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E. V. Lucas - "The Slowcoach"

E. W. Hornung - "A Thief in the Night"

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"Well, could you tell Clara about it?"

"Oh, no, I cannot tell any one," said Heidi in so positive a
tone, and with a look of such trouble on her face, that the
grandmother felt full of pity for the child.

"Then, dear child, let me tell you what to do: you know that when
we are in great trouble, and cannot speak about it to anybody, we
must turn to God and pray Him to help, for He can deliver us from
every care, that oppresses us. You understand that, do you not?
You say your prayers every evening to the dear God in Heaven, and
thank Him for all He has done for you, and pray Him to keep you
from all evil, do you not?"

"No, I never say any prayers," answered Heidi.

"Have you never been taught to pray, Heidi; do you not know even
what it means?"

"I used to say prayers with the first grandmother, but that is a
long time ago, and I have forgotten them."

"That is the reason, Heidi, that you are so unhappy, because you
know no one who can help you. Think what a comfort it is when the
heart is heavy with grief to be able at any moment to go and tell
everything to God, and pray Him for the help that no one else can
give us. And He can help us and give us everything that will make
us happy again."

A sudden gleam of joy came into Heidi's eyes. "May I tell Him
everything, everything?"

"Yes, everything, Heidi, everything."

Heidi drew her hand away, which the grandmother was holding
affectionately between her own, and said quickly, "May I go?"

"Yes, of course," was the answer, and Heidi ran out of the room
into her own, and sitting herself on a stool, folded her hands
together and told God about everything that was making her so sad
and unhappy, and begged Him earnestly to help her and to let her
go home to her grandfather.

It was about a week after this that the tutor asked Frau
Sesemann's permission for an interview with her, as he wished to
inform her of a remarkable thing that had come to pass. So she
invited him to her room, and as he entered she held out her hand
in greeting, and pushing a chair towards him, "I am pleased to
see you," she said, "pray sit down and tell me what brings you
here; nothing bad, no complaints, I hope?"

"Quite the reverse," began the tutor. "Something has happened
that I had given up hoping for, and which no one, knowing what
has gone before, could have guessed, for, according to all
expectations, that which has taken place could only be looked
upon as a miracle, and yet it really has come to pass and in the
most extraordinary manner, quite contrary to all that one could
anticipate--"

"Has the child Heidi really learnt to read at last?" put in Frau
Sesemann.

The tutor looked at the lady in speechless astonishment. At last
he spoke again. "It is indeed truly marvellous, not only because
she never seemed able to learn her A B C even after all my full
explanations, and after spending unusual pains upon her, but
because now she has learnt it so rapidly, just after I had made
up my mind to make no further attempts at the impossible but to
put the letters as they were before her without any dissertation
on their origin and meaning, and now she has as you might say
learnt her letters over night, and started at once to read
correctly, quite unlike most beginners. And it is almost as
astonishing to me that you should have guessed such an unlikely
thing."

"Many unlikely things happen in life," said Frau Sesemann with a
pleased smile. "Two things coming together may produce a happy
result, as for instance, a fresh zeal for learning and a new
method of teaching, and neither does any harm. We can but rejoice
that the child has made such a good start and hope for her future
progress."

After parting with the tutor she went down to the study to make
sure of the good news. There sure enough was Heidi, sitting
beside Clara and reading aloud to her, evidently herself very
much surprised, and growing more and more delighted with the new
world that was now open to her as the black letters grew alive
and turned into men and things and exciting stories. That same
evening Heidi found the large book with the beautiful pictures
lying on her plate when she took her place at table, and when she
looked questioningly at the grandmother, the latter nodded kindly
to her and said, "Yes, it's yours now."

"Mine, to keep always? even when I go home?" said, Heidi,
blushing with pleasure.

"Yes, of course, yours for ever," the grandmother assured her.
"To-morrow we will begin to read it."

"But you are not going home yet, Heidi, not for years," put in
Clara. "When grandmother goes away, I shall want you to stay on
with me."

When, Heidi went to her room that night she had another look at
her book before going to bed, and from that day forth her chief
pleasure was to read the tales which belonged to the beautiful
pictures over and over again. If the grandmother said, as they
were sitting together in the evening, "Now Heidi will read aloud
to us," Heidi was delighted, for reading was no trouble to her
now, and when she read the tales aloud the scenes seemed to grow
more beautiful and distinct, and then grandmother would explain
and tell her more about them still.

