บทที่ บทที่ 17 · A COMPENSATION

. A COMPENSATION

The next morning the doctor climbed up from Dorfli with Peter

and the goats. The kindly gentleman tried now and then to enter

into conversation with the boy, but his attempts failed, for he

could hardly get a word out of Peter in answer to his questions.

Peter was not easily persuaded to talk. So the party silently

made their way up to the hut, where they found Heidi awaiting

them with her two goats, all three as fresh and lively as the

morning sun among the mountains.

"Are you coming to-day?" said Peter, repeating the words with

which he daily greeted her, either in question or in summons.

"Of course I am, if the doctor is coming too," replied Heidi.

Peter cast a sidelong glance at the doctor. The grandfather now

came out with the dinner bag, and after bidding good-day to the

doctor he went up to Peter and slung it over his neck. It was

heavier than usual, for Alm-Uncle had added some meat to-day, as

he thought the doctor might like to have his lunch out and eat

it when the children did. Peter gave a grin, for he felt sure

there was something more than ordinary in it.

And so the ascent began. The goats as usual came thronging

around Heidi, each trying to be nearest her, until at last she

stood still and said, "Now you must go on in front and behave

properly, and not keep on turning back and pushing and poking me,

for I want to talk to the doctor," and she gave Snowflake a

little pat on the back and told her to be good and obedient. By

degrees she managed to make her way out from among them and

joined the doctor, who took her by the hand. He had no difficulty

now in conversing with his companion, for Heidi had a great deal

to say about the goats and their peculiarities, and about the

flowers and the rocks and the birds, and so they clambered on and

reached their resting-place before they were aware. Peter had

sent a good many unfriendly glances towards the doctor on the way

up, which might have quite alarmed the latter if he had happened

to notice them, which, fortunately, he did not.

Heidi now led her friend to her favorite spot where she was

accustomed to sit and enjoy the beauty around her; the doctor

followed her example and took his seat beside her on the warm

grass. Over the heights and over the far green valley hung the

golden glory of the autumn day. The great snow-field sparkled in

the bright sunlight, and the two grey rocky peaks rose in their

ancient majesty against the dark blue sky. A soft, light morning

breeze blew deliciously across the mountain, gently stirring the

bluebells that still remained of the summer's wealth of flowers,

their slender heads nodding cheerfully in the sunshine. Overhead

the great bird was flying round and round in wide circles, but to-

day he made no sound; poised on his large wings he floated

contentedly in the blue ether. Heidi looked about her first at

one thing and then at another. The waving flowers, the blue sky,

the bright sunshine, the happy bird--everything was so

beautiful! so beautiful! Her eyes were alight with joy. And now

she turned to her friend to see if he too were enjoying the

beauty. The doctor had been sitting thoughtfully gazing around

him. As he met her glad bright eyes, "Yes, Heidi," he responded,

"I see how lovely it all is, but tell me--if one brings a sad

heart up here, how may it be healed so that it can rejoice in all

this beauty?"

"Oh, but," exclaimed Heidi, "no one is sad up here, only in

Frankfurt."

The doctor smiled and then growing serious again he continued,

"But supposing one is not able to leave all the sadness behind

at Frankfurt; can you tell me anything that will help then?"

"When you do not know what more to do you must go and tell

everything to God," answered Heidi with decision.

"Ah, that is a good thought of yours, Heidi," said the doctor.

"But if it is God Himself who has sent the trouble, what can we

say to Him then?"

Heidi sat pondering for a while; she was sure in her heart that

God could help out of every trouble. She thought over her own

experiences and then found her answer.

"Then you must wait," she said, "and keep on saying to yourself:

God certainly knows of some happiness for us which He is going

to bring out of the trouble, only we must have patience and not

run away. And then all at once something happens and we see

clearly ourselves that God has had some good thought in His mind

all along; but because we cannot see things beforehand, and only

know how dreadfully miserable we are, we think it is always going

to be so."

"That is a beautiful faith, child, and be sure you hold it

fast," replied the doctor. Then he sat on a while in silence,

looking at the great overshadowing mountains and the green,

sunlit valley below before he spoke again,--

"Can you understand, Heidi, that a man may sit here with such a

shadow over his eyes that he cannot feel and enjoy the beauty

around him, while the heart grows doubly sad knowing how

beautiful it could be? Can you understand that?"

