Johanna Spyri: Heidi

But still they were not very successful. Clara flopped heavily between them, and Peter was taller than Heidi, so that Clara was all up one side and down the other. However she tried to put one foot in front of the other, though she drew it back very quickly.

‘Try just putting one foot down firmly,’ Heidi advised her. ‘I’m sure that would hurt less.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Clara, rather doubtfully, but she tried it, and cried joyfully, ‘You’re right. That didn’t hurt nearly so much.’

‘Try again,’ urged Heidi, and Clara did so, taking several more steps.

‘Oh Heidi,’ she cried then, ‘look at me. I’m walking! I’m walking!’

‘Yes, you are, you are! All by yourself! Oh, I wish Grandfather was here!’

Clara still kept hold of Heidi and Peter, but with each step they could feel her getting steadier on her feet. Heidi was quite wild with excitement.

‘Now we can come up to the pasture every day, and wander about wherever we like,’ she exclaimed, ‘and you’ll never have to be pushed about in a wheel‐chair again. Oh, isn’t it wonderful?’ And Clara agreed from the bottom of her heart. Nothing could be more wonderful to her than to be strong and able to get about like other people.

It was not much farther to Heidi’s special spot, where Clara was able to sit down on the warm grass among all the profusion of beautiful flowers. She was so affected by all that had happened to her that she was silent as she gazed at all their lovely colours and smelt their delicious scents. Peter lay down in the long grass and was soon fast asleep, but Heidi could not keep still. She wandered away over the meadow, then the exciting memory of what had happened to Clara sent her flying back again.

Some time later a few of the goats, led by Finch, came slowly towards them. As a rule they avoided this meadow, for they did not like grazing among the flowers, but now they came with deliberate steps as though to remind the herdsboy that he had left them alone too long. Then Finch saw the girls, and gave a loud bleat. The others took up the cry and all came trotting up to them. Peter woke with a start and rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming of the wheel‐chair, still undamaged, standing outside the hut, and when he first opened his eyes, he thought he saw its brass studs gleaming in the sun. But it was only the yellow of the flowers which his sleepy eyes had caught, and the horrid memory of what he had done returned to him. Even if Heidi said nothing, he was afraid it would be found out sooner or later. In that state of misery he behaved with unusual meekness, and let Heidi order him about as she liked.

After a while they took Clara back to the pasture, and Heidi fetched the lunch bag. She had seen the good things her grandfather had put in it, and when she had threatened Peter earlier on, she had meant that he wouldn’t get his share of the food. But she had forgiven him, and now divided it equally into three. They were all hungry as it was long past noon, but neither Clara nor Heidi could eat all that had been provided for them, and after they were satisfied, Peter found himself with a second portion as big as his first. He ate it all, to the last crumb, but somehow did not enjoy it as much as usual. He felt as though something was gnawing at his inside, and the food lay heavily on his stomach.

They had eaten so late that they had not long finished their meal when Uncle Alp arrived to fetch them home. Heidi saw him coming, and ran to meet him, eager to be the first to tell him the great news. She was so excited that she could hardly get the words out, but he gathered what she meant very quickly, and his face lit up. He went on to where Clara was sitting, and gave her an understanding smile, as he said, ‘Something attempted, something won.’

He helped her up and made her walk a few steps, putting one arm round her waist, and holding the other before her to hold on to. With this firm support, she walked with much more confidence than before. Heidi skipped joyfully beside them, and the old man looked as though a great happiness had come to him. After a little, he picked Clara up in his arms, and carried her. ‘We mustn’t overdo things,’ he told her. ‘It’s time to go home now,’ and he set off with her down the path, for he could see she had had quite enough for one day and needed rest.

When Peter went down into Dörfli that evening, he saw a knot of people staring at something, talking and elbowing each other aside to get a better view of it. Peter wormed his way through them to see what it was all about — and saw the remains of Clara’s chair. There was enough of it left still to show how fine it had been.

‘I saw it when the carriers brought it,’ said the baker. ‘It must have cost a lot of money, I’ll be bound. I can’t think how such a thing could have happened.’

‘Uncle Alp said the wind might have blown it down,’ a woman said, looking at the quality of the red leather.

‘Let’s hope he’s right,’ remarked the baker, ‘— or someone will smart for it. The gentleman in Frankfurt is sure to want the matter looked into, and then there’ll be trouble. But no one can say I had a hand in it. I haven’t been near the hut these two years or more.’

There was more talk of the same kind, but Peter had heard enough. He slunk away and ran home as if he thought someone was after him. The baker’s words frightened him, and he was afraid that a policeman might arrive from Frankfurt any moment, and that everything would come out and he would be sent to prison. His hair stood on end with horror at the mere idea, and he reached home in such a state, he could neither speak nor eat, but went straight to bed and hid under the bedclothes, groaning aloud in his misery.

‘Peter must have been eating sorrel again, and given himself stomach‐ache,’ said his mother. ‘Just listen to him.’

‘Give him a little more food to take with him tomorrow,’ Grannie suggested kindly. ‘Give him some of my bread.’

As Clara and Heidi lay in bed that night, looking at the stars, Heidi said suddenly, ‘I’ve been thinking. Isn’t it a good thing God doesn’t always give us just what we’re asking for, even though we pray ever so hard? Of course, it’s because He knows something else will be better for us.’

‘What makes you say that now?’ asked Clara.

‘When I was in Frankfurt I prayed so hard to be allowed to go home at once, but God didn’t let me, and I thought He had forgotten me. But if I had gone home then, you would never have come here and got well.’

Clara considered this, then she said, ‘But in that case, perhaps we ought not to pray for anything, because God knows — as we don’t — what is best for us.’

‘I don’t think that’s quite right either,’ Heidi replied quickly. ‘We ought to pray to Him every day to show our trust, and that we know that everything comes from God. If we forget Him, then sometimes He lets us go our own way, and then things go very wrong with us. Your grand‐mamma told me that, and everything turned out as she said it would. So now we ought to thank Him for making you walk.’

‘I’m glad you reminded me,’ Clara agreed. ‘I was so happy, I’d almost forgotten my prayers.’

Next morning Uncle Alp suggested they should write and invite Mrs Sesemann to pay them a visit as they had something special to show her. But the children had planned a better surprise still for Grandmamma. They wanted Clara to practise until she could really walk alone before Grandmamma heard about it, and they asked Uncle Alp how long he thought it would take. He said about a week, so their next letter to Ragaz contained a pressing invitation for her to come up the mountain in about a week’s time, but they did not tell her why.