Heidi (32 page)

"I am coming and you won't do what you said."

Peter appeared now so submissive with fear that Heidi felt quite
sorry for him and answered assuringly, "No, no, of course not;
come along with me, there is nothing to be afraid of in what I
want you to do."

As soon as they got to Clara, Heidi gave her orders: Peter was
to take hold of her under the arms on one side and she on the
other, and together they were to lift her up. This first movement
was successfully carried through, but then came the difficulty.
As Clara could not even stand, how were they to support her and
get her along? Heidi was too small for her arm to serve Clara to
lean upon.

"You must put one arm well around my neck so, and put the other
through Peter's and lean firmly upon it, then we shall be able
to carry you."

Peter, however, had never given his arm to any one in his life.
Clara put hers in his, but he kept his own hanging down straight
beside him like a stick.

"That's not the way, Peter," said Heidi in an authoritative
voice. "You must put your arm out in the shape of a ring, and
Clara must put hers through it and lean her weight upon you, and
whatever you do, don't let your arm give way; like that. I am
sure we shall be able to manage."

Peter did as he was told, but still they did not get on very
well. Clara was not such a light weight, and the team did not
match very well in size; it was up one side and down the other,
so that the supports were rather wobbly.

Clara tried to use her own feet a little, but each time drew
them quickly back.

"Put your foot down firmly once," suggested Heidi, "I am sure it
will hurt you less after that."

"Do you think so?" said Clara hesitatingly, but she followed
Heidi's advice and ventured one firm step on the ground and then
another; she called out a little as she did it; then she lifted
her foot again and went on, "Oh, that was less painful already,"
she exclaimed joyfully.

"Try again," said Heidi encouragingly.

And Clara went on putting one foot out after another until all
at once she called out, "I can do it, Heidi! look! look! I can
make proper steps!" And Heidi cried out with even greater
delight, "Can you really make steps, can you really walk? really
walk by yourself? Oh, if only grandfather were here!" and she
continued gleefully to exclaim, "You can walk now, Clara, you can
walk!"

Clara still held on firmly to her supports, but with every step
she felt safer on her feet, as all three became aware, and Heidi
was beside herself with joy.

"Now we shall be able to come up here together every day, and go
just where we like; and you will be able all your life to walk
about as I do, and not have to be pushed in a chair, and you
will get quite strong and well. It is the greatest happiness we
could have had!"

And Clara heartily agreed, for she could think of no greater joy
in the world than to be strong and able to go about like other
people, and no longer to have to lie from day to day in her
invalid chair.

They had not far to go to reach the field of flowers, and could
already catch sight of the cistus flowers glowing gold in the
sun. As they came to the bushes of the blue bell flowers, with
sunny, inviting patches of warm ground between them, Clara said,
"Mightn't we sit down here for a while?"

This was just what Heidi enjoyed, and so the children sat down
in the midst of the flowers, Clara for the first time on the dry,
warm mountain grass, and she found it indescribably delightful.
Around her were the blue flowers softly waving to and fro, and
beyond the gleaming patches of the cistus flowers and the red
centaury, while the sweet scent of the brown blossoms and of the
fragrant prunella enveloped her as she sat. Everything was so
lovely! so lovely! And Heidi, who was beside her, thought she
had never seen it so perfectly beautiful up here before, and she
did not know herself why she felt so glad at heart that she
longed to shout for joy. Then she suddenly remembered that Clara
was cured; that was the crowning delight of all that made life so
delightful in the midst of all this surrounding beauty. Clara sat
silent, overcome with the enchantment of all that her eye rested
upon, and with the anticipation of all the happiness that was now
before her. There seemed hardly room in her heart for all her
joyful emotions, and these and the ecstasy aroused by the
sunlight and the scent of the flowers, held her dumb.

Peter also lay among the flowers without moving or speaking, for
he was fast asleep. The breeze came blowing softly and
caressingly from behind the sheltering rocks, and passed
whisperingly through the bushes overhead. Heidi got up now and
then to run about, for the flowers waving in the warm wind
seemed to smell sweeter and to grow more thickly whichever way
she went, and she felt she must sit down at each fresh spot to
enjoy the sight and scent. So the hours went by.

It was long past noon when a small troop of goats advanced
solemnly towards the plain of flowers. It was not a feeding
place of theirs, for they did not care to graze on flowers. They
looked like an embassy arriving, with Greenfinch as their leader.
They had evidently come in search of their companions who had
left them in the lurch, and who had, contrary to all custom,
remained away so long, for the goats could tell the time without
mistake. As soon as Greenfinch caught sight of the three missing
friends amid the flowers she set up an extra loud bleat,
whereupon all the others joined in a chorus of bleats, and the
whole company came trotting towards the children. Peter woke up,
rubbing his eyes, for he had been dreaming that he saw the chair
again with its beautiful red padding standing whole and uninjured
before the grandfather's door, and indeed just as he awoke he
thought he was looking at the brass-headed nails that studded it
all round, but it was only the bright yellow flowers beside him.
He experienced again a dreadful fear of mind that he had lost in
this dream of the uninjured chair. Even though Heidi had promised
not to do anything, there still remained the lively dread that
his deed might be found out in some other way. He allowed Heidi
to do what she liked with him, for he was reduced to such a state
of low spirits and meekness that he was ready to give his help to
Clara without murmur or resistance.

When all three had got back to their old quarters Heidi ran and
brought forward the bag, and proceeded to fulfil her promise,
for her threat of the morning had been concerned with Peter's
dinner. She had seen her grandfather putting in all sorts of good
things, and had been pleased to think of Peter having a large
share of them, and she had meant him to understand when he
refused at first to help her that he would get nothing for his
dinner, but Peter's conscience had put another interpretation
upon her words. Heidi took the food out of the bag and divided it
into three portions, and each was of such a goodly size that she
thought to herself, "There will be plenty of ours left for him to
have more still."