A pain shot through the child's young happy heart. The shadow

over the eyes brought to her remembrance the grandmother, who

would never again be able to see the sunlight and the beauty up

here. This was Heidi's great sorrow, which re-awoke each time

she thought about the darkness. She did not speak for a few

minutes, for her happiness was interrupted by this sudden pang.

Then in a grave voice she said,--

"Yes, I can understand it. And I know this, that then one must

say one of grandmother's hymns, which bring the light back a

little, and often make it so bright for her that she is quite

happy again. Grandmother herself told me this."

"Which hymns are they, Heidi?" asked the doctor.

"I only know the one about the sun and the beautiful garden, and

some of the verses of the long one, which are favorites with

her, and she always likes me to read them to her two or three

times over," replied Heidi.

"Well, say the verses to me then, I should like to hear them

too," and the doctor sat up in order to listen better.

Heidi put her hands together and sat collecting her thoughts for

a second or two: "Shall I begin at the verse that grandmother

says gives her a feeling of hope and confidence?"

The doctor nodded his assent, and Heidi began,--

Let not your heart be troubled

Nor fear your soul dismay,

There is a wise Defender

And He will be your stay.

Where you have failed, He conquers,

See, how the foeman flies!

And all your tribulation

Is turned to glad surprise.

If for a while it seemeth

His mercy is withdrawn,

That He no longer careth

For His wandering child forlorn,

Doubt not His great compassion,

His love can never tire,

To those who wait in patience

He gives their heart's desire.

Heidi suddenly paused; she was not sure if the doctor was still

listening. He was sitting motionless with his hand before his

eyes. She thought he had fallen asleep; when he awoke, if he

wanted to hear more verses, she would go on. There was no sound

anywhere. The doctor sat in silence, but he was certainly not

asleep. His thoughts had carried him back to a long past time:

he saw himself as a little boy standing by his dear mother's

chair; she had her arm round his neck and was saying the very

verses to him that Heidi had just recited--words which he had not

heard now for years. He could hear his mother's voice and see her

loving eyes resting upon him, and as Heidi ceased the old dear

voice seemed to be saying other things to him; and the words he

heard again must have carried him far, far away, for it was a

long time before he stirred or took his hand from his eyes. When

at last he roused himself he met Heidi's eyes looking wonderingly

at him.

"Heidi," he said, taking the child's hand in his, "that was a

beautiful hymn of yours," and there was a happier ring in his

voice as he spoke. "We will come out here together another day,

and you will let me hear it again."

Peter meanwhile had had enough to do in giving vent to his

anger. It was now some days since Heidi had been out with him,

and when at last she did come, there she sat the whole time

beside the old gentleman, and Peter could not get a word with

her. He got into a terrible temper, and at last went and stood

some way back behind the doctor, where the latter could not see

him, and doubling his fist made imaginary hits at the enemy.

Presently he doubled both fists, and the longer Heidi stayed

beside the gentleman, the more fiercely did he threaten with

them.

Meanwhile the sun had risen to the height which Peter knew

pointed to the dinner hour. All of a sudden he called at the top

of his voice, "It's dinner time."

Heidi was rising to fetch the dinner bag so that the doctor

might eat his where he sat. But he stopped her, telling her he

was not hungry at all, and only cared for a glass of milk, as he

wanted to climb up a little higher. Then Heidi found that she

also was not hungry and only wanted milk, and she should like,

she said, to take the doctor up to the large moss-covered rock

where Greenfinch had nearly jumped down and killed herself. So

she ran and explained matters to Peter, telling him to go and get

milk for the two. Peter seemed hardly to understand. "Who is

going to eat what is in the bag then?" he asked.

"You can have it," she answered, "only first make haste and get

the milk."

Peter had seldom performed any task more promptly, for he

thought of the bag and its contents, which now belonged to him.

As soon as the other two were sitting quietly drinking their

milk, he opened it, and quite trembled for joy at the sight of

the meat, and he was just putting his hand in to draw it out when

something seemed to hold him back. His conscience smote him at

the remembrance of how he had stood with his doubled fists behind

the doctor, who was now giving up to him his whole good dinner.

He felt as if he could not now enjoy it. But all at once he

jumped up and ran back to the spot where he had stood before, and

there held up his open hands as a sign that he had no longer any

wish to use them as fists, and kept them up until he felt he had

made amends for his past conduct. Then he rushed back and sat

down to the double enjoyment of a clear conscience and an

unusually satisfying meal.

