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5



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.” 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.



6



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.



7



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.” The teacher was standing up, looking at the devastation, but Clara was highly entertained by these events, and said: “Heidi has not done it on purpose and must not be punished. In her hurry to get away she caught on the table-cover and pulled it down. I think she must never have seen a coach in all her life, for when she heard a carriage rumbling by, she rushed out like mad.” “Didn’t I tell you, Mr. Candidate, that she has no idea whatever about behavior? She does not even know that she has to sit quiet at her lessons. But where has she gone? What would Mr. Sesemann say if she should run away?” When Miss Rottenmeier went down-stairs to look for the child, she saw her standing at the open door, looking down the street. “What are you doing here? How can you run away like that?” scolded Miss Rottenmeier. “I heard the fir-trees rustle, but I can’t see them and do not hear them any more,” replied Heidi, looking in great perplexity down the street. The noise of the passing carriage had reminded her of the roaring of the south-wind on the Alp. “Fir-trees? What nonsense! We are not in a wood. Come with me now to see what you have done.” When Heidi saw the devastation that she had caused, she was greatly surprised, for she had not noticed it in her hurry. “This must never happen again,” said the lady sternly. “You must sit quiet at your lessons; if you get up again I shall tie you to your chair. Do you hear me?” Heidi understood, and gave a promise to sit quietly during her lessons from that time on. After the servants had straightened the room, it was late, and there was no more time for studies. Nobody had time to yawn that morning. In the afternoon, while Clara was resting, Heidi was left to herself. She planted herself in the hall and waited for the butler to come up-stairs with the silver things. When he reached the head of the stairs, she said to him: “I want to ask you something.” She saw that the butler seemed angry, so she reassured him by saying that she did not mean any harm. “All right, Miss, what is it?” “My name is not Miss, why don’t you call me Heidi?” “Miss Rottenmeier told me to call you Miss.” “Did she? Well then, it must be so. I have three names already,” sighed the child. “What can I do for you?” asked Sebastian now. “Can you open a window for me?” “Certainly,” he replied. Sebastian got a stool for Heidi, for the window-sill was too high for her to see over. In great disappointment, Heidi turned her head away. “I don’t see anything but a street of stone. Is it the same way on the other side of the house?” “Yes.” “Where do you go to look far down on everything?” “On a church-tower. Do you see that one over there with the golden dome? From there you can overlook everything.” Heidi immediately stepped down from the stool and ran down-stairs. Opening the door, she found herself in the street, but she could not see the tower any more. She wandered on from street to street, not daring to accost any of the busy people. Passing a corner, she saw a boy who had a barrel-organ on his back and a curious animal on his arm. Heidi ran to him and asked: “Where is the tower with the golden dome?” “Don’t know,” was the reply. “Who can tell me?” “Don’t know.” “Can you show me another church with a tower?” “Of course I can.” “Then come and show me.” “What are you going to give me for it?” said the boy, holding out his hand. Heidi had nothing in her pocket but a little flower-picture. Clara had only given it to her this morning, so she was loath to part with it. The temptation to look far down into the valley was too great for her, though, and she offered him the gift. The boy shook his head, to Heidi’s satisfaction. “What else do you want?” “Money.” “I have none, but Clara has some. How much must I give you?” “Twenty pennies.” “All right, but come.” While they were wandering down the street, Heidi found out what a barrel-organ was, for she had never seen one. When they arrived before an old church with a tower, Heidi was puzzled what to do next, but having discovered a bell, she pulled it with all her might. The boy agreed to wait for Heidi and show her the way home if she gave him a double fee. The lock creaked now from inside, and an old man opened the door. In an angry voice, he said: “How do you dare to ring for me? Can’t you see that it is only for those who want to see the tower?” “But I do,” said Heidi. “What do you want to see? Did anybody send you?” asked the man. “No; but I want to look down from up