HEIDI
grew their conversation, the more loudly sang the birds overhead, as if wishing to take part in the children’s gossip, which evidently pleased them. So the hours flew by and all at once, as it seemed, the evening had come with the returning Peter, who still scowled and looked angry.
“Good-night, Peter,” called out Heidi, as she saw he had no intention of stopping to speak.
“Good-night, Peter,” called out Clara in a friendly voice. Peter took no notice and went surlily on with his goats.
As Clara saw the grandfather leading away Little Swan to milk her, she was suddenly taken with a longing for another bowlful of the fragrant milk, and waited impatiently for it.
“Isn’t it curious, Heidi,” she said, astonished at herself, “as long as I can remember I have only eaten because I was obliged to, and everything used to seem to taste of cod-liver oil, and I was always wishing there was no need to eat or drink; and now I am longing for grandfather to bring me the milk.”
“Yes, I know what it feels like,” replied Heidi, who remembered the many days in Frankfurt when all her food used to seem to stick in her throat. Clara, however, could not understand it; the fact was that she had never in her life before spent a whole day in the open air, much less in such high, life-giving mountain air. When grandfather at last brought her the evening milk, she drank it up so quickly that she had emptied her bowl before Heidi, and then she asked for a little more. The grandfather went inside with both the children’s bowls, and when he brought them out again full he had something else to add to their supper. He had walked over that afternoon to a herdsman’s house, where the sweetly tasting
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