Heidi (2 page)

"I see where she is," exclaimed Barbel, "look over there!" and
she pointed to a spot far away from the footpath. "She is
climbing up the slope yonder with the goatherd and his goats. I
wonder why he is so late to-day bringing them up. It happens
well, however, for us, for he can now see after the child, and
you can the better tell me your tale."

"Oh, as to the looking after," remarked Dete, "the boy need not
put himself out about that; she is not by any means stupid for
her five years, and knows how to use her eyes. She notices all
that is going on, as I have often had occasion to remark, and
this will stand her in good stead some day, for the old man has
nothing beyond his two goats and his hut."

"Did he ever have more?" asked Barbel.

"He? I should think so indeed," replied Dete with animation; "he
was owner once of one of the largest farms in Domleschg. He was
the elder of two brothers; the younger was a quiet, orderly man,
but nothing would please the other but to play the grand
gentleman and go driving about the country and mixing with bad
company, strangers that nobody knew. He drank and gambled away
the whole of his property, and when this became known to his
mother and father they died, one shortly after the other, of
sorrow. The younger brother, who was also reduced to beggary,
went off in his anger, no one knew whither, while Uncle himself,
having nothing now left to him but his bad name, also
disappeared. For some time his whereabouts were unknown, then
some one found out that he had gone to Naples as a soldier;
after that nothing more was heard of him for twelve or fifteen
years. At the end of that time he reappeared in Domleschg,
bringing with him a young child, whom he tried to place with some
of his kinspeople. Every door, however, was shut in his face, for
no one wished to have any more to do with him. Embittered by this
treatment, he vowed never to set foot in Domleschg again, and he
then came to Dorfli, where he continued to live with his little
boy. His wife was probably a native of the Grisons, whom he had
met down there, and who died soon after their marriage. He could
not have been entirely without money, for he apprenticed his
son, Tobias, to a carpenter. He was a steady lad, and kindly
received by every one in Dorfli. The old man was, however, still
looked upon with suspicion, and it was even rumoured that he had
been forced to make his escape from Naples, or it might have gone
badly with him, for that he had killed a man, not in fair fight,
you understand, but in some brawl. We, however, did not refuse
to acknowledge our relationship with him, my great-grandmother on
my mother's side having been sister to his grandmother. So we
called him Uncle, and as through my father we are also related to
nearly every family in Dorfli, he became known all over the place
as Uncle, and since he went to live on the mountain side he has
gone everywhere by the name of Alm-Uncle."

"And what happened to Tobias?" asked Barbel, who was listening
with deep interest.

"Wait a moment, I am coming to that, but I cannot tell you
everything at once," replied Dete. "Tobias was taught his trade
in Mels, and when he had served his apprenticeship he came back
to Dorfli and married my sister Adelaide. They had always been
fond of one another, and they got on very well together after
they were married. But their happiness did not last long. Her
husband met with his death only two years after their marriage,
a beam falling upon him as he was working, and killing him on the
spot. They carried him home, and when Adelaide saw the poor
disfigured body of her husband she was so overcome with horror
and grief that she fell into a fever from which she never
recovered. She had always been rather delicate and subject to
curious attacks, during which no one knew whether she was awake
or sleeping. And so two months after Tobias had been carried to
the grave, his wife followed him. Their sad fate was the talk of
everybody far and near, and both in private and public the
general opinion was expressed that it was a punishment which
Uncle had deserved for the godless life he had led. Some went so
far even as to tell him so to his face. Our minister endeavored
to awaken his conscience and exhorted him to repentance, but the
old man grew only more wrathful and obdurate and would not speak
to a soul, and every one did their best to keep out of his way.
All at once we heard that he had gone to live up the Alm and did
not intend ever to come down again, and since then he has led
his solitary life on the mountain side at enmity with God and
man. Mother and I took Adelaide's little one, then only a year
old, into our care. When mother died last year, and I went down
to the Baths to earn some money, I paid old Ursel, who lives in
the village just above, to keep and look after the child. I
stayed on at the Baths through the winter, for as I could sew and
knit I had no difficulty in finding plenty of work, and early in
the spring the same family I had waited on before returned from
Frankfurt, and again asked me to go back with them. And so we
leave the day after to-morrow, and I can assure you, it is an
excellent place for me."

