Johanna Spyri - Heidi

But he interrupted her roughly. ‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘I know quite well what you really think of me. Go indoors. I can see for myself what wants doing.’ Bridget turned away, not liking to disobey him, and he went on hammering away all round the walls. Then he climbed up on to the roof and mended some holes there, till he had used up all the nails he had brought with him. By this time it was growing dark, and he took the sledge out of the goat‐stall where he had left it, just as Heidi came to find him. He wrapped her up and carried her as he had done the evening before, though he had also to drag the sledge behind him. He knew it would not be safe for her to ride up on it without him beside her, for the wind would soon have blown the coverings away and she would have been frozen.

So he pulled it after him with one hand, holding Heidi safe and warm in the other arm.

So the winter went on. Poor, blind Grannie was happy again after many sad, dark years, for now she always had something pleasant to look forward to. Every day she listened for Heidi’s light step and when the door opened and the little girl came in, she always said, ‘Praise be, here she is again.’ Then Heidi would sit down and chatter merrily away. These hours passed so quickly that Grannie never once had to ask Bridget, ‘Isn’t the day nearly over?’ Instead, after Heidi had left, she often remarked, ‘Wasn’t that a short afternoon?’ and Bridget would agree that it seemed no time since she had cleared away after dinner.

‘God keep the child safe and Uncle Alp in a good humour,’ was the old woman’s constant prayer. She often asked Bridget if the child looked well. To that Bridget was always able to reply, ‘She looks like a rosy apple.’

Heidi grew very fond of Peter’s Grannie, and when she understood that no one could make her see again, she was very sad. But as Grannie told her over and over again that she didn’t mind being blind nearly so much when Heidi was with her, she came down on the sledge with her grandfather every fine day. He always brought his hammer and nails and any other materials needed, and gradually he repaired the whole cottage, so that Grannie was no longer frightened by noises at night.

A winter passed and then another happy summer, and Heidi’s second winter on the mountain was nearly over. She began to look forward eagerly to the spring, when warm winds would melt the snow and all the blue and yellow flowers would bloom again. Then she would go up to the pasture once more, and that she always enjoyed more than anything. She was now seven and had learnt a great many useful things from her grandfather. She knew how to handle the goats, and Daisy and Dusky ran after her like pet dogs, bleating with pleasure at the sound of her voice. Twice during the winter Peter had brought up messages from the schoolmaster in Dörfli, to say that Uncle Alp must send the child who was living with him to school. She was quite old enough, and ought in fact to have started the winter before. Both times Uncle Alp replied that if the schoolmaster had anything to say to him, he could always be found at home — but he did not mean to send the child to school. These messages Peter delivered faithfully.

When the March sun began to melt the snow on the slopes, the first snowdrops came out. The trees had shaken off their burden of snow and their branches were swaying freely in the wind. Heidi spent her time between the hut, the goat‐stall, and the fir trees, and kept running to report to her grandfather how much bigger the patch of green grass had grown. One morning, just as she was dashing out of the hut for about the tenth time, she saw an old man standing on the threshold, dressed in black and looking very solemn. He saw she was startled and said in a friendly voice, ‘You needn’t be afraid of me. I’m fond of children. Come and shake hands. I’m sure you must be Heidi. Where’s your grandfather?’

‘He’s indoors, making wooden spoons,’ she told him, and showed him in.

He was the old pastor from Dörfli who had been a neighbour of Uncle Alp’s when he lived there. ‘Good morning, my friend,’ he said, as he went up to him.

Uncle Alp looked up in surprise, and got to his feet. ‘Good morning, pastor,’ he replied. Then he pulled forward a chair, adding, ‘If you don’t mind a hard seat, take this one.’

‘I haven’t seen you for a long time,’ said the pastor, when he had sat down.

‘Nor I you,’ was the reply.

‘And now I’ve come to talk to you about something. I expect you can guess what.’ He paused and glanced at Heidi who was standing by the door, looking at him with interest.

‘Run and take some salt to the goats, Heidi, and stay with them until I fetch you,’ said her grandfather, and she did as she was told at once.

‘That child should have gone to school this winter, if not last,’ the pastor went on. ‘The teacher sent you a warning, but you didn’t take any notice. What do you intend to do with her, neighbour?’

‘I don’t intend to send her to school.’

The pastor stared at Uncle Alp, who was sitting with his arms folded and a very stubborn expression on his face.

‘Then what will become of her?’ he asked. ‘She’ll grow up with the goats and the birds. They won’t teach her any bad ideas, and she’ll be very happy.’

‘She’s not a goat, nor a bird, but a little girl. She may not learn anything bad from such companions, but they won’t teach her to read or to write, and it’s high time she began. I’ve come to tell you this in all friendliness, so that you can think it over during the summer and make your plans accordingly. This is the last winter when the child can stay up here without any education. Next winter she must come regularly to school.’

‘She’ll do no such thing,’ said the old man obstinately.

‘Do you really mean that nothing we can say will make you see reason about this? You’ve been about the world and must have seen and learnt a great deal. I should have credited you with more sense, neighbour.’

‘Would you indeed,’ said Uncle Alp drily, but his voice showed that he was not quite easy in his mind. ‘Do you think I’m going to send a little girl like Heidi down the mountain every day next winter, no matter how cold or stormy it may be? And have her come back at night when it is often blowing and snowing so hard that it’s difficult for a grown man to keep his feet? Perhaps you remember the queer spells her mother used to have. Such a strain might well make this child develop something of the same sort. If anyone tries to force me to send her, I’m quite prepared to go to law about it. Then we’ll see what will happen.’

‘You’re right so far,’ agreed the pastor amiably. ‘It wouldn’t be possible to send her to school from here. And you’re fond of her, I can see. Won’t you, for her sake, do what you should have done long ago — come back to Dörfli to live? What sort of a life do you lead up here, at odds with God and man? And there’s not a soul to help you if you were in any trouble. I can’t imagine how even you survive the cold in winter, and I’m amazed that the child can stand up to it at all.’

‘The child has young blood and a warm bed, I’d have you know,’ Uncle Alp replied. ‘And I can always find plenty of wood. My shed is full of it and the fire never goes out the whole winter through. I’ve no intention of coming back to Dörfli to live. The people there despise me and I them, so it’s better for us to keep apart.’

‘It is not good for you,’ said the pastor. ‘I know what you are missing. Believe me, people don’t feel so unkindly towards you as you think. Make your peace with God, neighbour, and ask His forgiveness, where you know you need it. Then come back to Dörfli, and see how differently people will receive you, and how happy you can become again.’