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Henrik Ibsen - "Ghosts"

Edmond Rostand - "Cyrano de Bergerac"

Alfred Tennyson - "Enoch Arden &c."

George MacDonald - "The Light Princess"

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Herr Sesemann found he was right, for the climb up the mountain,
as it was, proved long and fatiguing to him. He went on and on,
but still no hut came in sight, and yet he knew there was one
where Peter lived half way up, for the path had been described to
him over and over again.

There were traces of climbers to be seen on all sides; the narrow
footpaths seemed to run in every direction, and Herr Sesemann
began to wonder if he was on the right one, and whether the hut
lay perhaps on the other side of the mountain. He looked round to
see if any one was in sight of whom he could ask the way; but far
and wide there was not a soul to be seen or a sound to be heard.
Only at moments the mountain wind whistled through the air, and
the insects hummed in the sunshine or a happy bird sang out from
the branches of a solitary larch tree. Herr Sesemann stood still
for a while to let the cool Alpine wind blow on his hot face. But
now some one came running down the mountain-side--it was Peter
with the telegram in his hand. He ran straight down the steep
slope, not following the path on which Herr Sesemann was
standing. As soon as the latter caught sight of him he beckoned
to him to come. Peter advanced towards him slowly and timidly,
with a sort of sidelong movement, as if he could only move one
leg properly and had to drag the other after him. "Hurry up,
lad," called Herr Sesemann, and when Peter was near enough, "Tell
me," he said, "is this the way to the hut where the old man and
the child Heidi live, and where the visitors from Frankfurt are
staying?"

A low sound of fear was the only answer he received, as Peter
turned to run away in such precipitous haste that he fell head
over heels several times, and went rolling and bumping down the
slope in involuntary bounds, just in the same way as the chair,
only that Peter fortunately did not fall to pieces as that had
done. Only the telegram came to grief, and that was torn into
fragments and flew away.

"How extraordinarily timid these mountain dwellers are!" thought
Herr Sesemann to himself, for he quite believed that it was the
sight of a stranger that had made such an impression on this
unsophisticated child of the mountains.

After watching Peter's violent descent towards the valley for a
few minutes he continued his journey.

Peter, meanwhile, with all his efforts, could not stop himself,
but went rolling on, and still tumbling head over heels at
intervals in a most remarkable manner.

But this was not the most terrible part of his sufferings at the
moment, for far worse was the fear and horror that possessed him,
feeling sure, as he did now, that the policeman had really come
over for him from Frankfurt. He had no doubt at all that the
stranger who had asked him the way was the very man himself. Just
as he had rolled to the edge of that last high slope above Dorfli
he was caught in a bush, and at last able to keep himself from
falling any farther. He lay still for a second or two to recover
himself, and to think over matters.

"Well done! another of you come bumping along like this!" said a
voice close to Peter, "and which of you to-morrow is the wind
going to send rolling down like a badly-sewn sack of potatoes?"
It was the baker, who stood there laughing. He had been strolling
out to refresh himself after his hot day's work, and had watched
with amusement as he saw Peter come rolling over and over in much
the same way as the chair.

Peter was on his feet in a moment. He had received a fresh shock.
Without once looking behind him he began hurrying up the slope
again. He would have liked best to go home and creep into bed, so
as to hide himself, for he felt safest when there. But he had
left the goats up above, and Uncle had given him strict
injunctions to make haste back so that they might not be left too
long alone. And he stood more in awe of Uncle than any one, and
would not have dared to disobey him on any account. There was no
help for it, he had to go back, and Peter went on groaning and
limping. He could run no more, for the anguish of mind he had
been through, and the bumping and shaking he had received, were
beginning to tell upon him. And so with lagging steps and groans
he slowly made his way up the mountain.

Shortly after meeting Peter, Herr Sesemann passed the first hut,
and so was satisfied that he was on the right path. He continued
his climb with renewed courage, and at last, after a long and
exhausting walk, he came in sight of his goal. There, only a
little distance farther up, stood the grandfather's home, with
the dark tops of the fir trees waving above its roof.

Herr Sesemann was delighted to have come to the last steep bit of
his journey, in another minute or two he would be with his little
daughter, and he pleased himself with the thought of her
surprise. But the company above had seen his approaching figure
and recognized who it was, and they were preparing something he
little expected as a surprise on their part.

