Heidi

23 Goodbye for the Present!

Mrs Sesemann wrote the day before she intended to travel, telling them that she would come for certain, and Peter brought the letter up with him in the morning. The children were already out of doors with Uncle Alp, and the goats were waiting for him impatiently. Uncle was watching the girls with a very satisfied smile playing about his lips. Peter’s steps lagged at sight of them, but he brought them the letter, and ran off quickly, glancing back over his shoulder uneasily as if afraid someone might come after him.

Heidi was puzzled by his behaviour and asked, ‘Grandfather, why does Peter always behave now as big Turk does when he expects a beating?’

‘Perhaps he thinks he deserves a beating,’ Uncle replied.

Peter ran until he was out of sight. Then he stopped and looked about him again. He had grown more and more worried as the days passed. At any moment he expected to see the policeman from Frankfurt jump out from behind a bush and seize him by the scruff of the neck, and the suspense was weighing on him.

Heidi spent the morning cleaning out the hut thoroughly, so that everything would be spick and span when Grand‐mamma arrived. Clara sat and watched her. Then they tidied themselves and sat down outside to wait for her in a state of great excitement. Uncle Alp had been out already to gather some blue gentians on the mountain, and brought back a big bunch which he showed to the children, and then carried indoors. Heidi kept getting up to see if there was any sign of their visitor, and at last the little procession came in sight. In front was a guide, leading Mrs Sesemann’s horse, and a man with a laden basket brought up the rear. When they reached the little plateau on which the hut stood, and the old lady really saw the children, she cried out in some concern:

‘Why Clara, where’s your chair? What does this mean?’ But as she dismounted and came towards them, astonishment took the place of anxiety, and she exclaimed, ‘How well you look, my dear. I hardly recognize you.’

Then Heidi got up — and so did Clara, and they walked before her, Clara quite upright and with no more support than a hand on Heidi’s shoulder. Grandmamma looked on in amazement. They turned and walked towards her, and she saw their two rosy faces, aglow with happiness. Half laughing, almost crying, Grandmamma embraced first Clara, then Heidi, then Clara again, but could for the moment find no words to express her feelings. Then she noticed Uncle Alp, who had come out, and was watching with a pleased smile. She took Clara’s arm in hers, and together they went to the old man. Mrs Sesemann was greatly moved at having her granddaughter walk beside her at last, and she grasped his hands, saying warmly:

‘My dear Uncle, how can we ever thank you! It’s your care, your nursing that has done this.’

‘And God’s good sun and His mountain air,’ he added.

‘And don’t forget Daisy’s lovely milk,’ put in Clara. ‘You ought to see what a lot of it I drink, Grandmamma! It’s so good!’

‘Your rosy cheeks tell me that,’ answered her grandmother. ‘I really should not have known you. You’re quite plump, and I do believe you’re taller! I can’t take my eyes off you. It’s a miracle. I must telegraph at once to your father in Paris and tell him to come immediately. I shan’t tell him why. He’ll have the happiest surprise of his life. Now how can I send off a telegram from here, Uncle? Have the men gone yet?’

‘Yes, they have,’ said Uncle Alp, ‘but if you’re in such a hurry, I can send Peter to take it.’ And he went aside and whistled so piercingly through his fingers that the rocks above re‐echoed with the sound. Almost at once Peter came running down, white as a sheet. He knew that whistle, and feared that the awful moment had arrived, and he was about to be arrested. When he found he was only to take a piece of paper, on which Mrs Sesemann had written a message, down to the post office at Dörfli, he was much relieved and set off immediately.

The little party then sat down to dinner in front of the hut and Grandmamma was told the whole story from the beginning. ‘I can hardly believe it!’ she kept saying. ‘It’s too good to be true’ — which kept Clara and Heidi bubbling over with delight at the success of their great surprise.