Heidi and the doctor climbed and talked for a long while, until

the latter said it was time for him to be going back, and no

doubt Heidi would like to go and be with her goats. But Heidi

would not hear of this, as then the doctor would have to go the

whole way down the mountain alone. She insisted on accompanying

him as far as the grandfather's hut, or even a little further.

She kept hold of her friend's hand all the time, and the whole

way she entertained him with accounts of this thing and that,

showing him the spots where the goats loved best to feed, and

others where in summer the flowers of all colors grew in

greatest abundance. She could give them all their right names,

for her grandfather had taught her these during the summer

months. But at last the doctor insisted on her going back; so

they bid each other good-night and the doctor continued his

descent, turning now and again to look back, and each time he saw

Heidi standing on the same spot and waving her hand to him. Even

so in the old days had his own dear little daughter watched him

when he went from home.

It was a bright sunny autumn month. The doctor came up to the

hut every morning, and thence made excursions over the mountain.

Alm-Uncle accompanied him on some of his higher ascents, when

they climbed up to the ancient storm-beaten fir trees and often

disturbed the great bird which rose startled from its nest, with

the whirl of wings and croakings, very near their heads. The

doctor found great pleasure in his companion's conversation, and

was astonished at his knowledge of the plants that grew on the

mountain: he knew the uses of them all, from the aromatic fir

trees and the dark pines with their scented needles, to the

curly moss that sprang up everywhere about the roots of the trees

and the smallest plant and tiniest flower. He was as well versed

also in the ways of the animals, great and small, and had many

amusing anecdotes to tell of these dwellers in caves and holes

and in the tops of the fir trees. And so the time passed

pleasantly and quickly for the doctor, who seldom said good-bye

to the old man at the end of the day without adding, "I never

leave you, friend, without having learnt something new from you."

On some of the very finest days, however, the doctor would

wander out again with Heidi, and then the two would sit together

as on the first day, and the child would repeat her hymns and

tell the doctor things which she alone knew. Peter sat at a

little distance from them, but he was now quite reconciled in

spirit and gave vent to no angry pantomime.

September had drawn to its close, and now one morning the doctor

appeared looking less cheerful than usual. It was his last day,

he said, as he must return to Frankfurt, but he was grieved at

having to say good-bye to the mountain, which he had begun to

feel quite like home. Alm-Uncle, on his side, greatly regretted

the departure of his guest, and Heidi had been now accustomed

for so long to see her good friend every day that she could

hardly believe the time had suddenly come to separate. She looked

up at him in doubt, taken by surprise, but there was no help, he

must go. So he bid farewell to the old man and asked that Heidi

might go with him part of the return way, and Heidi took his hand

and went down the mountain with him, still unable to grasp the

idea that he was going for good. After some distance the doctor

stood still, and passing his hand over the child's curly head

said, "Now, Heidi, you must go back, and I must say good-bye! If

only I could take you with me to Frankfurt and keep you there!"

The picture of Frankfurt rose before the child's eyes, its rows

of endless houses, its hard streets, and even the vision of

Fraulein Rottenmeier and Tinette, and she answered hesitatingly,

"I would rather that you came back to us."

"Yes, you are right, that would be better. But now good-bye,

Heidi." The child put her hand in his and looked up at him; the

kind eyes looking down on her had tears in them. Then the doctor

tore himself away and quickly continued his descent.

Heidi remained standing without moving. The friendly eyes with

the tears in them had gone to her heart. All at once she burst

into tears and started running as fast as she could after the

departing figure, calling out in broken tones: "Doctor! doctor!"

He turned round and waited till the child reached him. The tears

were streaming down her face and she sobbed out: "I will come to

Frankfurt with you, now at once, and I will stay with you as

long as you like, only I must just run back and tell

grandfather."

The doctor laid his hand on her and tried to calm her

excitement. "No, no, dear child," he said kindly, "not now; you

must stay for the present under the fir trees, or I should have

you ill again. But hear now what I have to ask you. If I am ever

ill and alone, will you come then and stay with me? May I know

that there would then be some one to look after me and care for

me?"

"Yes, yes, I will come the very day you send for me, and I love

you nearly as much as grandfather," replied Heidi, who had not

yet got over her distress.

And so the doctor again bid her good-bye and started on his way,

while Heidi remained looking after him and waving her hand as

long as a speck of him could be seen. As the doctor turned for

the last time and looked back at the waving Heidi and the sunny

mountain, he said to himself, "It is good to be up there, good

for body and soul, and a man might learn how to be happy once

more."