there.” “Get home and don’t try it again.” With that the tower-keeper was going to shut the door, but Heidi held his coat-tails and pleaded with him to let her come. The tower-keeper looked at the child’s eyes, which were nearly full of tears. “All right, come along, if you care so much,” he said, taking her by the hand. The two climbed up now many, many steps, which got narrower all the time. When they had arrived on top, the old man lifted Heidi up to the open window. Heidi saw nothing but a sea of chimneys, roofs and towers, and her heart sank. “Oh, dear, it’s different from the way I thought it would be,” she said. “There! what could such a little girl know about a view? We’ll go down now and you must promise never to ring at my tower any more.” On their way they passed an attic, where a large grey cat guarded her new family in a basket. This cat caught half-a-dozen mice every day for herself, for the old tower was full of rats and mice. Heidi gazed at her in surprise, and was delighted when the old man opened the basket. “What charming kittens, what cunning little creatures!” she exclaimed in her delight, when she saw them crawling about, jumping and tumbling. “Would you like to have one?” the old man asked. “For me? to keep?” Heidi asked, for she could not believe her ears. “Yes, of course. You can have several if you have room for them,” the old man said, glad to find a good home for the kittens. How happy Heidi was! Of course there was enough room in the huge house, and Clara would be delighted when she saw the cunning things. “How can I take them with me?” the child asked, after she had tried in vain to catch one. “I can bring them to your house, if you tell me where you live,” said Heidi’s new friend, while he caressed the old cat, who had lived with him many years. “Bring them to Mr. Sesemann’s house; there is a golden dog on the door, with a ring in his mouth.” The old man had lived in the tower a long time and knew everybody; Sebastian also was a special friend of his. “I know,” he said. “But to whom shall I send them? Do you belong to Mr. Sesemann?” “No. Please send them to Clara; she will like them, I am sure.” Heidi could hardly tear herself away from the pretty things, so the old man put one kitten in each of her pockets to console her. After that she went away. The boy was waiting patiently for her, and when she had taken leave of the tower-keeper, she asked the boy: “Do you know where Mr. Sesemann’s house is?” “No,” was the reply. She described it as well as she could, till the boy remembered it. Off they started, and soon Heidi found herself pulling the door-bell. When Sebastian arrived he said: “Hurry up.” Heidi went in, and the boy was left outside, for Sebastian had not even seen him. “Come up quickly, little Miss,” he urged. “They are all waiting for you in the dining-room. Miss Rottenmeier looks like a loaded cannon. How could you run away like that?” Heidi sat down quietly on her chair. Nobody said a word, and there was an uncomfortable silence. At last Miss Rottenmeier began with a severe and solemn voice: “I shall speak with you later, Adelheid. How can you leave the house without a word? Your behavior was very remiss. The idea of walking about till so late!” “Meow!” was the reply. “I didn’t,” Heidi began–“Meow!” Sebastian nearly flung the dish on the table, and disappeared. “This is enough,” Miss Rottenmeier tried to say, but her voice was hoarse with fury. “Get up and leave the room.” Heidi got up. She began again. “I made–” “Meow! meow! meow!–” “Heidi,” said Clara now, “why do you always say ‘meow’ again, if you see that Miss Rottenmeier is angry?” “I am not doing it, it’s the kittens,” she explained. “What? Cats? Kittens?” screamed the housekeeper. “Sebastian, Tinette, take the horrible things away!” With that she ran into the study, locking herself in, for she feared kittens beyond anything on earth. When Sebastian had finished his laugh, he came into the room. He had foreseen the excitement, having caught sight of the kittens when Heidi came in. The scene was a very peaceful one now; Clara held the little kittens in her lap, and Heidi was kneeling beside her. They both played happily with the two graceful creatures. The butler promised to look after the new-comers and prepared a bed for them in a basket. A long time afterwards, when it was time to go to bed, Miss Rottenmeier cautiously opened the door. “Are they away?” she asked. “Yes,” replied the butler, quickly seizing the kittens and taking them away. The lecture that Miss Rottenmeier was going to give Heidi was postponed to the following day, for the lady was too much exhausted after her fright. They all went quietly to bed, and the children were happy in the thought that their kittens had a comfortable bed.