She gave the other two their dinners and sat down with her own
beside Clara, and they all three ate with a good appetite after
their great exertions.

It ended as Heidi had expected, and Peter got as much food again
as his own share with what Clara and Heidi had over from theirs
after they had both eaten as much as they wanted. Peter ate up
every bit of food to the last crumb, but there was something
wanting to his usual enjoyment of a good dinner, for every
mouthful he swallowed seemed to choke him, and he felt something
gnawing inside him.

They were so late at their dinner that they had not long to wait
after they had finished before grandfather came up to fetch them.
Heidi rushed forward to meet him as soon as he appeared, as she
wanted to be the first to tell him the good news. She was so
excited that she could hardly get her words out when she did get
up to him, but he soon understood, and a look of extreme pleasure
came into his face. He hastened up to where Clara was sitting and
said with a cheerful smile, "So we've made the effort, have we,
and won the day!"

Then he lifted her up, and putting his left arm behind her and
giving her his right to lean upon, made her walk a little way,
which she did with less trembling and hesitation than before now
that she had such a strong arm round her.

Heidi skipped along beside her in triumphant glee, and the
grandfather looked too as if some happiness had befallen him.
But now he took Clara up in his arms. "We must not overdo it,"
he said, "and it is high time we went home," and he started off
down the mountain path, for he was anxious to get her indoors
that she might rest after her unusual fatigue.

When Peter got to Dorfli that evening he found a large group of
people collected round a certain spot, pushing one another and
looking over each other's shoulders in their eagerness to catch
sight of something lying on the ground. Peter thought he should
like to see too, and poked and elbowed till he made his way
through.

There it lay, the thing he had wanted to see. Scattered about
the grass were the remains of Clara's chair; part of the back and
the middle bit, and enough of the red padding and the bright
nails to show how magnificent the chair had been when it was
entire.

"I was here when the men passed carrying it up," said the baker
who was standing near Peter. "I'll bet any one that it was worth
twenty-five pounds at least. I cannot think how such an accident
could have happened."

"Uncle said the wind might perhaps have done it," remarked one
of the women, who could not sufficiently admire the red
upholstery.

"It's a good job that no one but the wind did it," said the
baker again, "or he might smart for it! No doubt the gentleman in
Frankfurt when he hears what has happened will make all
inquiries about it. I am glad for myself that I have not been
seen up the mountain for a good two years, as suspicion is likely
to fall on any one who was about up there at the time."

Many more opinions were passed on the matter, but Peter had
heard enough. He crept quietly away out of the crowd and then
took to his heels and ran up home as fast as he could, as if he
thought some one was after him. The baker's words had filled him
with fear and trembling. He was sure now that any day a constable
might come over from Frankfurt and inquire about the destruction
of the chair, and then everything would come out, and he would
be seized and carried off to Frankfurt and there put in prison.
The whole picture of what was coming was clear before him, and
his hair stood on end with terror.

He reached home in this disturbed state of mind. He would not
open his mouth in reply to anything that was said to him; he
would not eat his potatoes; all he did was to creep off to bed
as quickly as possible and hide under the bedclothes and groan.

"Peter has been eating sorrel again, and is evidently in pain by
the way he is groaning," said Brigitta.

"You must give him a little more bread to take with him; give
him a bit of mine to-morrow," said the grandmother sympathisingly.

As the children lay that night in bed looking out at the stars
Heidi said, "I have been thinking all day what a happy thing it
is that God does not give us what we ask for, even when we pray
and pray and pray, if He knows there is something better for us;
have you felt like that?"

"Why do you ask me that to-night all of a sudden?" asked Clara.

"Because I prayed so hard when I was in Frankfurt that I might
go home at once, and because I was not allowed to I thought God
had forgotten me. And now you see, if I had come away at first
when I wanted to, you would never have come here, and would never
have got well."

Clara had in her turn become thoughtful. "But, Heidi," she began
again, "in that case we ought never to pray for anything, as God
always intends something better for us than we know or wish
for."

"You must not think it is like that, Clara," replied Heidi
eagerly. "We must go on praying for everything, for everything,
so that God may know we do not forget that it all comes from
Him. If we forget God, then He lets us go our own way and we get
into trouble; grandmamma told me so. And if He does not give us
what we ask for we must not think that He has not heard us and
leave off praying, but we must still pray and say, I am sure,
dear God, that Thou art keeping something better for me, and I
will not be unhappy, for I know that Thou wilt make everything
right in the end."

"How did you learn all that?" asked Clara.

"Grandmamma explained it to me first of all, and then when it
all happened just as she said, I knew it myself, and I think,
Clara," she went on, as she sat up in bed, "we ought certainly to
thank God to-night that you can walk now, and that He has made us
so happy."

"Yes, Heidi, I am sure you are right, and I am glad you reminded
me; I almost forgot my prayers for very joy."

Both children said their prayers, and each thanked God in her
own way for the blessing He had bestowed on Clara, who had for so
long lain weak and ill.

The next morning the grandfather suggested that they should now
write to the grandmamma and ask her if she would not come and
pay them a visit, as they had something new to show her. But the
children had another plan in their heads, for they wanted to
prepare a great surprise for grandmamma. Clara was first to have
more practice in walking so that she might be able to go a
little way by herself; above all things grandmamma was not to
have a hint of it. They asked the grandfather how long he thought
this would take, and when he told them about a week or less, they
immediately sat down and wrote a pressing invitation to
grandmamma, asking her to come soon, but no word was said about
there being anything new to see.