As he stepped on to the space in front of the hut two figures
came towards him. One a tall girl with fair hair and pink cheeks,
leaning on Heidi, whose dark eyes were dancing with joy. Herr
Sesemann suddenly stopped, staring at the two children, and all
at once the tears started to his eyes. What memories arose in his
heart! Just so had Clara's mother looked, the fair-haired girl
with the delicate pink- and-white complexion. Herr Sesemann did
not know if he was awake or dreaming.

"Don't you know me, papa?" called Clara to him, her face beaming
with happiness. "Am I so altered since you saw me?"

Then Herr Sesemann ran to his child and clasped her in his arms.

"Yes, you are indeed altered! How is it possible? Is it true what
I see?" And the delighted father stepped back to look full at her
again, and to make sure that the picture would not vanish before
his eyes.

"Are you my little Clara, really my little Clara? he kept on
saying, then he clasped her in his arms again, and again put her
away from him that he might look and make sure it was she who
stood before him.

And now grandmamma came up, anxious for a sight of her son's
happy face.

"Well, what do you say now, dear son?" she exclaimed. "You have
given us a pleasant surprise, but it is nothing in comparison to
what we have prepared for you, you must confess," and she gave
her son an affectionate kiss as she spoke. "But now," she went
on, "you must come and pay your respects to Uncle, who is our
chief benefactor."

"Yes, indeed, and with the little inmate of our own house, our
little Heidi, too," said Herr Sesemann, shaking Heidi by the
hand. "Well? are you still well and happy in your mountain home?
but I need not ask, no Alpine rose could look more blooming. I am
glad, child, it is a pleasure to me to see you so."

And Heidi looked up with equal pleasure into Herr Sesemann's kind
face. How good he had always been to her! And that he should find
such happiness awaiting him up here on the mountain made her
heart beat with gladness.

Grandmamma now led her son to introduce him to Uncle, and while
the two men were shaking hands and Herr Sesemann was expressing
his heartfelt thanks and boundless astonishment to the old man,
grandmamma, wandered round to the back to see the old fir trees
again.

Here another unexpected sight met her gaze, for there, under the
trees where the long branches had left a clear space on the
ground, stood a great bush of the most wonderful dark blue
gentians, as fresh and shining as if they were growing on the
spot. She clasped her hands, enraptured with their beauty.

"How exquisite! what a lovely sight!" she exclaimed. "Heidi,
dearest child, come here! Is it you who have prepared this
pleasure for me? It is perfectly wonderful!"

The children ran up.

"No, no, I did not put them there," said Heidi, "but I know who
did."

"They grow just like that on the mountain, grandmamma, only if
anything they look more beautiful still," Clara put in; "but
guess who brought those down to-day," and as she spoke she gave
such a pleased smile that the grandmother thought for a moment
the child herself must have gathered them. But that was hardly
possible.

At this moment a slight rustling was heard behind the fir trees.
It was Peter, who had just arrived. He had made a long round,
having seen from the distance who it was standing beside Uncle in
front of the hut, and he was trying to slip by unobserved. But
grandmamma had seen and recognized him, and suddenly the thought
struck her that it might be Peter who had brought the flowers and
that he was now trying to get away unseen, feeling shy about it;
but she could not let him go off like that, he must have some
little reward.

"Come along, boy; come here, do not be afraid," she called to
him.

Peter stood still, petrified with fear. After all he had gone
through that day he felt he had no longer any power of resistance
left. All he could think was, "It's all up with me now." Every
hair of his head stood on end, and he stepped forth from behind
the fir trees, his face pale and distorted with terror.

"Courage, boy," said grandmamma in her effort to dispel his
shyness, "tell me now straight out without hesitation, was it you
who did it?"

Peter did not lift his eyes and therefore did not see at what
grandmamma was pointing. But he knew that Uncle was standing at
the corner of the hut, fixing him with his grey eyes, while
beside him stood the most terrible person that Peter could
conceive --the police-constable from Frankfurt. Quaking in every
limb, and with trembling lips he muttered a low, "Yes."

"Well, and what is there dreadful about that? said grandmamma.