8



GREAT DISTURBANCES IN THE SESEMANN HOUSE



A short time after the tutor had arrived next morning, the door-bell rang so violently that Sebastian thought it must be Mr. Sesemann himself. What was his surprise when a dirty street-boy, with a barrel-organ on his back, stood before him! “What do you mean by pulling the bell like that?” the butler said. “I want to see Clara.” “Can’t you at least say ‘Miss Clara’, you ragged urchin?” said Sebastian harshly. “She owes me forty pennies,” said the boy. “You are crazy! How do you know Miss Clara lives here?” “I showed her the way yesterday and she promised to give me forty pennies.” “What nonsense! Miss Clara never goes out. You had better take yourself off, before I send you!” The boy, however, did not even budge, and said: “I saw her. She has curly hair, black eyes and talks in a funny way.” “Oh,” Sebastian chuckled to himself, “that was the little Miss.” Pulling the boy into the house, he said: “All right, you can follow me. Wait at the door till I call you, and then you can play something for Miss Clara.” Knocking at the study-door, Sebastian said, when he had entered: “A boy is here who wants to see Miss Clara.” Clara, delighted at his interruption, said: “Can’t he come right up, Mr. Candidate?” But the boy was already inside, and started to play. Miss Rottenmeier was in the adjoining room when she heard the sounds. Where did they come from? Hurrying into the study, she saw the street-boy playing to the eager children. “Stop! stop!” she called, but in vain, for the music drowned her voice. Suddenly she made a big jump, for there, between her feet, crawled a black turtle. Only when she shrieked for Sebastian could her voice be heard. The butler came straight in, for he had seen everything behind the door, and a great scene it had been! Glued to a chair in her fright, Miss Rottenmeier called: “Send the boy away! Take them away!” Sebastian obediently pulled the boy after him; then he said: “Here are forty pennies from Miss Clara and forty more for playing. It was well done, my boy.” With that he closed the door behind him. Miss Rottenmeier found it wiser now to stay in the study to prevent further disturbances. Suddenly there was another knock at the door. Sebastian appeared with a large basket, which had been brought for Clara. “We had better have our lesson before we inspect it,” said Miss Rottenmeier. But Clara, turning to the tutor, asked: “Oh, please, Mr. Candidate, can’t we just peep in, to see what it is?” “I am afraid that you will think of nothing else,” the teacher began. Just then something in the basket, which had been only lightly fastened, moved, and one, two, three and still more little kittens jumped out, scampering around the room with the utmost speed. They bounded over the tutor’s boots and bit his trousers; they climbed up on Miss Rottenmeier’s dress and crawled around her feet. Mewing and running, they caused a frightful confusion. Clara called out in delight: “Oh, look at the cunning creatures; look how they jump! Heidi, look at that one, and oh, see the one over there?” Heidi followed them about, while the teacher shook them off. When the housekeeper had collected her wits after the great fright, she called for the servants. They soon arrived and stored the little kittens safely in the new bed. No time had been found for yawning that day, either! When Miss Rottenmeier, who had found out the culprit, was alone with the children in the evening, she began severely: “Adelheid, there is only one punishment for you. I am going to send you to the cellar, to think over your dreadful misdeeds, in company with the rats.” A cellar held no terrors for Heidi, for in her grandfather’s cellar fresh milk and the good cheese had been kept, and no rats had lodged there. But Clara shrieked: “Oh, Miss Rottenmeier, you must wait till Papa comes home, and then he can punish Heidi.” The lady unwillingly replied: “All right, Clara, but I shall also speak a few words to Mr. Sesemann.” With those words she left the room. Since the child’s arrival everything had been upset, and the lady often felt discouraged, though nothing remarkable happened for a few days. Clara, on the contrary, enjoyed her companion’s society, for she always did funny things. In her lesson she could never get her letters straight. They meant absolutely nothing to her, except that they would remind her of goats and eagles. The girls always spent their evenings together, and Heidi would entertain her friend with tales of her former life, till her longing grew so great that she added: “I have to go home now. I