Heidi (22 page)

There were exclamations of pleasure and astonishment on hearing
all this news, and so much to talk and ask about that even the
grandfather did not notice how the time was passing; there was
general delight at the thought of the coming days, and even more
at the meeting which had taken place on this one, and the
grandmother spoke and said, "The happiest of all things is when
an old friend comes and greets us as in former times; the heart
is comforted with the assurance that some day everything that we
have loved will be given back to us.—You will come soon again,
uncle, and you child, to-morrow?"

The old man and Heidi promised her faithfully to do so; then it
was time to break up the party, and these two went back up the
mountain. As they had been greeted with bells when they made
their journey down in the morning, so now they were accompanied
by the peaceful evening chimes as they climbed to the hut, which
had quite a Sunday-like appearance as it stood bathed in the
light of the low evening sun.

But when grandmamma comes next autumn there will be many fresh
joys and surprises both for Heidi and grandmother; without doubt
a proper bed will be put up in the hay-loft, for wherever
grandmamma steps in, there everything is soon in right order,
outside and in.

The kind doctor who had given the order that Heidi was to be
sent home was walking along one of the broad streets towards Herr
Sesemann's house. It was a sunny September morning, so full of
light and sweetness that it seemed as if everybody must rejoice.
But the doctor walked with his eyes fastened to the ground and
did not once lift them to the blue sky above him. There was an
expression of sadness on his face, formerly so cheerful, and his
hair had grown greyer since the spring. The doctor had had an
only daughter, who, after his wife's death, had been his sole
and constant companion, but only a few months previously death
had deprived him of his dear child, and he had never been the
same bright and cheery man since.

Sebastian opened the door to him, greeting him with every mark
of respectful civility, for the doctor was not only the most
cherished friend of the master and his daughter, but had by his
kindness won the hearts of the whole household.

"Everything as usual, Sebastian?" asked the doctor in his
pleasant voice as he preceded Sebastian up the stairs.

"I am glad you have come, doctor," exclaimed Herr Sesemann as
the latter entered. "We must really have another talk over this
Swiss journey; do you still adhere to your decision, even though
Clara is decidedly improving in health?"

"My dear Sesemann, I never knew such a man as you!" said the
doctor as he sat down beside his friend. "I really wish your
mother was here; everything would be clear and straightforward
then and she would soon put things in right train. You sent for
me three times yesterday only to ask me the same question,
though you know what I think."

"Yes, I know, it's enough to make you out of patience with me;
but you must understand, dear friend"—and Herr Sesemann laid
his hand imploringly on the doctor's shoulder—"that I feel I
have not the courage to refuse the child what I have been
promising her all along, and for months now she has been living
on the thought of it day and night. She bore this last bad attack
so patiently because she was buoyed up with the hope that she
should soon start on her Swiss journey, and see her friend Heidi
again; and now must I tell the poor child, who has to give up so
many pleasures, that this visit she has so long looked forward to
must also be cancelled? I really have not the courage to do it."

"You must make up your mind to it, Sesemann," said the doctor
with authority, and as his friend continued silent and dejected
he went on after a pause, "Consider yourself how the matter
stands. Clara has not had such a bad summer as this last one for
years. Only the worst results would follow from the fatigue of
such a journey, and it is out of the question for her. And then
we are already in September, and although it may still be warm
and fine up there, it may just as likely be already very cold.
The days too are growing short, and as Clara cannot spend the
night up there she would only have a two hours' visit at the
outside. The journey from Ragatz would take hours, for she would
have to be carried up the mountain in a chair. In short,
Sesemann, it is impossible. But I will go in with you and talk
to Clara; she is a reasonable child, and I will tell her what my
plans are. Next May she shall be taken to the baths and stay
there for the cure until it is quite hot weather. Then she can
be carried up the mountain from time to time, and when she is
stronger she will enjoy these excursions far more than she would
now. Understand, Sesemann, that if we want to give the child a
chance of recovery we must use the utmost care and
watchfulness."

Herr Sesemann, who had listened to the doctor in sad and
submissive silence, now suddenly jumped up. "Doctor," he said,
"tell me truly: have you really any hope of her final recovery?"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Very little," he replied
quietly. "But, friend, think of my trouble. You have still a
beloved child to look for you and greet you on your return home.
You do not come back to an empty house and sit down to a
solitary meal. And the child is happy and comfortable at home
too. If there is much that she has to give up, she has on the
other hand many advantages. No, Sesemann, you are not so greatly
to be pitied—you have still the happiness of being together.
Think of my lonely house!"

Herr Sesemann was now striding up and down the room as was his
habit when deeply engaged in thought. Suddenly he came to a
pause beside his friend and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Doctor, I have an idea; I cannot bear to see you look as you do;
you are no longer the same man. You must be taken out of yourself
for a while, and what do you think I propose? That you shall take
the journey and go and pay Heidi a visit in our name."

The doctor was taken aback at this sudden proposal and wanted to
make objections, but his friend gave him no time to say
anything. He was so delighted with his idea, that he seized the
doctor by the arm and drew him into Clara's room. The kind doctor
was always a welcome visitor to Clara, for he generally had
something amusing to tell her. Lately, it is true, he had been
graver, but Clara knew the reason why and would have given much
to see him his old lively self again. She held out her hand to
him as he came up to her; he took a seat beside her, and her
father also drew up his chair, and taking Clara's hand in his
began to talk to her of the Swiss journey and how he himself had
looked forward to it. He passed as quickly as he could over the
main point that it was now impossible for her to undertake it,
for he dreaded the tears that would follow; but he went on
without pause to tell her of his new plan, and dwelt on the great
benefit it would be to his friend if he could be persuaded to
take this holiday.