As it happened, Mr Sesemann also had been planning a surprise. He finished his business in Paris earlier than he expected, and was so longing to see his daughter again that, without a word to anyone, he took train for Basle and went from there straight to Ragaz, arriving just after his mother had left. When he heard where she had gone, he hired a carriage, and drove on at once to Dörfli. From there he set out on foot, and hard going he found it, for he was not accustomed to such exercise. After a long climb, when he had not even come to the goatherd’s hut — which he knew, from Clara’s letters, lay midway between the village and Heidi’s home — he began to think he must have taken the wrong path. He looked about anxiously for someone to ask, but there was not a soul in sight, nor a sound to be heard except the humming of insects and the occasional twittering of a bird.

Mr Sesemann grew very hot, and as he stopped to fan himself, Peter came running down the path with the telegram in his hand. Mr Sesemann beckoned to him as soon as he was near enough, but the boy seemed suddenly reluctant to approach him.

‘Come along, lad,’ cried the poor traveller impatiently. ‘Can you tell me if this path leads to the hut where the old man lives with a child called Heidi, and where some people from Frankfurt are staying?’

‘The policeman!’ thought Peter, in such a panic of fright that he only uttered a little wail, and dashed off down the mountain, and in such a hurry that he tripped, and went head over heels, head over heels, just as the chair had done — but fortunately for him, he did not, like the chair, break into small pieces! But the piece of paper he had been holding, blew away and was lost.

‘Dear me!’ Mr Sesemann said to himself. ‘How shy these mountain folk are!’ for he thought that the mere sight of a stranger on his native mountain had sent the boy flying off like that. He stood watching Peter’s wild descent for a moment or two, then went on his way; and Peter went bowling on, quite unable to stop and get to his feet again, until at last he fell into a bush and lay there, trying to get over his fright. Then –

‘Hullo, here comes another one!’ said a jeering voice near by, ‘I wonder who’ll be the next to get pushed over the top and come tumbling down like a sack of potatoes.’

It was the baker who spoke. He had come out for a breath of fresh air after work. His words made Peter jump

up in fresh alarm. They sounded as though the baker knew what had really happened to the chair, and the miserable little goatherd went scrambling up the mountain again, as fast as his bruises and his guilty conscience would let him. He wished he could go home and hide under the bedclothes. That was the only place where he would have felt really safe, but the goats were still up on the pasture, and Uncle Alp had told him to hurry, so that the animals were not left alone too long. He did not dare disobey Uncle’s orders.

Mr Sesemann trudged on, and soon after leaving Peter, he reached the goatherd’s cottage and knew that he was on the right path. He went on from there with new heart, and it was not long before he saw the hut with the three fir trees a little way above him. The sight spurred him on, and he stepped out briskly, chuckling to himself at the surprise he hoped to give them up there. That was not to be, however, for he had already been observed, and the happy little party outside the hut were hastily improvising a welcome for him.

As he stepped thankfully on to the level ground on which the hut stood, he saw two people coming towards him, a tall fair girl, leaning slightly on a smaller dark one.

He stood still and stared, and suddenly his eyes filled with tears, for he was so strangely reminded of Clara’s mother who had had just such fair hair and delicate pink and white cheeks. He hardly knew whether he was awake or dreaming.

‘Don’t you know me, Papa?’ Clara cried. ‘Am I so changed?’

At that, he strode towards her and took her in his arms. ‘Changed indeed!’ he cried. ‘Is it possible? Can I believe my eyes?’

He stepped back a pace to look at her better, then drew her close again. His mother joined them, anxious not to miss a single breath of this great moment.

‘Well, what do you think of that, my son?’ she inquired, and added, ‘You thought to give us a surprise, a lovely one, but as it turns out, it is nothing to the one we were preparing for you, is it now?’ She kissed him affectionately as she spoke. ‘Now come and make the acquaintance of our good Uncle Alp to whom we owe our great joy.’

‘We do indeed,’ he replied, beaming, ‘and to our own little Heidi too. I’m glad to see you looking so well again, my dear, and so happy. Those must be Alpine roses in your cheeks.’

Heidi smiled up at him, immensely pleased that it should be here on the mountain that her good friend had found such happiness. Then Grandmamma took him over to Uncle Alp, and Mr Sesemann thanked him with all his heart for what he had done.

