Heidi, Johanna Spyri [reading e books .TXT] 📗

that case too a good weapon would not be amiss.

 

The two took up their quarters for the night in the same room in

which Sebastian and John had kept watch. A bottle of wine was

placed on the table, for a little refreshment would be welcome

from time to time if the night was to be passed sitting up.

Beside it lay the two revolvers, and two good-sized candles had

also been lighted, for Herr Sesemann was determined not to wait

for ghosts in any half light.

 

The door was shut close to prevent the light being seen in the

hall outside, which might frighten away the ghost. And now the

two gentlemen sat comfortably back in the armchairs and began

talking of all sorts of things, now and then pausing to take a

good draught of wine, and so twelve o’clock struck before they

were aware.

 

“The ghost has got scent of us and is keeping away to-night,”

said the doctor.

 

“Wait a bit, it does not generally appear before one o’clock,”

answered his friend.

 

They started talking again. One o’clock struck. There was not a

sound about the house, nor in the street outside. Suddenly the

doctor lifted his finger.

 

“Hush! Sesemann, don’t you hear something?”

 

They both listened, and they distinctly heard the bar softly

pushed aside and then the key turned in the lock and the door

opened. Herr Sesemann put out his hand for his revolver.

 

“You are not afraid, are you?” said the doctor as he stood up.

 

“It is better to take precautions,” whispered Herr Sesemann, and

seizing one of the lights in his other hand, he followed the

doctor, who, armed in like manner with a light and a revolver,

went softly on in front. They stepped into the hall. The

moonlight was shining in through the open door and fell on a

white figure standing motionless in the doorway.

 

“Who is there?” thundered the doctor in a voice that echoed

through the hall, as the two men advanced with lights and

weapons towards the figure.

 

It turned and gave a low cry. There in her little white

nightgown stood Heidi, with bare feet, staring with wild eyes at

the lights and the revolvers, and trembling from head to foot

like a leaf in the wind. The two men looked as one another in

surprise.

 

“Why, I believe it is your little water-carrier, Sesemann,” said

the doctor.

 

“Child, what does this mean?” said Herr Sesemann. “What did you

want? why did you come down here?”

 

White with terror, and hardly able to make her voice heard,

Heidi answered, “I don’t know.”

 

But now the doctor stepped forward. “This is a matter for me to

see to, Sesemann; go back to your chair. I must take the child

upstairs to her bed.”

 

And with that he put down his revolver and gently taking the

child by the hand led her upstairs. “Don’t be frightened,” he

said as they went up side by side, “it’s nothing to be

frightened about; it’s all right, only just go quietly.”

 

On reaching Heidi’s room the doctor put the candle down on the

table, and taking Heidi up in his arms laid her on the bed and

carefully covered her over. Then he sat down beside her and

waited until Heidi had grown quieter and no longer trembled so

violently. He took her hand and said in a kind, soothing voice,

“There, now you feel better, and now tell me where you were

wanting to go to?”

 

“I did not want to go anywhere,” said Heidi. “I did not know I

went downstairs, but all at once I was there.”

 

“I see, and had you been dreaming, so that you seemed to see and

hear something very distinctly?”

 

“Yes, I dream every night, and always about the same things. I

think I am back with the grandfather and I hear the sound in the

fir trees outside, and I see the stars shining so brightly, and

then I open the door quickly and run out, and it is all so

beautiful! But when I wake I am still in Frankfurt.” And Heidi

struggled as she spoke to keep back the sobs which seemed to

choke her.

 

“And have you no pain anywhere? no pain in your head or back?”

 

“No, only a feeling as if there were a great stone weighing on

me here.”

 

“As if you had eaten something that would not go down.”

 

“No, not like that; something heavy as if I wanted to cry very

much.”

 

“I see, and then do you have a good cry?”

 

“Oh, no, I mustn’t; Fraulein Rottenmeier forbade me to cry.”

 

“So you swallow it all down, I suppose? Are you happy here in

Frankfurt?”

 

“Yes,” was the low answer; but it sounded more like “No.”

 

“And where did you live with your grandfather?”

 

“Up on the mountain.”

 

“That wasn’t very amusing; rather dull at times, eh?”

 

“No, no, it was beautiful, beautiful!” Heidi could go no

further; the remembrance of the past, the excitement she had just

gone through, the long suppressed weeping, were too much for the

child’s strength; the tears began to fall fast, and she broke

into violent weeping.

 

The doctor stood up and laid her head kindly down on the pillow.

“There, there, go on crying, it will do you good, and then go to

sleep; it will be all right tomorrow.”