The tears were indeed swimming in the blue eyes, although Clara
struggled to keep them down for her father's sake, but it was a
bitter disappointment to give up the journey, the thought of
which had been her only joy and solace during the lonely hours
of her long illness. She knew, however, that her father would
never refuse her a thing unless he was certain that it would be
harmful for her. So she swallowed her tears as well as she could
and turned her thoughts to the one hope still left her. Taking
the doctor's hand and stroking it, she said pleadingly,—

"Dear doctor, you will go and see Heidi, won't you? and then you
can come and tell me all about it, what it is like up there, and
what Heidi and the grandfather, and Peter and the goats do all
day. I know them all so well! And then you can take what I want
to send to Heidi; I have thought about it all, and also
something for the grandmother. Do pray go, dear doctor, and I
will take as much cod liver oil as you like."

Whether this promise finally decided the doctor it is impossible
to say, but it is certain that he smiled and said,—

"Then I must certainly go, Clara, for you will then get as plump
and strong as your father and I wish to see you. And have you
decided when I am to start?"

"To-morrow morning—early if possible," replied Clara.

"Yes, she is right," put in Herr Sesemann; "the sun is shining
and the sky is blue, and there is no time to be lost; it is a
pity to miss a single one of these days on the mountain."

The doctor could not help laughing. "You will be reproaching me
next for not being there already; well, I must go and make
arrangements for getting off."

But Clara would not let him go until she had given him endless
messages for Heidi, and had explained all he was to look at so
as to give her an exact description on his return. Her presents
she would send round later, as Fraulein Rottenmeier must first
help her to pack them up; at that moment she was out on one of
her excursions into the town which always kept her engaged for
some time. The doctor promised to obey Clara's directions in
every particular; he would start some time during the following
day if not the first thing in the morning, and would bring back a
faithful account of his experiences and of all he saw and heard.

The servants of a household have a curious faculty of divining
what is going on before they are actually told about anything.
Sebastian and Tinette must have possessed this faculty in a high
degree, for even as the doctor was going downstairs, Tinette,
who had been rung for, entered Clara's room.

"Take that box and bring it back filled with the soft cakes
which we have with coffee," said Clara, pointing to a box which
had been brought long before in preparation for this. Tinette
took it up, and carried it out, dangling it contemptuously in her
hand.

"Hardly worth the trouble I should have thought," she said
pertly as she left the room.

As Sebastian opened the door for the doctor he said with a bow,
"Will the Herr Doctor be so kind as to give the little miss my
greetings?"

"I see," said the doctor, "you know then already that I am off
on a journey."

Sebastian hesitated and gave an awkward little cough. "I am—I
have—I hardly know myself. O yes, I remember; I happened to
pass through the dining-room and caught little miss's name, and I
put two and two together—and so I thought—"

"I see, I see," smiled the doctor, "one can find out a great
many thinks by thinking. Good-bye till I see you again,
Sebastian, I will be sure and give your message."

The doctor was hastening off when he met with a sudden obstacle;
the violent wind had prevented Fraulein Rottenmeier prosecuting
her walk any farther, and she was just returning and had reached
the door as he was coming out. The white shawl she wore was so
blown out by the wind that she looked like a ship in full sail.
The doctor drew back, but Fraulein Rottenmeier had always
evinced peculiar appreciation and respect for this man, and she
also drew back with exaggerated politeness to let him pass. The
two stood for a few seconds, each anxious to make way for the
other, but a sudden gust of wind sent Fraulein Rottenmeier flying
with all her sails almost into the doctor's arms, and she had to
pause and recover herself before she could shake hands with the
doctor with becoming decorum. She was put out at having been
forced to enter in so undignified a manner, but the doctor had a
way of smoothing people's ruffled feathers, and she was soon
listening with her usual composure while he informed her of his
intended journey, begging her in his most conciliatory voice to
pack up the parcels for Heidi as she alone knew how to pack. And
then he took his leave.

Clara quite expected to have a long tussle with Fraulein
Rottenmeier before she would get the latter to consent to
sending all the things that she had collected as presents for
Heidi. But this time she was mistaken, for Fraulein Rottenmeier
was in a more than usually good temper. She cleared the large
table so that all the things for Heidi could be spread out upon
it and packed under Clara's own eyes. It was no light job, for
the presents were of all shapes and sizes. First there was the
little warm cloak with a hood, which had been designed by Clara
herself, in order that Heidi during the coming winter might be
able to go and see grandmother when she liked, and not have to
wait till her grandfather could take her wrapped up in a sack to
keep her from freezing. Then came a thick warm shawl for the
grandmother, in which she could wrap herself well up and not feel
the cold when the wind came sweeping in such terrible gusts round
the house. The next object was the large box full of cakes; these
were also for the grandmother, that she might have something to
eat with her coffee besides bread. An immense sausage was the
next article; this had been originally intended for Peter, who
never had anything but bread and cheese, but Clara had altered
her mind, fearing that in his delight he might eat it all up at
once and make himself ill. So she arranged to send it to
Brigitta, who could take some for herself and the grandmother and
give Peter his portion out by degrees. A packet of tobacco was a
present for grandfather, who was fond of his pipe as he sat
resting in the evening. Finally there was a whole lot of
mysterious little bags, and parcels, and boxes, which Clara had
had especial pleasure in collecting, as each was to be a joyful
surprise for Heidi as she opened it. The work came to an end at
last, and an imposing-looking package lay on the floor ready for
transport. Fraulein Rottenmeier looked at it with satisfaction,
lost in the consideration of the art of packing. Clara eyed it
too with pleasure, picturing Heidi's exclamations and jumps of
joy and surprise when the huge parcel arrived at the hut.