While the two men were talking, the old lady wandered away to the fir trees. There, in a little space between the lowest branches, she was enchanted to discover a clump of beautiful blue gentians, looking as fresh as if they were actually growing there.

‘Oh how exquisite!’ she cried. ‘Heidi my dear, come over here. Did you do that to surprise me? It was a lovely thought.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Heidi replied, ‘but I know who did.’ ‘They grow just like that up on the mountain,’ Clara told her, ‘lots and lots of them. Guess who gathered them for you this morning.’

She looked so happy that, for a moment, her grandmother wondered if she could possibly have done it herself.

They were interrupted at that moment by a little scuffling noise from behind the trees. It was Peter, who had seen the stranger outside the hut with Uncle Alp, and so was trying to creep by unnoticed. Mrs Sesemann caught sight of him, however, and the thought struck her that it might have been he who had brought the flowers, and that the slipping away was out of shyness.

‘Come here,’ she called, meaning to reward him in some way. ‘Come along my boy. Don’t be shy.’

Peter was too frightened to run away any more. ‘It’s all up with me now,’ he thought, and he came slowly towards her with an agonized expression on his face.

‘Be brave,’ said Mrs Sesemann, trying to help him out. ‘Just tell me plainly, was it you who did that?’

Peter did not look up, so he did not see what she was pointing at, but he felt Uncle’s eyes upon him from the angle of the hut, and he muttered a shaky, ‘Yes.’

‘Well well,’ she murmured, ‘what is there to be afraid of in that?’

‘It’s… because… because… it’s all broken… and can’t be mended.’ He brought the words out with great difficulty, and his knees were knocking together so that he could hardly stand.

After a thoughtful glance at him, Grandmamma went over to Uncle Alp, and asked quietly if the boy was half‐witted.

‘Oh no,’ he assured her, ‘not in the least. But he was the “wind” that blew your granddaughter’s chair away, and now he’s expecting to be punished for it, as he richly deserves to.’

Mrs Sesemann found it hard to believe this of him. He did not look to her like a bad boy, and she could not think why anyone should have wanted to destroy such a necessary article as an invalid’s chair.

Uncle Alp, however, had had his suspicions from the very beginning. He had not missed the scowls Peter had cast at Clara, nor his whole air of resentment of everything that had been happening on the mountain. Uncle had put two and two together, and had spoken with conviction when he accused Peter. He explained all this now to Mrs Sesemann, who said at once:

‘Oh poor boy! He mustn’t be punished any more. We must be kind, and try to see things from his angle. Think, here are we, complete strangers, keeping Heidi away from him for weeks on end — and of course he regarded her as very much his private property — and he has been left all alone to brood on it. Of course his feelings got the better of him and drove him to this foolish act of revenge. We are all foolish when we are angry.’

She turned and called Peter to her, as she sat down under the trees.

‘Come, my boy,’ she said in a friendly voice, ‘stop trembling and listen to me. You sent Miss Clara’s wheel‐chair rolling down the mountainside so that it was smashed to bits, didn’t you? And you knew all the time that it was wrong, and that you would deserve to be punished for it, but you’ve been trying to hide it, hoping that no one would find out. Isn’t that it? I thought so. But you make a great mistake if you think you can do wrong and no one will know about it. God sees and hears everything, and when He notices someone trying to hide what they have done, He stirs up the little watchman we all have inside us — a little watchman who sleeps until we do something wrong. Then he wakes up, and he has a little goad to prick us with, and he does not give us a moment’s peace after that, but goes on pricking us and telling us in a nagging little voice, “Someone has found out. Now you’ll get into trouble.” Isn’t that what has been happening to you lately?’

Much ashamed, Peter gave a little nod, for those had been exactly his feelings.

‘And things haven’t turned out as you expected, have they?’ she went on. ‘Instead of injuring her, you’ve actually done her good. Without her chair, Clara has had to make a special effort to walk, and you see she has succeeded. That’s the way God brings good out of evil. You, who did wrong, were the one to suffer. Do you understand, Peter? Remember what I’ve been saying, and the next time you feel inclined to do something you know you shouldn’t, think of that little watchman with his goad and his disagreeable voice inside you.’