"Because--because--it is all broken to pieces and no one can put
it together again." Peter brought out his words with difficulty,
and his knees knocked together so that he could hardly stand.

Grandmamma went up to Uncle. "Is that poor boy a little out of
his mind?" she asked sympathisingly.

"Not in, the least," Uncle assured her, "it is only that he was
the wind that sent the chair rolling down the slope, and he is
expecting his well-deserved punishment."

Grandmamma found this hard to believe, for in her opinion Peter
did not look an entirely bad boy, nor could he have any reason
for destroying such a necessary thing as the chair. But Uncle had
only given expression to the suspicion that he had from the
moment the accident happened. The angry looks which Peter had
from the beginning cast at Clara, and the other signs of his
dislike to what had been taking place on the mountain, had not
escaped Uncle's eye. Putting two and two together he had come to
the right conclusion as to the cause of the disaster, and he
therefore spoke without hesitation when he accused Peter. The
lady broke into lively expostulations on hearing this.

"No, no, dear Uncle, we will not punish the poor boy any further.
One must be fair to him. Here are all these strangers from
Frankfurt who come and carry away Heidi, his one sole possession,
and a possession well worth having too, and he is left to sit
alone day after day for weeks, with nothing to do but brood over
his wrongs. No, no, let us be fair to him; his anger got the
upper hand and drove him an act of revenge--a foolish one, I own,
but then we all behave foolishly when we are angry." And saying
this she went back to Peter, who still stood frightened and
trembling. She sat down on the seat under the fir trees and
called him to her kindly,--

"Come here, boy, and stand in front of me, for I have something
to say to you. Leave off shaking and trembling, for I want you to
listen to me. You sent the chair rolling down the mountain so
that it was broken to pieces. That was a very wrong thing to do,
as you yourself knew very well at the time, and you also knew
that you deserved to be punished for it, and in order to escape
this you have been doing all you can to hide the truth from
everybody. But be sure of this, Peter: that those who do wrong
make a mistake when they think no one knows anything about it.
For God sees and hears everything, and when the wicked doer tries
to hide what he has done,

then God wakes up a little watchman that He places inside us all
when we are born and who sleeps on quietly till we do something
wrong. And the little watchman has a small goad in his hand, And
when he wakes up he keeps on pricking us with it, so that we have
not a moment's peace. And the watchman torments us still further,
for he keeps on calling out, 'Now you will be found out! Now they
will drag you off to punishment!' And so we pass our life in fear
and trouble, and never know a moment's happiness or peace. Have
you not felt something like that lately, Peter?"

Peter gave a contrite nod of the head, as one who knew all about
it, for grandmamma had described his own feelings exactly.

"And you calculated wrongly also in another way," continued
grandmamma, "for you see the harm you intended has turned out for
the best for those you wished to hurt. As Clara had no chair to
go in and yet wanted so much to see the flowers, she made the
effort to walk, and every day since she has been walking better
and better, and if she remains up here she will in time be able
to go up the mountain every day, much oftener than she would have
done in her chair. So you see, Peter, God is able to bring good
out of evil for those whom you meant to injure, and you who did
the evil were left to suffer the unhappy consequences of it. Do
you thoroughly understand all I have said to you, Peter? If so,
do not forget my words, and whenever you feel inclined to do
anything wrong, think of the little watchman inside you with his
goad and his disagreeable voice. Will you remember all this?"

"Yes, I will," answered Peter, still very subdued, for he did not
yet know how the matter was going to end, as the police constable
was still standing with the Uncle.

"That's right, and now the thing is over and done for," said
grandmamma. "But I should like you to have something for a
pleasant reminder of the visitors from Frankfurt. Can you tell me
anything that you have wished very much to have? What would you
like best as a present?"

Peter lifted his head at this, and stared open-eyed at
grandmamma. Up to the last minute he had been expecting something
dreadful to happen, and now he might have anything that he
wanted. His mind seemed all of a whirl.

"I mean what I say," went on grandmamma. "You shall choose what
you would like to have as a remembrance from the Frankfurt
visitors, and as a token that they will not think any more of the
wrong thing you did. Now do you understand me, boy?"