"And you are going to give the child over to the old man up
there? It surprises me beyond words that you can think of doing
such a thing, Dete," said Barbel, in a voice full of reproach.

"What do you mean?" retorted Dete. "I have done my duty by the
child, and what would you have me do with it now? I cannot
certainly take a child of five years old with me to Frankfurt.
But where are you going to yourself, Barbel; we are now half way
up the Alm?"

"We have just reached the place I wanted," answered Barbel. "I
had something to say to the goatherd's wife, who does some
spinning for me in the winter. So good-bye, Dete, and good luck
to you!"

Dete shook hands with her friend and remained standing while
Barbel went towards a small, dark brown hut, which stood a few
steps away from the path in a hollow that afforded it some
protection from the mountain wind. The hut was situated half way
up the Alm, reckoning from Dorfli, and it was well that it was
provided with some shelter, for it was so broken-down and
dilapidated that even then it must have been very unsafe as a
habitation, for when the stormy south wind came sweeping over
the mountain, everything inside it, doors and windows, shook and
rattled, and all the rotten old beams creaked and trembled. On
such days as this, had the goatherd's dwelling been standing
above on the exposed mountain side, it could not have escaped
being blown straight down into the valley without a moment's
warning.

Here lived Peter, the eleven-year-old boy, who every morning
went down to Dorfli to fetch his goats and drive them up on to
the mountain, where they were free to browse till evening on the
delicious mountain plants.

Then Peter, with his light-footed animals, would go running and
leaping down the mountain again till he reached Dorfli, and
there he would give a shrill whistle through his fingers,
whereupon all the owners of the goats would come out to fetch
home the animals that belonged to them. It was generally the
small boys and girls who ran in answer to Peter's whistle, for
they were none of them afraid of the gentle goats, and this was
the only hour of the day through all the summer months that Peter
had any opportunity of seeing his young friends, since the rest
of his time was spent alone with the goats. He had a mother and a
blind grandmother at home, it is true, but he was always obliged
to start off very early in the morning, and only got home late in
the evening from Dorfli, for he always stayed as long as he could
talking and playing with the other children; and so he had just
time enough at home, and that was all, to swallow down his bread
and milk in the morning, and again in the evening to get through
a similar meal, lie down in bed and go to sleep. His father, who
had been known also as the goatherd, having earned his living as
such when younger, had been accidentally killed while cutting
wood some years before. His mother, whose real name was Brigitta,
was always called the goatherd's wife, for the sake of old
association, while the blind grandmother was just "grandmother"
to all the old and young in the neighborhood.