‘Yes, I will,’ said Peter, very subdued but still anxious as to how the matter was going to end, for the ‘policeman’ was still standing beside Uncle Alp.

‘Then we’ll say no more about it,’ Mrs Sesemann told him. ‘And I should like you to have something as a pleasant reminder of the visitors from Frankfurt. Now tell me. What would you like most of all for a present?’

Peter raised his eyes at that, and stared at her in amazement. His head was in a whirl. He had been sure that something terrible would happen to him. Instead, he was to be given a present!

‘Yes, I mean it,’ she assured him. ‘I want you to choose something really nice to remember us by, and to show you that we bear you no ill will. Do you understand?’

The truth slowly dawned on Peter. This kind lady was going to stand between him and the policeman. He had nothing more to fear. He felt as though a weight like one of the great mountains themselves had dropped off his shoulders. He began to see too that it might be better to own up at once when he had done any wrong, so he said quickly, ‘I lost the paper too.’

This puzzled Mrs Sesemann for a moment, then she remembered the telegram.

‘Ah, that’s right,’ she said kindly, ‘you’re a good boy to tell me. Always confess right away when you’ve done anything wrong, and it will save a lot of trouble. Now, what would you like for your present?’

Peter felt quite giddy at the thought that he could choose for himself anything in the whole world. He thought of the fair that came to Mayenfeld once a year, and of all the wonderful things he had seen on the stalls there, without a hope in the world of ever being able to buy any of them — nice red whistles, for instance. He could use one of them for calling the goats together. And those strong clasp‐knives which made short work of cutting hazel twigs. He thought and thought — what should he choose? Then a grand idea came to him, and he spoke up clearly.

‘A penny,’ he said. Then he would have all the time between now and the next fair to decide what to buy with it.

Mrs Sesemann could not help laughing. ‘What a modest request!’ she cried, opening her purse and bringing out some coins. ‘Come over here and we’ll settle our account at once. Look, here are as many pennies as there are weeks in the year, and every Sunday you can take one of them to spend.’

Peter looked at her open‐eyed. ‘Every Sunday for ever?’ he asked.

She laughed again, and the two men came over to hear what was going on.

‘Yes, for ever,’ she promised, ‘I’ll put it down in my will: To Peter, the goatherd, a penny a week for life,’ and she turned to her son and added, ‘Do you hear that? You must put it in your will too. A penny a week for Peter as long as he lives.’

Mr Sesemann agreed with a nod, and joined in the laughter.

Peter looked again and again at the coins in his hand, to be sure he was not dreaming. Then he thanked her and ran off up the mountain, in the highest spirits, leaping and jumping for joy. His troubles were over, and he was promised a penny a week for all the rest of his life!

Later, when they were all sitting outside the hut after a pleasant meal, Clara took her father’s hand and said, ‘Oh, Papa, if you only knew all that Uncle Alp has done for me! I shall never forget it. And I keep thinking, what could I ever do for him that would give him even half as much pleasure as he has given me?’

‘I should like to know that too,’ her father replied, turning to their host, who was engaged in lively conversation with Grandmamma. He put out his hand and grasped Uncle Alp’s large rough one warmly. ‘Dear friend,’ he said, ‘let us have a quiet word together. You will know what I mean when I say that for years I have never known real happiness. What were all my money and success worth, if they could not make my poor little daughter well? Now, with God’s help, you have given us both something to live for. That can never be repaid, but tell me if there is any way in which I may show my gratitude. I will do anything that is in my power: only tell me what it shall be.’

Uncle Alp listened quietly, smiling at the happiness he saw in the other’s face, then with simple dignity he replied, ‘I have a share too in your joy at your daughter’s recovery. In that lies my reward. Thank you all the same for what you have said, but I want nothing. So long as I live there will be enough for me and for Heidi. There is only one thing I wish for. If you could give me that, I should have no cares left.’