The fact began at last to dawn upon Peter's mind that he had no
further punishment to fear, and that the kind lady sitting in
front of him had delivered him from the police constable. He
suddenly felt as if the weight of a mountain had fallen off him.
He had also by this time awakened to the further conviction that
it was better to make a full confession at once of anything he
had done wrong or had left undone, and so he said, "And I lost
the paper, too."

Grandmamma had to consider a moment what he meant, but soon
recalled his connection with her telegram, and answered kindly,--

"You are a good boy to tell me! Never conceal anything you have
done wrong, and then all will come right again. And now what
would you like me to give you?"

Peter grew almost giddy with the thought that he could have
anything in the world that he wished for. He had a vision of the
yearly fair at Mayenfeld with the glittering stalls and all the
lovely things that he had stood gazing at for hours, without a
hope of ever possessing one of them, for Peter's purse never held
more than a halfpenny, and all these fascinating objects cost
double that amount. There were the pretty little red whistles
that he could use to call his goats, and the splendid knives with
rounded handles, known as toad-strikers, with which one could do
such famous work among the hazel bushes.

Peter remained pondering; he was trying to think which of these
two desirable objects he should best like to have, and he found
it difficult to decide. Then a bright thought occurred to him; he
would then be able to think over the matter between now and next
year's fair.

"A penny," answered Peter, who was no longer in doubt.

Grandmamma could not help laughing. "That is not an extravagant
request. Come here then!" and she pulled out her purse and put
four bright round shillings in his hand and, then laid some
pennies on top of it. "We will settle our accounts at once," she
continued, "and I will explain them to you. I have given you as
many pennies as there are weeks in the year, and so every Sunday
throughout the year you can take out a penny to spend."

"As long as I live?" said Peter quite innocently.

Grandmamma laughed more still at this, and the men hearing her,
paused in their talk to listen to what was going on.

"Yes, boy, you shall have it all your life--I will put it down in
my will. Do you hear, my son? and you are to put it down in yours
as well: a penny a week to Peter as long as he lives."

Herr Sesemann nodded his assent and joined in the laughter.

Peter looked again at the present in his hand to make sure he was
not dreaming, and then said, "Thank God!"

And he went off running and leaping with more even than his usual
agility, and this time managed to keep his feet, for it was not
fear, but joy such as he had never known before in his life, that
now sent him flying up the mountain. All trouble and trembling
had disappeared, and he was to have a penny every week for life.

As later, after dinner, the party were sitting together chatting,
Clara drew her father a little aside, and said with an eagerness
that had been unknown to the little tired invalid,--

"O papa, if you only knew all that grandfather has done for me
from day to day! I cannot reckon his kindnesses, but I shall
never forget them as long as I live! And I keep on thinking what
I could do for him, or what present I could make him that would
give him half as much pleasure as he has given me."

"That is just what I wish most myself, Clara," replied her
father, whose face grew happier each time he looked at his little
daughter. "I have been also thinking how we can best show our
gratitude to our good benefactor."

Herr Sesemann now went over to where Uncle and grandmamma were
engaged in lively conversation. Uncle stood up as he approached,
and Herr Sesemann, taking him by the hand said,--

"Dear friend, let us exchange a few words with one another. You
will believe me when I tell you that I have known no real
happiness for years past. What worth to me were money and
property when they were unable to make my poor child well and
happy? With the help of God you have made her whole and strong,
and you have given new life not only to her but to me. Tell me
now, in what way can I show my gratitude to you? I can never
repay all you have done, but whatever is in my power to do is at
your service. Speak, friend, and tell me what I can do?"

Uncle had listened to him quietly, with a smile of pleasure on
his face as he looked at the happy father.

"Herr Sesemann," he replied in his dignified way, "believe me
that I too have my share in the joy of your daughter's recovery,
and my trouble is well repaid by it. I thank you heartily for all
you have said, but I have need of nothing; I have enough for
myself and the child as long as I live. One wish alone I have,
and if that could be satisfied I should have no further care in
life."

"Speak, dear friend, and tell me what it is," said Herr Sesemann
entreatingly.

"I am growing old," Uncle went on, "and shall not be here much
longer. I have nothing to leave the child when I die, and she has
no relations, except one person who will always like to make what
profit out of her she can. If you could promise me that Heidi
shall never have to go and earn her living among strangers, then
you would richly reward me for all I have done for your child."