Still the picture she liked best was the one of the shepherd
leaning on his staff with his flock around him in the midst of
the green pasture, for he was now at home and happy, following
his father's sheep and goats. Then came the picture where he was
seen far away from his father's house, obliged to look after the
swine, and he had grown pale and thin from the husks which were
all he had to eat. Even the sun seemed here to be less bright and
everything looked grey and misty. But there was the third picture
still to this tale: here was the old father with outstretched
arms running to meet and embrace his returning and repentant son,
who was advancing timidly, worn out and emaciated And clad in a
ragged coat. That was Heidi's favorite tale, which she read over
and over again, aloud and to herself, and she was never tired of
hearing the grandmother explain it to her and Clara. But there
were other tales in the book besides, and what with reading and
looking at the pictures the days passed quickly away, and the
time drew near for the grandmother to return home.



CHAPTER XI. HEIDI GAINS IN ONE WAY AND LOSES IN ANOTHER

Every afternoon during her visit the grandmother went and sat
down for a few minutes beside Clara after dinner, when the latter
was resting, and Fraulein Rottenmeier, probably for the same
reason, had disappeared inside her room; but five minutes
sufficed her, and then she was up again, and Heidi was sent for
to her room, and there she would talk to the child and employ and
amuse her in all sorts of ways. The grandmother had a lot of
pretty dolls, and she showed Heidi how to make dresses and
pinafores for them, so that Heidi learnt how to sew and to make
all sorts of beautiful clothes for the little people out of a
wonderful collection of pieces that grandmother had by her of
every describable and lovely color. And then grandmother liked to
hear her read aloud, and the oftener Heidi read her tales the
fonder she grew of them. She entered into the lives of all the
people she read about so that they became like dear friends to
her, and it delighted her more and more to be with them. But
still Heidi never looked really happy, and her bright eyes were
no longer to be seen. It was the last week of the grandmother's
visit. She called Heidi into her room as usual one day after
dinner, and the child came with her book under her arm. The
grandmother called her to come close, and then laying the book
aside, said, "Now, child, tell me why you are not happy? Have you
still the same trouble at heart?"

Heidi nodded in reply.

"Have you told God about it?"

"Yes."

"And do you pray every day that He will make things right and
that you may be happy again?"

"No, I have left off praying."

"Do not tell me that, Heidi! Why have you left off praying?"

"It is of no use, God does not listen," Heidi went on in an
agitated voice, "and I can understand that when there are so
many, many people in Frankfurt praying to Him every evening that
He cannot attend to them all, and He certainly has not heard what
I said to Him."

"And why are you so sure of that, Heidi?"

"Because I have prayed for the same thing every day for weeks,
and yet God has not done what I asked."

"You are wrong, Heidi; you must not think of Him like that. God
is a good father to us all, and knows better than we do what is
good for us. If we ask Him for something that is not good for us,
He does not give it, but something better still, if only we will
continue to pray earnestly and do not run away and lose our trust
in Him. God did not think what you have been praying for was good
for you just now; but be sure He heard you, for He can hear and
see every one at the same time, because He is a God and not a
human being like you and me. And because He thought it was better
for you not to have at once what you wanted, He said to Himself:
Yes, Heidi shall have what she asks for, but not until the right
time comes, so that she may be quite happy. If I do what she
wants now, and then one day she sees that it would have been
better for her not to have had her own way, she will cry and say,
'If only God had not given me what I asked for! it is not so good
as I expected!' And while God is watching over you, and looking
to see if you will trust Him and go on praying to Him every day,
and turn to Him for everything you want, you run away and leave
off saying your prayers, and forget all about Him. And when God
no longer hears the voice of one He knew among those who pray to
Him, He lets that person go his own way, that he may learn how
foolish he is. And then this one gets into trouble, and cries,
'Save me, God, for there is none other to help me,' and God says,
'Why did you go from Me; I could not help you when you ran away.'
And you would not like to grieve God, would you Heidi, when He
only wants to be kind to you? So will you not go and ask Him to
forgive you, and continue to pray and to trust Him, for you may
be sure that He will make everything right and happy for you, and
then you will be glad and lighthearted again."