‘Tell me then what that wish is,’ said Mr Sesemann.

‘I am old,’ Uncle Alp began. ‘I cannot expect to live much longer, and I shall have nothing to leave the child when I die. She has no one but me in the wide world except that one who has taken so little care of her. If you could promise me that Heidi need never have to go and earn her living among strangers — that would richly reward me for what I have been able to do for you and your daughter.’

‘That is something you need not even ask,’ Mr Sesemann returned quickly. ‘Heidi is already like one of my family. Ask my mother, or Clara: they will bear me out in that. We shall never allow her to be left to strangers. I promise you that. Here’s my hand on it. I will make provision for her during my life, and afterwards.

‘While she was with us, we saw how hard it was for her to live away from her own home, though she made good friends among us, as you know, and one of them is winding up his affairs in Frankfurt at this very moment. I mean our dear Dr Classen, of course. He intends to retire very soon, and to settle somewhere near you. He was so happy with you and Heidi last year. So, you see, in future, with you and him, Heidi will have two good friends at hand, and I hope you will both live for many years yet.’

‘Amen to that,’ cried Mrs Sesemann, shaking Uncle Alp warmly by the hand. Then she put her arm round Heidi and kissed her. ‘And now, my dear, what about you? Have you a wish to be granted?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I have,’ Heidi replied readily, looking up into her face.

‘I am glad. Tell me what it is.’

‘The bed I had in Frankfurt, with its three pillows and the warm quilt — I should like to have it for Grannie, so that she won’t have to lie with her head so low that she can hardly breathe, and she wouldn’t have to wear her beautiful shawl in bed, either, to keep her from freezing.’

In her eagerness, Heidi hardly paused for breath. ‘What a good child you are!’ said Mrs Sesemann. ‘It’s easy, in our own happiness, to forget those who are not so well off. It shall be done. I will telegraph to Frankfurt at once and Rottenmeier shall pack up the bed and send it off. It ought to be here then in a day or two, and I hope Grannie will find it very comfortable.’

Heidi skipped with delight, and cried:

‘I must just run down and tell her. I haven’t seen her for so long, she’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’

‘Heidi,’ said her grandfather, gently reproving, ‘what are you thinking of? You can’t run off like that while we have company.’ But Mrs Sesemann stopped him.

‘The child’s right,’ she said. ‘Poor Grannie’s been neglected lately because of us. Let us all go down together to see her. I can wait for my horse there, and I’ll send off the telegram from Dörfli. What do you say, my son?’

Mr Sesemann had not yet had a chance to speak of his own plans, so he began now to explain them. He had thought of spending a little time in Switzerland with his mother, taking Clara with them for at least part of the time, if she was well enough. Now it looked as though he might have his daughter’s company for the whole trip, and in that case, it would be the greatest pity to miss any of these last lovely days of summer. He thought therefore of spending the night in Dörfli, and fetching Clara next day. They would go then to Ragaz where they would meet Grandmamma, and from there start their little holiday. At first Clara was a little upset at the prospect of leaving the mountain so soon, but she had so much that was new to look forward to, that she could not feel unhappy for long.

Taking Heidi’s hand, Mrs Sesemann was preparing to lead the way down to the goatherd’s cottage, when a thought struck her, and she turned back. ‘But how will Clara manage?’ she asked. Uncle Alp smiled and picked the child up in his arms as he had so often done before, and like that they set off. On the way, Heidi told Mrs Sesemann a great deal about Grannie, how much she felt the cold in winter and that she had not always enough to eat, and Mrs Sesemann listened thoughtfully to all she had to say.

Bridget was hanging Peter’s spare shirt out to dry as they approached the cottage, and when she saw them, she hurried indoors to tell her mother. ‘They’re all coming down the mountain,’ she announced. ‘Going home evidently, and Uncle Alp is carrying the invalid girl.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Grannie. ‘Are they taking Heidi with them? I wish she’d come in, just for a moment. I’d like to hear her voice once more.’ And then the door was flung open and Heidi bounced into the room and threw her arms round the old woman.