"There could never be any question of such a thing as that, my
dear friend," said Herr Sesemann quickly. "I look upon the child
as our own. Ask my mother, my daughter; you may be sure that they
will never allow the child to be left in any one else's care! But
if it will make you happier I give you here my hand upon it. I
promise you: Heidi shall never have to go and earn her living
among strangers; I will make provision against this both during
my life and after. But now I have something else to say.
Independent of her circumstances, the child is totally unfitted
to live a life away from home; we found out that when she was
with us. But she has made friends, and among them I know one who
is at this moment in Frankfurt; he is winding up his affairs
there, that he may be free to go where he likes and take his
rest. I am speaking of my friend, the doctor, who came over here
in the autumn and who, having well considered your advice,
intends to settle in this neighborhood, for he has never felt so
well and happy anywhere as in the company of you and Heidi. So
you see the child will henceforth have two protectors near
her--and may they both live long to share the task!"

"God grant it indeed may be so!" added grandmamma, shaking
Uncle's hand warmly as she spoke, to show how sincerely she
echoed her son's wish. Then putting her arm round Heidi, who was
standing near, she drew the child to her.

"And I have a question to ask you too, dear Heidi. Tell me if
there is anything you particularly wish for."

"Yes, there is," answered Heidi promptly, looking up delightedly
at grandmamma.

"Then tell me at once, dear, what it is."

"I want to have the bed I slept in at Frankfurt with the high
pillows and the thick coverlid, and then grandmother will not
have to lie with her head down hill and hardly able to breathe,
and she will be warm enough under the coverlid not to have to
wear her shawl in bed to prevent her freezing to death."

In her eagerness to obtain what she had set her heart upon Heidi
hardly gave herself time to get out all she had to say, and did
not pause for breath till she reached the end of her sentence.

"Dearest child," answered grandmamma, moved by Heidi's speech,
"what is this you tell me of grandmother! You are right to remind
me. In the midst of our own happiness we forget too often that
which we ought to remember before all things. When God has shown
us some special mercy we should think at once of those who are
denied so many things. I will telegraph to Frankfurt at once!
Fraulein Rottenmeier shall pack up the bed this very day, and it
will be here in two days' time. God willing, grandmother shall
soon be sleeping comfortably upon it."

Heidi skipped round grandmamma in her glee, and then stopping all
of a sudden, said quickly, "I must make haste down and tell
grandmother, and she will be in trouble too at my not having been
to see her for such a long time." For she felt she could not wait
another moment before carrying the good news down to grandmother,
and, moreover, the recollection came to her of the distress the
old woman was in when she last saw her.

"No, no, Heidi, what can you be thinking of," said her
grandfather reprovingly. "You can't be running backwards and
forwards like that when you have visitors."

But grandmamma interfered on Heidi's behalf. "The child is not so
far wrong, Uncle," she said, "and poor grandmother has too long
been deprived of Heidi for our sakes. Let us all go down to her
together. I believe my horse is waiting for me and I can ride
down from there, and as soon as I get to Dorfli the message shall
be sent off. What do you think of my plan, son?"

Herr Sesemann had not yet had time to speak of his travelling
plans, so he begged his mother to wait a few moments that he
might tell her what he proposed doing.

Herr Sesemann had been arranging that he and his mother should
make a little tour in Switzerland, first ascertaining if Clara
was in a fit state to go some part of the way with them. But now
he would have the full enjoyment of his daughter's company, and
that being so he did not want to miss any of these beautiful days
of later summer, but to start at once on the journey that he now
looked forward to with such additional pleasure. And so he
proposed that they should spend the night in Dorfli and that next
day he should come and fetch Clara, then they would all three go
down to Ragatz and make that their starting point.

Clara was rather upset at first at the thought of saying good-bye
like this to the mountain; she could not help being pleased,
however, at the prospect of the journey, and no time was allowed
her to give way to lamentation.

Grandmamma had already taken Heidi by the hand, preparatory to
leading the way, when she suddenly turned. "But what is to become
of Clara?" she asked, remembering all at once that the child
could not yet take so long a walk. She gave a nod of satisfaction
as she saw that Uncle had already taken Clara up in his arms and
was following her with sturdy strides. Herr Sesemann brought up
the rear, and so they all started down the mountain.

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