Heidi had perfect confidence in the grandmother, and every word
she said sunk into her heart.

"I will go at once and ask God to forgive me, and I will never
forget Him again," she replied repentantly.

"That is right, dear child," and anxious to cheer her, added,
"Don't be unhappy, for He will do everything you wish in good
time."

And Heidi ran away and prayed that she might always remember God,
and that He would go on thinking about her.

The day came for grandmother's departure--a sad one for Clara and
Heidi. But the grandmother was determined to make it as much like
a holiday as possible and not to let them mope, and she kept them
so lively and amused that they had no time to think about their
sorrow at her going until she really drove away. Then the house
seemed so silent and empty that Heidi and Clara did not know what
to do with themselves, and sat during the remainder of the day
like two lost children.

The next day, when the hour came for Clara and Heidi to be
together, the latter walked in with her book and proposed that
she should go on reading aloud every afternoon to Clara, if the
latter liked it. Clara agreed, and thought anyhow it would be
nice for that day, so Heidi began with her usual enthusiasm. But
the reading did not last long, for Heidi had hardly begun a tale
about a dying grandmother before she cried out, "O! then
grandmother is dead!" and burst into tears; for everything she
read was so real to her that she quite thought it was the
grandmother at home who had died, and she kept on exclaiming as
her sobs increased, "She is dead, and I shall never see her
again, and she never had one of the white rolls!"

Clara did all she could to explain to Heidi that the story was
about quite a different grandmother; but even when at last she
had been able to convince Heidi of this, the latter continued to
weep inconsolably, for now she had awakened to the thought that
perhaps the grandmother, and even the grandfather also, might die
while she was so far way, and that if she did not go home for a
long time she would find everything there all silent and dead,
and there she would be all alone, and would never be able to see
the dear ones she loved any more.

Fraulein Rottenmeier had meanwhile come into the room, and Clara
explained to her what had happened. As Heidi continued her
weeping, the lady, who was evidently getting impatient with her,
went up to Heidi and said with decision, "Now, Adelaide, that is
enough of all this causeless lamentation. I will tell you once
for all, if there are any more scenes like this while you are
reading, I shall take the book away from you and shall not let
you have it again."

Her words had immediate effect on Heidi, who turned pale with
fear. The book was her one great treasure. She quickly dried her
tears and swallowed her sobs as best she could, so that no
further sound of them should be heard. The threat did its work,
for Heidi never cried aloud again whatever she might be reading,
but she had often to struggle hard to keep back her tears, so
that Clara would look at her and say,

"What faces you are making, Heidi, I never saw anything like it!"
But the faces made no noise and did not offend Fraulein
Rottenmeier, and Heidi, having overcome her fit of despairing
misery, would go quietly on for a while, and no one perceived her
sorrow. But she lost all her appetite, and looked so pale and
thin that Sebastian was quite unhappy when he looked at her, and
could not bear to see her refusing all the nice dishes he handed
her. He would whisper to her sometimes, in quite a kind, fatherly
manner, "Take a little; you don't know how nice it is! There, a
good spoonful, now another." But it was of no use, Heidi hardly
ate anything at all, and as soon as she laid her head down at
night the picture of home would rise before her eyes, and she
would weep, burying her face in the pillow that her crying might
not be heard.

And so many weeks passed away. Heidi did not know it is was
winter or summer, for the walls and windows she looked out upon
showed no change, and she never went beyond the house except on
rare occasions when Clara was well enough to drive out, and then
they only went a very little way, as Clara could not bear the
movement for long. So that on these occasions they generally only
saw more fine streets and large houses and crowds of people; they
seldom got anywhere beyond them, and grass and flowers, fir trees
and mountains, were still far away. Heidi's longing for the old
familiar and beautiful things grew daily stronger, so that now
only to read a word that recalled them to her remembrance brought
her to the verge of tears, which with difficulty she suppressed.
So the autumn and winter passed, and again the sun came shining
down on the white walls of the opposite houses, and Heidi would
think to herself that now the time had come for Peter to go out
again with the goats, to where the golden flowers of the cistus
were glowing in the sunlight, and all the rocks around turned to
fire at sunset. Heidi would go and sit in a corner of her lonely
room and put her hands up to her eyes that she might not see the
sun shining on the opposite wall; and then she would remain
without moving, battling silently with her terrible homesickness
until Clara sent for her again.