‘Grannie, Grannie,’ she cried, ‘what do you think? My bed is coming from Frankfurt for you with three big pillows and a warm quilt! And Grandmamma says it will be here in a few days.’ She expected to see Grannie’s face light up at this news, but saw instead only a sad little smile.

‘She’s very kind. I ought to be glad you’re going with her, but I think I shall die without you.’

‘What’s that I hear?’ cried Mrs Sesemann, coming in and speaking in her usual kind tone. ‘No, there’s no question of that. Heidi’s going to stay here with you. We know what a comfort she is to you. We shall want to see her too, of course, but we shall come to her. We shall come every year to the mountains to give thanks for our child’s wonderful recovery.’

At that Grannie’s face lit up, and she pressed Mrs Sesemann’s hand, quite speechless with gratitude. Heidi hugged her again. ‘Hasn’t everything turned out finely?’ she cried.

‘Oh yes, child, I did not know there were such good people in the world. It renews my faith in God to have them bother about a poor old thing like me.’

‘We are all poor in the sight of God,’ Mrs Sesemann reminded her. ‘We all need His care. And now we must say goodbye for the present but, as I say, we shall be back next year, and you may be sure we shan’t forget to come and see you then.’ She shook hands warmly, while Grannie thanked her again and again and called down blessings on her and her family.

The older Sesemanns then went on to Dörfli while

Uncle took the girls back to the hut.

Clara could not help crying a little next morning when it came to leaving, but Heidi did her best to console her. ‘Summer will soon come round again,’ she told her, ‘and you’ll come back, and then you’ll be walking right from the beginning. That will be much more fun, and we shall be able to go up to the pasture every day and see the flowers.’

Clara dried her eyes at that, and said ‘Say goodbye to Peter and all the goats for me, especially Daisy. I wish I could give her a present in return for all her lovely milk.’

‘Send her some salt then,’ laughed Heidi. ‘You know how she loves that.’

‘I will. I’ll send her a hundred pounds of salt to remember me by.’

Meanwhile Mr Sesemann had arrived, and had been talking to Uncle Alp, but now he said it was time to leave. Grandmamma’s white horse was at the door to carry Clara down, and soon Heidi was left waving goodbye. She ran to the edge of the slope, and stood there watching till they were out of sight.

Only a few days after that, the bed arrived, and when it was put up, Grannie got into it with new pleasure and slept soundly all night. Grandmamma had noted all that Heidi had told her of winter’s coldness in the mountains, too, and with the bed came a big bundle of warm clothes, as well, also from Mrs Sesemann.

Nor was that all, for soon afterwards Dr Classen came back and took up his old quarters at the inn at Dörfli. Then, on the advice of Uncle Alp, he bought the derelict old house there and had it rebuilt so that he could live in one half, and Uncle Alp and Heidi could use the other half during the winter. He had a new goat‐stall built on at the back for Daisy and Dusky too.

The friendship which had begun between the two men the year before grew steadily so that they both looked forward to the day when the house would be ready for them. The doctor thought also, and with pleasure, of having Heidi near him.

One day as they were watching the men at work on the house, the doctor laid a hand on Uncle Alp’s arm and said, ‘I believe we think alike about that dear child, but I want to tell you all the same what she means to me. I have come to love her almost like my own child. I should like to be allowed to share with you in all that concerns her. It would warm my heart if I could know that she would be with me in my old age, as though she were indeed my daughter, and I shall leave everything I have to her at my death. So she’ll be well provided for when we’re no longer here.’

Uncle Alp said nothing, but he took the doctor’s hand, and a look of deep understanding passed between them.

Just about the same time Heidi and Peter were sitting with Grannie, and Heidi was telling them all about what was going on, and recalled much that had happened during that hot, eventful summer. As the eager voice ran on, the three heads got closer together and so Bridget learned for the first time about Peter’s weekly penny, and beamed all over her face.

At length Grannie asked Heidi for a hymn. She said, ‘If I spend every moment, for the rest of my days, thanking God for all His goodness to us, that still would not be enough.’