Grandfathers -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Switzerland -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Switzerland -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
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."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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