must go tomorrow.” Clara’s soothing words and the prospect of more rolls for the grandmother kept the child. Every day after dinner she was left alone in her room for some hours. Thinking of the green fields at home, of the sparkling flowers on the mountains, she would sit in a corner till her desire for all those things became too great to bear. Her aunt had clearly told her that she might return, if she wished to do so, so one day she resolved to leave for the Alm-hut. In a great hurry she packed the bread in the red shawl, and putting on her old straw hat, started off. The poor child did not get very far. At the door she encountered Miss Rottenmeier, who stared at Heidi in mute surprise. “What are you up to?” she exploded. “Haven’t I forbidden you to run away? You look like a vagabond!” “I was only going home,” whispered the frightened child. “What, you want to run away from this house? What would Mr. Sesemann say? What is it that does not suit you here? Don’t you get better treatment than you deserve? Have you ever before had such food, service and such a room? Answer!” “No,” was the reply. “Don’t I know that?” the furious lady proceeded. “What a thankless child you are, just idle and good-for-nothing!” But Heidi could not bear it any longer. She loudly wailed: “Oh, I want to go home. What will poor Snowhopper do without me? Grandmother is waiting for me every day. Poor Thistlefinch gets blows if Peter gets no cheese, and I must see the sun again when he says good-night to the mountains. How the eagle would screech if he saw all the people here in Frankfurt!” “For mercy’s sake, the child is crazy!” exclaimed Miss Rottenmeier, running up the stairs. In her hurry she had bumped into Sebastian, who was just then coming down. “Bring the unlucky child up!” she called to him, rubbing her head. “All right, many thanks,” answered the butler, rubbing his head, too, for he had encountered something far harder than she had. When the butler came down, he saw Heidi standing near the door with flaming eyes, trembling all over. Cheerfully he asked: “What has happened, little one? Do not take it to heart, and cheer up. She nearly made a hole in my head just now, but we must not get discouraged. Oh, no!–Come, up with you; she said so!” Heidi walked up-stairs very slowly. Seeing her so changed, Sebastian said: “Don’t give in! Don’t be so sad! You have been so courageous till now; I have never heard you cry yet. Come up now, and when the lady’s away we’ll go and look at the kittens. They are running round like wild!” Nodding cheerlessly, the child disappeared in her room. That night at supper Miss Rottenmeier watched Heidi constantly, but nothing happened. The child sat as quiet as a mouse, hardly touching her food, except the little roll. Talking with the tutor next morning, Miss Rottenmeier told him her fears about Heidi’s mind. But the teacher had more serious troubles still, for Heidi had not even learned her A,B,C in all this time. Heidi was sorely in need of some clothes, so Clara had given her some. Miss Rottenmeier was just busy arranging the child’s wardrobe, when she suddenly returned. “Adelheid,” she said contemptuously, “what do I find? A big pile of bread in your wardrobe! I never heard the like. Yes, Clara, it is true.” Then, calling Tinette, she ordered her to take away the bread and the old straw hat she had found. “No, don’t! I must keep my hat! The bread is for grandmother,” cried Heidi in despair. “You stay here, while we take the rubbish away,” said the lady sternly. Heidi threw herself down now on Clara’s chair and sobbed as if her heart would break. “Now I can’t bring grandmother any rolls! Oh, they were for grandmother!” she lamented. “Heidi, don’t cry any more,” Clara begged. “Listen! When you go home some day, I am going to give you as many rolls as you had, and more. They will be much softer and better than those stale ones you have kept. Those were not fit to eat, Heidi. Stop now, please, and don’t cry any more!” Only after a long, long time did Heidi become quiet. When she had heard Clara’s promise, she cried: “Are you really going to give me as many as I had?” At supper, Heidi’s eyes were swollen and it was still hard for her to keep from crying. Sebastian made strange signs to her that she did not understand. What did he mean? Later, though, when she climbed into her high bed, she found her old beloved straw hat hidden under her cover. So Sebastian had saved it for her and had tried to tell her! She crushed it for joy, and wrapping it in a handkerchief, she hid it in the furthest corner of her wardrobe.