CHAPTER XII. A GHOST IN THE HOUSE

For some days past Fraulein Rottenmeier had gone about rather
silently and as if lost in thought. As twilight fell, and she
passed from room to room, or along the long corridors, she was
seen to look cautiously behind her, and into the dark corners, as
if she thought some one was coming silently behind her and might
unexpectedly give her dress a pull. Nor would she now go alone
into some parts of the house. If she visited the upper floor
where the grand guest-chambers were, or had to go down into the
large mysterious council-chamber, where every footstep echoed,
and the old senators with their big white collars looked down so
solemnly and immovably from their frames, she regularly called
Tinette to accompany her, in case, as she said, there might be
something to carry up or down. Tinette on her side did exactly
the same; if she had business upstairs or down, she called
Sebastian to accompany her, and there was always something he
must help her with which she could not carry alone. More curious
still, Sebastian, also, if sent into one of the more distant
rooms, always called John to go with him in case he should want
his assistance in bringing what was required. And John readily
obeyed, although there was never anything to carry, and either
might well have gone alone; but he did not know how soon he might
want to ask Sebastian to do the same service for him. And while
these things were going on upstairs, the cook, who had been in
the house for years, would stand shaking her head over her pots
and kettles, and sighing, "That ever I should live to know such a
thing."

For something very strange and mysterious was going on in Herr
Sesemann's house. Every morning, when the servants went
downstairs, they found the front door wide open, although nobody
could be seen far or near to account for it. During the first few
days that this happened every room and corner was searched in
great alarm, to see if anything had been stolen, for the general
idea was that a thief had been hiding in the house and had gone
off in the night with the stolen goods; but not a thing in the
house had been touched, everything was safe in its place. The
door was doubly locked at night, and for further security the
wooden bar was fastened across it; but it was no good--next
morning the door again stood open. The servants in their fear and
excitement got up extra early, but not so early but what the door
had been opened before they got downstairs, although everything
and everybody around were still wrapped in slumber, and the doors
and windows of the adjoining houses all fast shut. At last, after
a great deal of persuasion from Fraulein Rottenmeier, Sebastian
and John plucked up courage and agreed to sit up one night in the
room next to the large council-chamber and to watch and see what
would happen. Fraulein Rottenmeier looked up several weapons
belonging to the master, and gave these and a bottle of spirits
to Sebastian, so that their courage might not faint if it came to
a fight.

On the appointed night the two sat down and began at once to take
some of the strengthening cordial, which at first made them very
talkative and then very sleepy, so that they leant back in their
seats and became silent. As midnight struck, Sebastian roused
himself and called to his companion, who, however, was not easy
to wake, and kept rolling his head first to one side and then the
other and continuing to sleep. Sebastian began to listen more
attentively, for he was wide awake now. Everything was still as a
mouse, all sound had died away from the streets even. He did not
feel inclined to go to sleep again, for the stillness was ghostly
to him, and he was afraid now to raise his voice to rouse John,
so he shook him gently to make him stir. At last, as one struck,
John work up, and came back to the consciousness of why he was
sitting in a chair instead of lying in his bed. He now got up
with a great show of courage and said, "Come, Sebastian, we must
go outside and see what is going on; you need not be afraid, just
follow me."

Whereupon he opened the door wide and stepped into the hall. Just
as he did so a sudden gust of air blew through the open front
door and put out the light which John held in his hand. He
started back, almost overturning Sebastian, whom he clutched and
pulled back into the room, and then shutting the door quickly he
turned the key as far as he could make it go. Then he pulled out
his matches and lighted his candle again. Sebastian, in the
suddenness of the affair, did not know exactly what had happened,
for he had not seen the open door or felt the breeze behind
John's broad figure. But now, as he saw the latter in the light,
he gave a cry of alarm, for John was trembling all over and as
white as a ghost. "What's the matter? What did you see, outside?
asked Sebastian sympathetically.

"The door partly open," gasped John, "and a white figure standing
at the top of the steps--there it stood, and then all in a minute
it disappeared."

