obliged to over-exert
herself? And some one thinks they can come and force me to send
her? I will go before all the courts of justice in the country,
and then we shall see who will force me to do it!"

"You are quite right, neighbor," said the pastor in a friendly
tone of voice. "I see it would have been impossible to send the
child to school from here. But I perceive that the child is dear
to you; for her sake do what you ought to have done long ago:
come down into Dorfli and live again among your fellowmen. What
sort of a life is this you lead, alone, and with bitter thoughts
towards God and man! If anything were to happen to you up here
who would there be to help you? I cannot think but what you must
be half-frozen to death in this hut in the winter, and I do not
know how the child lives through it!"

"The child has young blood in her veins and a good roof over her
head, and let me further tell the pastor, that I know where wood
is to be found, and when is the proper time to fetch it; the
pastor can go and look inside my wood-shed; the fire is never
out in my hut the whole winter through. As to going to live below
that is far from my thoughts; the people despise me and I them;
it is therefore best for all of us that we live apart."

"No, no, it is not best for you; I know what it is you lack,"
said the pastor in an earnest voice. "As to the people down
there looking on you with dislike, it is not as bad as you think.
Believe me, neighbor; seek to make your peace with God, pray for
forgiveness where you need it, and then come and see how
differently people will look upon you, and how happy you may yet
be."

The pastor had risen and stood holding out his hand to the old
man as he added with renewed earnestness, "I will wager,
neighbor, that next winter you will be down among us again, and
we shall be good neighbors as of old. I should be very grieved
if any pressure had to be put upon you; give me your hand and
promise me that you will come and live with us again and become
reconciled to God and man."

Alm-Uncle gave the pastor his hand and answered him calmly and
firmly, "You mean well by me I know, but as to that which you
wish me to do, I say now what I shall continue to say, that I
will not send the child to school nor come and live among you."

"Then God help you!" said the pastor, and he turned sadly away
and left the hut and went down the mountain.

Alm-Uncle was out of humor. When Heidi said as usual that
afternoon, "Can we go down to grandmother now?" he answered,
"Not to-day." He did not speak again the whole of that day, and
the following morning when Heidi again asked the same question,
he replied, "We will see." But before the dinner bowls had been
cleared away another visitor arrived, and this time it was
Cousin Dete. She had a fine feathered hat on her head, and a long
trailing skirt to her dress which swept the floor, and on the
floor of a goatherd's hut there are all sorts of things that do
not belong to a dress.

The grandfather looked her up and down without uttering a word.
But Dete was prepared with an exceedingly amiable speech and
began at once to praise the looks of the child. She was looking
so well she should hardly have known her again, and it was
evident that she had been happy and well-cared for with her
grandfather; but she had never lost sight of the idea of taking
the child back again, for she well understood that the little
one must be much in his way, but she had not been able to do it
at first. Day and night, however, she had thought over the means
of placing the child somewhere, and that was why she had come to-
day, for she had just heard of something that would be a lucky
chance for Heidi beyond her most ambitious hopes. Some immensely
wealthy relatives of the people she was serving, who had the
most splendid house almost in Frankfurt, had an only daughter,
young and an invalid, who was always obliged to go about in a
wheeled chair; she was therefore very much alone and had no one
to share her lessons, and so the little girl felt dull. Her
father had spoken to Dete's mistress about finding a companion
for her, and her mistress was anxious to help in the matter, as
she felt so sympathetic about it. The lady-housekeeper had
described the sort of child they wanted, simple-minded and
unspoilt, and not like most of the children that one saw now-a-
days. Dete had thought at once of Heidi and had gone off without
delay to see the lady-housekeeper, and after Dete had given her a
description of Heidi, she had immediately agreed to take her. And
no one could tell what good fortune there might not be in store
for Heidi, for if she was once with these people and they took a
fancy to her, and anything happened to their own daughter—one
could never tell, the child was so weakly—and they did not feel
they could live without a child, why then the most unheard of
luck—

"Have you nearly finished what you had to say?" broke in Alm-
Uncle, who had allowed her to talk on uninterruptedly so far.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Dete, throwing up her head in disgust, "one
would think I had been talking to you about the most ordinary
matter; why there is not one person in all Prattigau who would
not thank God if I were to bring them such a piece of news as I
am bringing you."

"You may take your news to anybody you like, I will have nothing
to do with it."

But now Dete leaped up from her seat like a rocket and cried,
"If that is all you have to say about it, why then I will give
you a bit of my mind. The child is now eight years old and knows
nothing, and you will not let her learn. You will not send her
to church or school, as I was told down in Dorfli, and she is my
own sister's child. I am responsible for what happens to her, and
when there is such a good opening for a child, as this which
offers for Heidi, only a person who cares for nobody and never
wishes good to any one would think of not jumping at it. But I
am not going to give in, and that I tell you; I have everybody in
Dorfli on my side; there is not one person there who will not
take my part against you; and I advise you to think well before
bringing it into court, if that is your intention; there are
certain things which might be brought up against you which you
would not care to hear, for when one has to do with law-courts
there is a great deal raked up that had been forgotten."