 

Then he left the room and went downstairs to Herr Sesemann; when

he was once more sitting in the armchair opposite his friend,

“Sesemann,” he said, “let me first tell you that your little

charge is a sleep-walker; she is the ghost who has nightly

opened the front door and put your household into this fever of

alarm. Secondly, the child is consumed with homesickness, to such

an extent that she is nearly a skeleton already, and soon will be

quite one; something must be done at once. For the first

trouble, due to her over-excited nerves, there is but one remedy,

to send her back to her native mountain air; and for the second

trouble there is also but one cure, and that the same. So tomorrow the child must start for home; there you have my

prescription.”

 

Herr Sesemann had arisen and now paced up and down the room in

the greatest state of concern.

 

“What!” he exclaimed, “the child a sleep-walker and ill! Homesick, and grown emaciated in my house! All this has taken place

in my house and no one seen or known anything about it! And you

mean, doctor, that the child who came here happy and healthy, I

am to send back to her grandfather a miserable little skeleton? I

can’t do it; you cannot dream of my doing such a thing! Take the

child in hand, do with her what you will, and make her whole and

sound, and then she shall go home; but you must do something

first.”

 

“Sesemann,” replied the doctor, “consider what you are doing!

This illness of the child’s is not one to be cured with pills

and powders. The child has not a tough constitution, but if you

send her back at once she may recover in the mountain air, if not -

-you would rather she went back ill than not at all?”

 

Herr Sesemann stood still; the doctor’s words were a shock to

him.

 

“If you put it so, doctor, there is assuredly only one way—and

the thing must be seen to at once.” And then he and the doctor

walked up and down for a while arranging what to do, after which

the doctor said good-bye, for some time had passed since they

first sat down together, and as the master himself opened the

hall door this time the morning light shone down through it into

the house.

 

CHAPTER XIII. A SUMMER EVENING ON THE MOUNTAIN

 

Herr Sesemann, a good deal irritated and excited, went quickly

upstairs and along the passage to Fraulein Rottenmeier’s room,

and there gave such an unusually loud knock at the door that the

lady awoke from sleep with a cry of alarm. She heard the master

of the house calling to her from the other side of the door,

“Please make haste and come down to me in the dining-room; we

must make ready for a journey at once.” Fraulein Rottenmeier

looked at her clock: it was just half-past four; she had never

got up so early before in her life. What could have happened?

What with her curiosity and excitement she took hold of

everything the wrong way, and it was a case with her of more

haste less speed, for she kept on searching everywhere for

garments which she had already put on.

 

Meanwhile Herr Sesemann had gone on farther and rung the bells

in turn which communicated with the several servants’ rooms,

causing frightened figures to leap out of bed, convinced that the

ghost had attacked the master and that he was calling for help.

One by one they made their appearance in the dining-room, each

with a more terrified face than the last, and were astonished to

see their master walking up and down, looking well and cheerful,

and with no appearance of having had an encounter with a ghost.

John was sent off without delay to get the horses and carriage

ready; Tinette was ordered to wake Heidi and get her dressed for

a journey; Sebastian was hurried off to the house where Dete was

in service to bring the latter round. Then Fraulein Rottenmeier,

having at last accomplished her toilet, came down, with

everything well adjusted about her except her cap, which was put

on hind side before. Herr Sesemann put down her flurried

appearance to the early awakening he had caused her, and began

without delay to give her directions. She was to get out a trunk

at once and pack up all the things belonging to the Swiss child—

for so he usually spoke of Heidi, being unaccustomed to her name—

and a good part of Clara’s clothes as well, so that the child

might take home proper apparel; but everything was to be done

immediately, as there was no time for consideration.

 

Fraulein Rottenmeier stood as if rooted to the spot and stared

in astonishment at Herr Sesemann. She had quite expected a long

and private account of some terrible ghostly experience of his

during the night, which she would have enjoyed hearing about in

the broad daylight. Instead of this there were these prosaic and

troublesome directions, which were so unexpected that she took

some time to get over her surprise and disappointment, and

continued standing awaiting further explanation.

 

But Herr Sesemann had no thought or time for explanations and

left her standing there while he went to speak to Clara. As he

anticipated, the unusual commotion in the house had disturbed

her, and she was lying and listening and wondering what had

happened. So he sat down and told her everything that had

occurred during the past night, and explained that the doctor

had given his verdict and pronounced Heidi to be in a very highly

strung state, so that her nightly wanderings might gradually

lead her farther and farther, perhaps even on to the roof, which

of course would be very dangerous for her. And so they had

decided to send her home at once, as he did not like to take the

responsibility of her remaining, and Clara would see for herself

that it was the only thing to do. Clara was very much

distressed, and at first made all kinds of suggestions for

keeping Heidi with her; but her father was firm, and