Sebastian felt his blood run cold. The two sat down close to one
another and did not dare move again till the morning broke and
the streets began to be alive again. Then they left the room
together, shut the front door, and went upstairs to tell Fraulein
Rottenmeier of their experience. She was quite ready to receive
them, for she had not been able to sleep at all in the anxiety of
waiting to hear their report. They had no sooner given her
details of the night's experience than she sat down and wrote
straight off to Herr Sesemann, who had never received such a
letter before in his life. She could hardly write, she told him,
for her fingers were stiff with fear, and Herr Sesemann must
please arrange to come back at once, for dreadful and
unaccountable things were taking place at home. Then she entered
into particulars of all that had happened, of how the door was
found standing open every morning, and how nobody in the house
now felt sure of their life in this unprotected state of things,
and how it was impossible to tell what terrible results might
follow on these mysterious doings.

Herr Sesemann answered that it was quite impossible for him to
arrange to leave his business and return home at once. He was
very much astonished at this ghost tale, but hoped by this time
the ghost had disappeared. If, however, it still continued to
disturb the household, would Fraulein Rottenmeier write to the
grandmother and ask her if she could come and do something; she,
he was sure, would soon find out a way to deal with the ghost so
that it would not venture again to haunt his house. Fraulein
Rottenmeier was not pleased with the tone of this letter; she did
not think the matter was treated seriously enough. She wrote off
without delay to Frau Sesemann, but got no more satisfactory
reply from that quarter, and some remarks in the letter she
considered were quite offensive. Frau Sesemann wrote that she did
not feel inclined to take the journey again from Holstein to
Frankfurt because Rottenmeier fancied she saw ghosts. There had
never been a ghost in the house since she bad known it, and if
there was one now it must be a live one, with which Rottenmeier
ought to be able to deal; if not she had better send for the
watchman to help her.

Fraulein Rottenmeier, however, was determined not to pass any
more days in a state of fear, and she knew the right course to
pursue. She had as yet said nothing to the children of the
ghostly apparitions, for she knew if she did that the children
would not remain alone for a single moment, and that might entail
discomfort for herself. But now she walked straight off into the
study, and there in a low mysterious voice told the two children
everything that had taken place. Clara immediately screamed out
that she could not remain another minute alone, her father must
come home, and Fraulein Rottenmeier must sleep in her room at
night, and Heidi too must not be left by herself, for the ghost
might do something to her. She insisted that they should all
sleep together in one room and keep a light burning all night,
and Tinette had better be in the next room, and Sebastian and
John come upstairs and spend the night in the hall, so that they
might call out and frighten the ghost the instant they saw it
appear on the steps. Clara, in short, grew very excited, and
Fraulein Rottenmeier had great difficulty in quieting her. She
promised to write at once to her father, and to have her bed put
in her room and not to be left alone for a moment. They could not
all sleep in the same room, but if Heidi was frightened, why
Tinette must go into her room. But Heidi was far more frightened
of Tinette than of ghosts, of which the child had never before
heard, so she assured the others she did not mind the ghost, and
would rather be alone at night.

Fraulein Rottenmeier now sat down to write another letter to Herr
Sesemann, stating that these unaccountable things that were going
on in the house had so affected his daughter's delicate
constitution that the worst consequences might be expected.
Epileptic fits and St. Vitus's dance often came on suddenly in
cases like this, and Clara was liable to be attacked by either if
the cause of the general alarm was not removed.

The letter was successful, and two days later Herr Sesemann stood
at his front door and rang the bell in such a manner that
everybody came rushing from all parts of the house and stood
looking affrighted at everybody else, convinced that the ghost
was impudently beginning its evil tricks in daylight. Sebastian
peeped cautiously through a half-closed shutter; as he did so
there came another violent ring at the bell, which it was
impossible to mistake for anything but a very hard pull from a
non-ghostly hand. And Sebastian recognised whose hand it was, and
rushing pell-mell out of the room, fell heels over head
downstairs, but picked himself up at the bottom and flung open
the street door. Herr Sesemann greeted him abruptly and went up
without a moment's delay into his daughter's room. Clara greeted
him with a cry of joy, and seeing her so lively and apparently as
well as ever, his face cleared, and the frown of anxiety passed
gradually away from it as he heard from his daughter's own lips
that she had nothing the matter with her, and moreover was so
delighted to see him that she was quite glad about the ghost, as
it was the cause of bringing him home again.

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