Peter nodded, all contrite. He certainly had experienced this.
“You have made a mistake,” the grandmama continued, “by thinking that you would hurt Clara by destroying her chair. It has so happened that what you have done has been the greatest good for her. She would probably never have tried to walk, if her chair had been there. If she should stay here, she might even go up to the pasture every single day. Do you see, Peter? God can turn a misdeed to the good of the injured person and bring trouble on the offender. Have you understood me, Peter? Remember the little watchman when you long to do a wicked deed again. Will you do that?”
“Yes, I shall,” Peter replied, still fearing the policeman, who had not left yet.
“So now that matter is all settled,” said the old lady in conclusion. “Now tell me if you have a wish, my boy, for I am going to give you something by which to remember your friends from Frankfurt. What is it? What would you like to have?”
Peter, lifting his head, stared at the grandmama with round, astonished eyes. He was confused by this sudden change of prospect.
Being again urged to utter a wish, he saw at last that he was saved from the power of the terrible man. He felt as if the most crushing load had fallen off him. He knew now that it was better to confess at once, when something had gone wrong, so he said: “I have also lost the paper.”
Reflecting a while, the grandmama understood and said: “That is right. Always confess what is wrong, then it can be settled. And now, what would you like to have?”
So Peter could choose everything in the world he wished. His brain got dizzy. He saw before him all the wonderful things in the fair in Mayenfeld. He had often stood there for hours, looking at the pretty red whistles and the little knives; unfortunately Peter had never possessed more than half what those objects cost.
He stood thinking, not able to decide, when a bright thought struck him.
“Ten pennies,” said Peter with decision.
“That certainly is not too much,” the old lady said with a smile, taking out of her pocket a big, round thaler, on top of which she laid twenty pennies. “Now I’ll explain this to you. Here you have as many times ten pennies as there are weeks in the year. You’ll be able to spend one every Sunday through the year.”
“All my life?” Peter asked quite innocently.
The grandmama began to laugh so heartily at this that the two men came over to join her.
Laughingly she said: “You shall have it my boy; I will put it in my will and then you will do the same, my son. Listen! Peter the goatherd shall have a ten-penny piece weekly as long as he lives.”
Mr. Sesemann nodded.
Peter, looking at his gift, said solemnly: “God be thanked!” Jumping and bounding, he ran away. His heart was so light that he felt he could fly.
A little later the whole party sat round the table holding a merry feast. After dinner, Clara, who was lively as never before, said to her father:
“Oh, Papa, if you only knew all the things grandfather did for me. It would take many days to tell you; I shall never forget them all my life. Oh, if we could please him only half as much as what he did for me.”
“It is my greatest wish, too, dear child,” said her father; “I have been trying to think of something all the time. We have to show our gratitude in some way.”
Accordingly Mr. Sesemann walked over to the old man, and began: “My dear friend, may I say one word to you. I am sure you believe me when I tell you that I have not known any real joy for years. What was my wealth to me when I could not cure my child and make her happy! With the help of the Lord you have made her well. You have given her a new life. Please tell me how to show my gratitude to you. I know I shall never be able to repay you, but what is in my power I shall do. Have you any request to make? Please let me know.”
The uncle had listened quietly and had looked at the happy father.
“Mr. Sesemann, you can be sure that I also am repaid by the great joy I experience at the recovery of Clara,” said the uncle firmly. “I thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Sesemann. As long as I live I have enough for me and the child. But I have one wish. If this could be fulfilled, my life would be free of care.”
“Speak, my dear friend,” urged Clara’s father.
“I am old,” continued the uncle, “and shall not live many years. When I die I cannot leave Heidi anything. The child has no relations except one, who even might try to take advantage of her if she could. If you would give me the assurance, Mr. Sesemann, that Heidi will never be obliged to go into the world and earn her bread, you would amply repay me for what I was able to do for you and Clara.”
“My dear friend, there is no question of that,” began Mr. Sesemann; “the child belongs to us! I promise at once that we shall look after her so that there will not be
