A SUMMER EVENING ON THE MOUNTAIN
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.
“That belongs to you,” said the latter, laying the roll down on the bench beside him. Then he opened the letter, read it through and without a word put it in his pocket.
“Do you think you can still drink milk with me, Heidi?” he asked, taking the child by the hand to go into the hut. “But bring your money with you; you can buy a bed and bedclothes and dresses for a couple of years with it.”
“I am sure I do not want it,” replied Heidi. “I have got a bed already, and Clara has put such a lot of clothes in my box that I shall never want any more.”
“Take it and put it in the cupboard; you will want it some day I have no doubt.”
Heidi obeyed and skipped happily after her grandfather into the house; she ran into all the corners, delighted to see everything again, and then went up the ladder—but there she came to a pause and called down in a tone of surprise and distress, “Oh, grandfather, my bed’s gone.”
“We can soon make it up again,” he answered her from below. “I did not know that you were coming back; come along now and have your milk.”
Heidi came down, sat herself on her high stool in the old place, and then taking up her bowl drank her milk eagerly, as if she had never come across anything so delicious, and as she
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