“I am going to Frankfurt with Aunt Deta,” Heidi replied; “but first I must see grandmother, for she is waiting.”
“Oh no, it is too late. You can see her when you come back, but not now,” said Deta, pulling Heidi along with her, for she was afraid that the old woman might detain the child.
Peter ran into the cottage and hit the table with his rods. The grandmother jumped up in her fright and asked him what that meant.
“They have taken Heidi away,” Peter said with a groan.
“Who has, Peter? Where has she gone?” the unhappy grandmother asked. Brigida had seen Deta walking up the footpath a short while ago and soon they guessed what had happened. With a trembling hand the old woman opened a window and called out as loudly as she could: “Deta, Deta, don’t take the child away. Don’t take her from us.”
When Heidi heard that she struggled to get free, and said: “I must go to grandmother; she is calling me.”
But Deta would not let her go. She urged her on by saying that she might return soon again. She also suggested that Heidi might bring a lovely present to the grandmother when she came back.
Heidi liked this prospect and followed Deta without more ado. After a while she asked: “What shall I bring to the grandmother?”
“You might bring her some soft white rolls, Heidi. I think the black bread is too hard for poor grandmother to eat.”
“Yes, I know, aunt, she always gives it to Peter,” Heidi confirmed her. “We must go quickly now; we might get to Frankfurt today and then I can be back tomorrow with the rolls.”
Heidi was running now, and Deta had to follow. She was glad enough to escape the questions that people might ask her in the village. People could see that Heidi was pulling her along, so she said: “I can’t stop. Don’t you see how the child is hurrying? We have still far to go,” whenever she heard from all sides: “Are you taking her with you?” “Is she running away from the uncle?” “What a wonder she is still alive!” “What red cheeks she has,” and so on. Soon they had escaped and had left the village far behind them.
From that time on the uncle looked more angry than ever when he came to the village. Everybody was afraid of him, and the women would warn their children to keep out of his sight.
He came down but seldom, and then only to sell his cheese and buy his provisions. Often people remarked how lucky it was that Heidi had left him. They had seen her hurrying away, so they thought that she had been glad to go.
The old grandmother alone stuck to him faithfully. Whenever anybody came up to her, she would tell them what good care the old man had taken of Heidi. She also told them that he had mended her little house. These reports reached the village, of course, but people only half believed them, for the grandmother was infirm and old. She began her days with sighing again. “All happiness has left us with the child. The days are so long and dreary, and I have no joy left. If only I could hear Heidi’s voice before I die,” the poor old woman would exclaim, day after day.
VI
A New Chapter with New Things
In a beautiful house in Frankfurt lived a sick child by the name of Clara Sesemann. She was sitting in a comfortable rolling-chair, which could be pushed from room to room. Clara spent most of her time in the study, where long rows of bookcases lined the walls. This room was used as a living-room, and here she was also given her lessons.
Clara had a pale, thin face with soft blue eyes, which at that moment were watching the clock impatiently. At last she said: “Oh Miss Rottenmeier, isn’t it time yet?”
The lady so addressed was the housekeeper, who had lived with Clara since Mrs. Sesemann’s death. Miss Rottenmeier wore a peculiar uniform with a long cape, and a high cap on her head. Clara’s father, who was away from home a great deal, left the entire management of the house to this lady, on the condition that his daughter’s wishes should always be considered.
While Clara was waiting, Deta had arrived at the front door with Heidi. She was asking the coachman who had brought her if she could go upstairs.
“That’s not my business,” grumbled the coachman; “you must ring for the butler.”
Sebastian, the butler, a man with large brass buttons on his coat, soon stood before her.
“May I see Miss Rottenmeier?” Deta asked.
“That’s not my business,” the butler announced. “Ring for Tinette, the maid.” With that, he disappeared.
Deta, ringing again, saw a girl with a brilliant white cap on her head, coming down the stairway. The maid stopped halfway down and asked scornfully: “What do you want?”
Deta repeated her wish again. Tinette told her to wait while she went upstairs, but it did not take long before the two were asked to come up.
Following the maid, they found themselves in the study. Deta held on to Heidi’s hand and stayed near the door.
Miss Rottenmeier, slowly getting up, approached the newcomers. She did not seem pleased with Heidi, who wore her hat and shawl and was looking up at the lady’s headdress with innocent wonder.
“What is your name?” the lady asked.
“Heidi,” was the child’s clear answer.
“What? Is that a Christian name? What name did you receive in baptism?” inquired the lady again.
“I don’t remember that any more,” the child replied.
“What an answer! What does that mean?” said the housekeeper, shaking her head. “Is the child ignorant
