Heidi

The little old town of Mayenfeld is charmingly situated. From it a footpath leads through green, well-wooded stretches to the foot of the heights which look down imposingly upon the valley. Where the footpath begins to go steeply and abruptly up the Alps, the heath, with its short grass and pungent herbage, at once sends out its soft perfume to meet the wayfarer.

One bright sunny morning in June, a tall, vigorous maiden of the mountain region climbed up the narrow path, leading a little girl by the hand. The youngster’s cheeks were in such a glow that it showed even through her sun-browned skin. Small wonder though! for in spite of the heat, the little one, who was scarcely five years old, was bundled up as if she had to brave a bitter frost. Her shape was difficult to distinguish, for she wore two dresses, if not three, and around her shoulders a large red cotton shawl. With her feet encased in heavy hobnailed boots, this hot and shapeless little person toiled up the mountain.

Overlooking the valley the uncle had made himself a bench, by the side of the hut. Here he sat, with his pipe between his teeth and both hands resting on his knees. He quietly watched the children climbing up with the goats and Aunt Deta behind them, for the children had caught up to her long ago. Heidi reached the top first, and approaching the old man she held out her hand to him and said: “Good evening, grandfather!”

“Well, well, what does that mean?” replied the old man in a rough voice. Giving her his hand for only a moment, he watched her with a long and penetrating look from under his bushy brows. Heidi gazed back at him with an unwinking glance and examined him with much curiosity, for he was strange to look at, with his thick, grey beard and shaggy eyebrows, that met in the middle like a thicket.

Heidi’s aunt had arrived in the meantime with Peter, who was eager to see what was going to happen.

“Good day to you, uncle,” said Deta as she approached. “This is Tobias’s and Adelheid’s child. You won’t be able to remember her, because last time you saw her she was scarcely a year old.”

“Why do you bring her here?” asked the uncle, and turning to Peter he said: “Get away and bring my goats. How late you are already!”

Thus the day had passed, and the sun was already sinking down behind the mountains. Sitting on the grass, Heidi looked at the bluebells and the wild roses that were shining in the last rays of the sun. The peaks also started to glow, and Heidi suddenly called to the boy: “Oh, Peter, look! everything is on fire. The mountains are burning and the sky, too. Oh, look! the moon over there is on fire, too. Do you see the mountains all in a glow? Oh, how beautiful the snow looks! Peter, the eagle’s nest is surely on fire, too. Oh, look at the fir-trees over there!”

Peter was quietly peeling his rod, and looking up, said to Heidi: “This is no fire; it always looks like that.”

“But what is it then?” asked Heidi eagerly, gazing about her everywhere.

“It gets that way of itself,” explained Peter.

“Oh look! Everything is all rosy now! Oh, look at this mountain over there with the snow and the sharp peaks. What is its name?”

“Mountains have no names,” he answered.

“Oh, see, how beautiful! It looks as if many, many roses were growing on those cliffs. Oh, now they are getting grey. Oh dear! the fire has gone out and it is all over. What a terrible shame!” said Heidi quite despondently.

“It will be the same again tomorrow,” Peter reassured her. “Come now, we have to go home.”

When Peter had called the goats together, they started downwards.

“Will it be like that every day when we are up?” asked Heidi, eagerly.

Heidi sat down quietly on her chair. Nobody said a word, and there was an uncomfortable silence. At last Miss Rottenmeier began with a severe and solemn voice: “I shall speak with you later, Adelheid. How can you leave the house without a word? Your behavior was very remiss. The idea of walking about till so late!”

“Meow!” was the reply.

“I didn’t,” Heidi began⁠—“Meow!”

Sebastian nearly flung the dish on the table, and disappeared.

“This is enough,” Miss Rottenmeier tried to say, but her voice was hoarse with fury. “Get up and leave the room.”

Heidi got up. She began again. “I made⁠—” “Meow! meow! meow!⁠—”

“Heidi,” said Clara now, “why do you always say ‘meow’ again, if you see that Miss Rottenmeier is angry?”

“I am not doing it, it’s the kittens,” she explained.

“What? Cats? Kittens?” screamed the housekeeper. “Sebastian, Tinette, take the horrible things away!” With that she ran into the study, locking herself in, for she feared kittens beyond anything on earth.