Dete had been standing for a good ten minutes looking about her
in every direction for some sign of the children and the goats.
Not a glimpse of them, however, was to be seen, so she climbed
to a higher spot, whence she could get a fuller view of the
mountain as it sloped beneath her to the valley, while, with
ever-increasing anxiety on her face and in her movements, she
continued to scan the surrounding slopes. Meanwhile the children
were climbing up by a far and roundabout way, for Peter knew
many spots where all kinds of good food, in the shape of shrubs
and plants, grew for his goats, and he was in the habit of
leading his flock aside from the beaten track. The child,
exhausted with the heat and weight of her thick armor of clothes,
panted and struggled after him at first with some difficulty. She
said nothing, but her little eyes kept watching first Peter, as
he sprang nimbly hither and thither on his bare feet, clad only
in his short light breeches, and then the slim-legged goats that
went leaping over rocks and shrubs and up the steep ascents with
even greater ease. All at once she sat herself down on the
ground, and as fast as her little fingers could move, began
pulling off her shoes and stockings. This done she rose, unwound
the hot red shawl and threw it away, and then proceeded to undo
her frock. It was off in a second, but there was still another
to unfasten, for Dete had put the Sunday frock on over the
everyday one, to save the trouble of carrying it. Quick as
lightning the everyday frock followed the other, and now the
child stood up, clad only in her light short-sleeved under
garment, stretching out her little bare arms with glee. She put
all her clothes together in a tidy little heap, and then went
jumping and climbing up after Peter and the goats as nimbly as
any one of the party. Peter had taken no heed of what the child
was about when she stayed behind, but when she ran up to him in
her new attire, his face broke into a grin, which grew broader
still as he looked back and saw the small heap of clothes lying
on the ground, until his mouth stretched almost from ear to ear;
he said nothing, however. The child, able now to move at her
ease, began to enter into conversation with Peter, who had many
questions to answer, for his companion wanted to know how many
goats he had, where he was going to with them, and what he had to
do when he arrived there. At last, after some time, they and the
goats approached the hut and came within view of Cousin Dete.
Hardly had the latter caught sight of the little company climbing
up towards her when she shrieked out: "Heidi, what have you been
doing! What a sight you have made of yourself! And where are your
two frocks and the red wrapper? And the new shoes I bought, and
the new stockings I knitted for you—everything gone! not a thing
left! What can you have been thinking of, Heidi; where are all
your clothes?"

The child quietly pointed to a spot below on the mountain side
and answered, "Down there." Dete followed the direction of her
finger; she could just distinguish something lying on the
ground, with a spot of red on the top of it which she had no
doubt was the woollen wrapper.

"You good-for-nothing little thing!" exclaimed Dete angrily,
"what could have put it into your head to do like that? What
made you undress yourself? What do you mean by it?"

"I don't want any clothes," said the child, not showing any sign
of repentance for her past deed.

"You wretched, thoughtless child! have you no sense in you at
all?" continued Dete, scolding and lamenting. "Who is going all
that way down to fetch them; it's a good half-hour's walk!
Peter, you go off and fetch them for me as quickly as you can,
and don't stand there gaping at me, as if you were rooted to the
ground!"

"I am already past my time," answered Peter slowly, without
moving from the spot where he had been standing with his hands
in his pockets, listening to Dete's outburst of dismay and anger.

"Well, you won't get far if you only keep on standing there with
your eyes staring out of your head," was Dete's cross reply;
"but see, you shall have something nice," and she held out a
bright new piece of money to him that sparkled in the sun. Peter
was immediately up and off down the steep mountain side, taking
the shortest cut, and in an incredibly short space of time had
reached the little heap of clothes, which he gathered up under
his arm, and was back again so quickly that even Dete was
obliged to give him a word of praise as she handed him the
promised money. Peter promptly thrust it into his pocket and his
face beamed with delight, for it was not often that he was the
happy possessor of such riches.

"You can carry the things up for me as far as Uncle's, as you are
going the same way," went on Dete, who was preparing to continue
her climb up the mountain side, which rose in a steep ascent
immediately behind the goatherd's hut. Peter willingly undertook
to do this, and followed after her on his bare feet, with his
left arm round the bundle and the right swinging his goatherd's
stick, while Heidi and the goats went skipping and jumping
joyfully beside him. After a climb of more than three-quarters
of an hour they reached the top of the Alm mountain. Uncle's hut
stood on a projection of the rock, exposed indeed to the winds,
but where every ray of sun could rest upon it, and a full view
could be had of the valley beneath. Behind the hut stood three
old fir trees, with long, thick, unlopped branches. Beyond these
rose a further wall of mountain, the lower heights still
overgrown with beautiful grass and plants, above which were
stonier slopes, covered only with scrub, that led gradually up
to the steep, bare rocky summits.