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

the blue sky above him. There was an

expression of sadness on his face, formerly so cheerful, and his

hair had grown greyer since the spring. The doctor had had an

only daughter, who, after his wife’s death, had been his sole

and constant companion, but only a few months previously death

had deprived him of his dear child, and he had never been the

same bright and cheery man since.

 

Sebastian opened the door to him, greeting him with every mark

of respectful civility, for the doctor was not only the most

cherished friend of the master and his daughter, but had by his

kindness won the hearts of the whole household.

 

“Everything as usual, Sebastian?” asked the doctor in his

pleasant voice as he preceded Sebastian up the stairs.

 

“I am glad you have come, doctor,” exclaimed Herr Sesemann as

the latter entered. “We must really have another talk over this

Swiss journey; do you still adhere to your decision, even though

Clara is decidedly improving in health?”

 

“My dear Sesemann, I never knew such a man as you!” said the

doctor as he sat down beside his friend. “I really wish your

mother was here; everything would be clear and straightforward

then and she would soon put things in right train. You sent for

me three times yesterday only to ask me the same question,

though you know what I think.”

 

“Yes, I know, it’s enough to make you out of patience with me;

but you must understand, dear friend”—and Herr Sesemann laid

his hand imploringly on the doctor’s shoulder—“that I feel I

have not the courage to refuse the child what I have been

promising her all along, and for months now she has been living

on the thought of it day and night. She bore this last bad attack

so patiently because she was buoyed up with the hope that she

should soon start on her Swiss journey, and see her friend Heidi

again; and now must I tell the poor child, who has to give up so

many pleasures, that this visit she has so long looked forward to

must also be cancelled? I really have not the courage to do it.”

 

“You must make up your mind to it, Sesemann,” said the doctor

with authority, and as his friend continued silent and dejected

he went on after a pause, “Consider yourself how the matter

stands. Clara has not had such a bad summer as this last one for

years. Only the worst results would follow from the fatigue of

such a journey, and it is out of the question for her. And then

we are already in September, and although it may still be warm

and fine up there, it may just as likely be already very cold.

The days too are growing short, and as Clara cannot spend the

night up there she would only have a two hours’ visit at the

outside. The journey from Ragatz would take hours, for she would

have to be carried up the mountain in a chair. In short,

Sesemann, it is impossible. But I will go in with you and talk

to Clara; she is a reasonable child, and I will tell her what my

plans are. Next May she shall be taken to the baths and stay

there for the cure until it is quite hot weather. Then she can

be carried up the mountain from time to time, and when she is

stronger she will enjoy these excursions far more than she would

now. Understand, Sesemann, that if we want to give the child a

chance of recovery we must use the utmost care and

watchfulness.”

 

Herr Sesemann, who had listened to the doctor in sad and

submissive silence, now suddenly jumped up. “Doctor,” he said,

“tell me truly: have you really any hope of her final recovery?”

 

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “Very little,” he replied

quietly. “But, friend, think of my trouble. You have still a

beloved child to look for you and greet you on your return home.

You do not come back to an empty house and sit down to a

solitary meal. And the child is happy and comfortable at home

too. If there is much that she has to give up, she has on the

other hand many advantages. No, Sesemann, you are not so greatly

to be pitied—you have still the happiness of being together.

Think of my lonely house!”

 

Herr Sesemann was now striding up and down the room as was his

habit when deeply engaged in thought. Suddenly he came to a

pause beside his friend and laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Doctor, I have an idea; I cannot bear to see you look as you do;

you are no longer the same man. You must be taken out of yourself

for a while, and what do you think I propose? That you shall take

the journey and go and pay Heidi a visit in our name.”

 

The doctor was taken aback at this sudden proposal and wanted to

make objections, but his friend gave him no time to say

anything. He was so delighted with his idea, that he seized the

doctor by the arm and drew him into Clara’s room. The kind doctor

was always a welcome visitor to Clara, for he generally had

something amusing to tell her. Lately, it is true, he had been

graver, but Clara knew the reason why and would have given much

to see him his old lively self again. She held out her hand to

him as he came up to her; he took a seat beside her, and her

father also drew up his chair, and taking Clara’s hand in his

began to talk to her of the Swiss journey and how he himself had

looked forward to it. He passed as quickly as he could over the

main point that it was now impossible for her to undertake it,

for he dreaded the tears that would follow; but he went on

without pause to tell her of his new plan, and dwelt on the great

benefit it would be to his friend if he could be persuaded to

take this holiday.