9



THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE HEARS OF STRANGE DOINGS



A few days afterwards there was great excitement in the Sesemann residence, for the master of the house had just arrived. The servants were taking upstairs one load after another, for Mr. Sesemann always brought many lovely things home with him. When he entered his daughter’s room, Heidi shyly retreated into a corner. He greeted Clara affectionately, and she was equally delighted to see him, for she loved her father dearly. Then he called to Heidi: “Oh, there is our little Swiss girl. Come and give me your hand! That’s right. Are you good friends, my girls, tell me now? You don’t fight together, what?” “Oh, no, Clara is always kind to me,” Heidi replied. “Heidi has never even tried to fight, Papa,” Clara quickly remarked. “That’s good, I like to hear that,” said the father rising. “I must get my dinner now, for I am hungry. I shall come back soon and show you what I have brought home with me.” In the dining-room he found Miss Rottenmeier surveying the table with a most tragic face. “You do not look very happy at my arrival, Miss Rottenmeier. What is the matter? Clara seems well enough,” he said to her. “Oh, Mr. Sesemann, we have been terribly disappointed,” said the lady. “How do you mean?” asked Mr. Sesemann, calmly sipping his wine. “We had decided, as you know, to have a companion for Clara. Knowing as I did that you would wish me to get a noble, pure child, I thought of this Swiss child, hoping she would go through life like a breath of pure air, hardly touching the earth.” “I think that even Swiss children are made to touch the earth, otherwise they would have to have wings.” “I think you understand what I mean. I have been terribly disappointed, for this child has brought the most frightful animals into the house. Mr. Candidate can tell you!” “The child does not look very terrible. But what do you mean?” “I cannot explain it, because she does not seem in her right mind at times.” Mr. Sesemann was getting worried at last, when the tutor entered. “Oh, Mr. Candidate, I hope you will explain. Please take a cup of coffee with me and tell me about my daughter’s companion. Make it short, if you please!” But this was impossible for Mr. Candidate, who had to greet Mr. Sesemann first. Then he began to reassure his host about the child, pointing out to him that her education had been neglected till then, and so on. But poor Mr. Sesemann, unfortunately, did not get his answer, and had to listen to very long-winded explanations of the child’s character. At last Mr. Sesemann got up, saying: “Excuse me, Mr. Candidate, but I must go over to Clara now.” He found the children in the study. Turning to Heidi, who had risen at his approach, he said: “Come, little one, get me–get me a glass of water.” “Fresh water?” “Of course, fresh water,” he replied. When Heidi had gone, he sat down near Clara, holding her hand. “Tell me, little Clara,” he asked, “please tell me clearly what animals Heidi has brought into the house; is she really not right in her mind?” Clara now began to relate to her father all the incidents with the kittens and the turtle, and explained Heidi’s speeches that had so frightened the lady. Mr. Sesemann laughed heartily and asked Clara if she wished Heidi to remain. “Of course, Papa. Since she is here, something amusing happens every day; it used to be so dull, but now Heidi keeps me company.” “Very good, very good, Clara; Oh! Here is your friend back again. Did you get nice fresh water?” asked Mr. Sesemann. Heidi handed him the glass and said: “Yes, fresh from the fountain.” “You did not go to the fountain yourself, Heidi?” said Clara. “Certainly, but I had to get it from far, there were so many people at the first and at the second fountain. I had to go down another street and there I got it. A gentleman with white hair sends his regards to you, Mr. Sesemann.” Clara’s father laughed and asked: “Who was the gentleman?” “When he passed by the fountain and saw me there with a glass, he stood still and said: ‘Please give me to drink, for you have a glass; to whom are you bringing the water?’ Then I said: ‘I am bringing it to Mr. Sesemann.’ When he heard that he laughed very loud and gave me his regards for you, with the wish that you would enjoy your drink.” “I wonder who it was? What did the gentleman look like?” “He has a friendly laugh and wears a gold pendant with a red stone on his thick gold chain; there is a horsehead on his cane.” “Oh, that was the doctor–” “That was my old doctor,” exclaimed father and daughter at the same time. In the evening, Mr. Sesemann told Miss Rottenmeier that Heidi was going to remain, for the children were very fond of each other and he found Heidi normal and very sweet. “I want the child to be treated kindly,” Mr. Sesemann added decidedly. “Her peculiarities must not be punished. My mother is coming very soon to stay here, and she will help you to manage the child, for there is nobody in this world that my mother could not get along with, as you know, Miss Rottenmeier.” “Of course, I know that, Mr. Sesemann,” replied the lady, but she was not very much pleased at the prospect. Mr. Sesemann only stayed two weeks, for his business called him back to Paris. He consoled his daughter by telling her that his mother was coming in a very few days. Mr. Sesemann had hardly left, when the grandmother’s visit was announced for the following day. Clara was looking forward to this visit, and told Heidi so much about her dear grandmama that Heidi also began to call her by that name, to Miss Rottenmeier’s disapproval, who thought that the child was not entitled to this intimacy.