Grandfathers -- Fiction; Mountain life -- Switzerland -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Switzerland -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
Heidi bid her good-night and continued her way up the mountain,
her basket on her arm. All around her the steep green slopes
shone bright in the evening sun, and soon the great gleaming snow-
field up above came in sight. Heidi was obliged to keep on
pausing to look behind her, for the higher peaks were behind her
as she climbed. Suddenly a warm red glow fell on the grass at
her feet; she looked back again--she had not remembered how
splendid it was, nor seen anything to compare to it in her dreams--
for there the two high mountain peeks rose into the air like two
great flames, the whole snow-field had turned crimson, and rosy-
colored clouds floated in the sky above. The grass upon the
mountain sides had turned to gold, the rocks were all aglow, and
the whole valley was bathed in golden mist. And as Heidi stood
gazing around her at all this splendor the tears ran down her
cheeks for very delight and happiness, and impulsively she put
her hands together, and lifting her eyes to heaven, thanked God
aloud for having brought her home, thanked Him that everything
was as beautiful as ever, more beautiful even than she had
thought, and that it was all hers again once more. And she was so
overflowing with joy and thankfulness that she could not find
words to thank Him enough. Not until the glory began to fade
could she tear herself away. Then she ran on so quickly that in
a very little while she caught sight of the tops of the fir trees
above the hut roof, then the roof itself, and at last the whole
hut, and there was grandfather sitting as in old days smoking
his pipe, and she could see the fir trees waving in the wind.
Quicker and quicker went her little feet, and before Alm-Uncle
had time to see who was coming, Heidi had rushed up to him,
thrown down her basket and flung her arms round his neck, unable
in the excitement of seeing him again to say more than
"Grandfather! grandfather! grandfather!" over and over again.
And the old man himself said nothing. For the first time for
many years his eyes were wet, and he had to pass his hand across
them. Then he unloosed Heidi's arms, put her on his knee, and
after looking at her for a moment, "So you have come back to me,
Heidi," he said, "how is that? You don't look much of a grand
lady. Did they send you away?"
"Oh, no, grandfather," said Heidi eagerly, "you must not think
that; they were all so kind--Clara, and grandmamma, and Herr
Sesemann. But you see, grandfather, I did not know how to bear
myself till I got home again to you. I used to think I should
die, for I felt as if I could not breathe; but I never said
anything because it would have been ungrateful. And then
suddenly one morning quite early Herr Sesemann said to me--but I
think it was partly the doctor's doing--but perhaps it's all in
the letter--" and Heidi jumped down and fetched the roll and the
letter and handed them both to her grandfather.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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