 

The tears were indeed swimming in the blue eyes, although Clara

struggled to keep them down for her father’s sake, but it was a

bitter disappointment to give up the journey, the thought of

which had been her only joy and solace during the lonely hours

of her long illness. She knew, however, that her father would

never refuse her a thing unless he was certain that it would be

harmful for her. So she swallowed her tears as well as she could

and turned her thoughts to the one hope still left her. Taking

the doctor’s hand and stroking it, she said pleadingly,—

 

“Dear doctor, you will go and see Heidi, won’t you? and then you

can come and tell me all about it, what it is like up there, and

what Heidi and the grandfather, and Peter and the goats do all

day. I know them all so well! And then you can take what I want

to send to Heidi; I have thought about it all, and also

something for the grandmother. Do pray go, dear doctor, and I

will take as much cod liver oil as you like.”

 

Whether this promise finally decided the doctor it is impossible

to say, but it is certain that he smiled and said,—

 

“Then I must certainly go, Clara, for you will then get as plump

and strong as your father and I wish to see you. And have you

decided when I am to start?”

 

“Tomorrow morning—early if possible,” replied Clara.

 

“Yes, she is right,” put in Herr Sesemann; “the sun is shining

and the sky is blue, and there is no time to be lost; it is a

pity to miss a single one of these days on the mountain.”

 

The doctor could not help laughing. “You will be reproaching me

next for not being there already; well, I must go and make

arrangements for getting off.”

 

But Clara would not let him go until she had given him endless

messages for Heidi, and had explained all he was to look at so

as to give her an exact description on his return. Her presents

she would send round later, as Fraulein Rottenmeier must first

help her to pack them up; at that moment she was out on one of

her excursions into the town which always kept her engaged for

some time. The doctor promised to obey Clara’s directions in

every particular; he would start some time during the following

day if not the first thing in the morning, and would bring back a

faithful account of his experiences and of all he saw and heard.

 

The servants of a household have a curious faculty of divining

what is going on before they are actually told about anything.

Sebastian and Tinette must have possessed this faculty in a high

degree, for even as the doctor was going downstairs, Tinette,

who had been rung for, entered Clara’s room.

 

“Take that box and bring it back filled with the soft cakes

which we have with coffee,” said Clara, pointing to a box which

had been brought long before in preparation for this. Tinette

took it up, and carried it out, dangling it contemptuously in her

hand.

 

“Hardly worth the trouble I should have thought,” she said

pertly as she left the room.

 

As Sebastian opened the door for the doctor he said with a bow,

“Will the Herr Doctor be so kind as to give the little miss my

greetings?”

 

“I see,” said the doctor, “you know then already that I am off

on a journey.”

 

Sebastian hesitated and gave an awkward little cough. “I am—I

have—I hardly know myself. O yes, I remember; I happened to

pass through the dining-room and caught little miss’s name, and I

put two and two together—and so I thought—”

 

“I see, I see,” smiled the doctor, “one can find out a great

many thinks by thinking. Good-bye till I see you again,

Sebastian, I will be sure and give your message.”

 

The doctor was hastening off when he met with a sudden obstacle;

the violent wind had prevented Fraulein Rottenmeier prosecuting

her walk any farther, and she was just returning and had reached

the door as he was coming out. The white shawl she wore was so

blown out by the wind that she looked like a ship in full sail.

The doctor drew back, but Fraulein Rottenmeier had always

evinced peculiar appreciation and respect for this man, and she

also drew back with exaggerated politeness to let him pass. The

two stood for a few seconds, each anxious to make way for the

other, but a sudden gust of wind sent Fraulein Rottenmeier flying

with all her sails almost into the doctor’s arms, and she had to

pause and recover herself before she could shake hands with the

doctor with becoming decorum. She was put out at having been

forced to enter in so undignified a manner, but the doctor had a

way of smoothing people’s ruffled feathers, and she was soon

listening with her usual composure while he informed her of his

intended journey, begging her in his most conciliatory voice to

pack up the parcels for Heidi as she alone knew how to pack. And

then he took his leave.

 

Clara quite expected to have a long tussle with Fraulein

Rottenmeier before she would get the latter to consent to

sending all the things that she had collected as presents for

Heidi. But this time she was mistaken, for Fraulein Rottenmeier

was in a more than usually good temper. She cleared the large