Johanna Spyri - Heidi

When he and Heidi started for home at last, many people went part of the way with them, and when they finally said goodbye, they begged him to visit them in their homes before long. As he watched them go, Heidi saw such a kind light in his eye, that she said, ‘Grandfather, you look quite different — nicer and nicer. I’ve never seen you so before.’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘You see, today I am happy, as I had never thought to be again. Much happier than I deserve. It’s good to feel at peace with God and man. It was a good day when God sent you to me.’

When they reached Peter’s cottage, he opened the door and went in. ‘Good day, Grannie,’ he called. ‘I can see I must get busy with some more repairs before the autumn winds begin to blow.’

‘Goodness me, is it Uncle Alp?’ cried the old woman. ‘What a fine surprise. Now I can thank you for all you did for us before. May God reward you.’ She held out her hand, which trembled a little, and he shook it heartily. ‘I’ve something in my heart, I’d like to say to you,’ she went on. ‘If I’ve ever done you any harm, don’t punish me by letting Heidi go away again, while I’m still above ground. You don’t know what she means to me,’ and she hugged Heidi, whose arms were already round her neck.

‘Don’t worry, Grannie,’ Uncle replied reassuringly, ‘I won’t punish either of us in that way. We’ll all be together now, and for some time yet, please God.’

Bridget took Uncle aside then to show him the hat with the feather, and told him that Heidi had said she could keep it, but that she really couldn’t take it from the child. Uncle Alp gave Heidi an approving look. ‘That hat is hers, and if she doesn’t want to wear it, she’s right. You should certainly keep it since she’s given it to you.’

Bridget was delighted. Holding the hat up, she exclaimed, ‘Just fancy, it must be worth quite a lot of money. How well Heidi got on in Frankfurt. I wonder if it would be any good sending Peter there for a while. What do you think, Uncle?’

His eyes twinkled. ‘It certainly wouldn’t do him any harm, but opportunity’s a great thing.’

At that moment Peter himself came charging in, out of breath, and banged his head against the door in his haste. He held out a letter for Heidi which he had been given at the post office. No one had letters in his home, and Heidi had certainly never had one before. Everybody sat down and listened while she opened it, and read it aloud. It was from Clara, who wrote:

‘It’s been so dreadfully dull here since you went away, that I can hardly bear it. But Papa has promised me that I can go to Ragaz in the autumn. Grandmamma will come with me. After that she says we may come to visit you and your grandfather. I told her about you wanting to take some rolls to Grannie, and she was pleased, and said I was to tell you you were quite right. She is sending some coffee for her to have with them, and says she would like to see Grannie as well when we come to the mountains.’

Everyone was interested in Clara’s news, and they talked about it so long that not even Uncle noticed how late it was getting. Then again, they had had much to say about the pleasure of Uncle’s visit, and the promise of more to come.

‘It feels good to have you here again, old friend, after such a long time,’ Grannie said. ‘It gives me faith that one day we’ll all be together with those we love. Do come again soon, and Heidi, you’ll be here tomorrow?’

They both assured her that they would, and then said goodbye. All the church bells around were ringing for evening prayer as they went back up the mountain, and they found the hut bathed in the glow of the setting sun.

The prospect of Clara’s Grandmamma coming there in the autumn gave Heidi plenty to think about. She had seen, at Frankfurt, that when that lady came upon the scene, she had a way of making everything run happily and smoothly.

One sunny September morning, the kind doctor who had been responsible for Heidi being sent home walked along the street to the Sesemanns’ house. It was the sort of day on which everyone should have been happy, but he went along with eyes downcast, and did not once lift them to the blue sky above. His hair had grown whiter since the spring and he wore an air of great sadness. His only daughter had died recently and he had never recovered his spirits, for she had been the great joy of his life since his wife’s death some time before.

Sebastian opened the door to him and showed him in with something more than respect, for besides being a close friend of the family, the doctor always treated the servants too with kindness and courtesy, and they looked on him as a friend.

‘Everything all right, Sebastian?’ he asked, as he was taken upstairs, and as he entered the study, Mr Sesemann rose to greet him, saying:

‘I’m glad to see you, doctor. I want to talk to you again about the Swiss trip. Haven’t you changed your mind, now that Clara seems so much better?’

‘My dear Sesemann, I never knew such a man!’ exclaimed the doctor as he sat down. ‘This is the third time that you’ve sent for me to tell you the same thing. But there’s no convincing you. I wish your mother was here. She’d see my point of view.’

‘I know. You must be almost at the end of your patience with me. But I’m sure you realize how I dislike refusing the child something I have actually promised her; and to which she has been looking forward so eagerly for months. She was so patient all through her last bad attack, believing that she would soon be in Switzerland and able to visit her little friend in the mountains. And now you want me to tell her she can’t go. She’s missed so much in life already, I can’t bear to disappoint her over this.’

‘I’m afraid you must,’ said the doctor very decidedly. His friend sat in silence, looking very depressed, so he continued, ‘Just consider. This has been the worst summer Clara has had for many years. The fatigue of such a journey as you propose is out of the question for her. We’re already into September, and although there may still be some fine weather in the mountains, it may also be quite cold. The days are getting shorter and there could be no question of Clara spending the night up there with Heidi, so she could only be there for an hour or so. It’s a long way from Ragaz, as you know, and of course she’d have to be carried up the mountain. Surely you see it’s not practicable. But I’ll go in with you and talk to Clara. She’s a reasonable child, so I’m sure she’ll understand, and agree to what I am going to propose. Let her go to Ragaz next May and have some treatment there until the weather gets really warm. Then she can be carried up the mountain occasionally, and she will certainly be able to enjoy the visits far more when she’s feeling stronger, than she would now. You understand, Sesemann, that she must have the greatest care if she is to recover.’

Mr Sesemann listened at first with a resigned expression on his face, then got to his feet, saying anxiously, ‘Doctor, tell me the truth. Have you any real hope of a full recovery?’

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, with a thoughtful air. ‘Not a great deal,’ he admitted, ‘but think, my friend. At least you still have your child. She loves you and looks forward to your return when you go away. You don’t come back to an empty house and sit down alone to your meals. And your child is happy at home. Even if she does miss much, she’s still better off than many children. Count your blessings. Remember how lucky you are to have each other.’