Heidi was now in her eighth year; she had learnt all kinds of useful things from her grandfather; she knew how to look after the goats as well as any one, and Little Swan and Little Bear would follow her like two faithful dogs, and give a loud bleat of pleasure when they heard her voice. Twice during the course of this last winter Peter had brought up a message from the schoolmaster at Doerfli, who sent word to Alm-Uncle that he ought to send Heidi to school, as she was over the usual age, and ought indeed to have gone the winter before. Uncle had sent word back each time that the schoolmaster would find him at home if he had anything he wished to say to him, but that he did not intend to send Heidi to school.

As Heidi was running about one sunny March morning, and had just jumped over the water-trough for the tenth time at least, she nearly fell backwards into it with fright, for there in front of her stood an old gentleman dressed in black. When he saw how startled she was, he said in a kind voice, "Don't be afraid of me, for I am very fond of children. Shake hands! You must be the Heidi I have heard of; where is your grandfather?"

"He is sitting by the table, making round wooden spoons," Heidi informed him, as she opened the door.

It was the old village pastor from Doerfli who had been a neighbor of Uncle's when he lived down there. He stepped inside the hut, and going up to the old man, who was bending over his work, said, "Good-morning, neighbor."

The grandfather looked up in surprise, and then rising said, "Good-morning" in return. He pushed his chair towards the visitor as he continued, "If you do not mind a wooden seat there is one for you."

The pastor sat down. "It is a long time since I have seen you, neighbor," he said. "I think you know already what it is that has brought me here," and as he spoke he looked towards the child who was standing at the door.

"Heidi, go off to the goats," said her grandfather. "You can take them a little salt and stay with them till I come."

Heidi vanished on the spot.

"The child ought to have been at school a year ago, and most certainly this last winter," said the pastor. "The schoolmaster sent you word about it, but you gave him no answer. What are you thinking of doing with the child, neighbor?"

"I am thinking of not sending her to school," was the answer.

"How are you going to let her grow up then?"

"I am going to let her grow up and be happy among the goats and birds; with them she is safe, and will learn nothing evil."

"But the child is not a goat or a bird, she is a human being. It is time she began her lessons. This is the last winter she must be allowed to run wild; next winter she must come regularly to school every day."

"She will do no such thing," said the old man with calm determination.

"Do you mean that you intend to stick obstinately to your decision?" said the pastor, growing somewhat angry. "You have been about the world, and I should have given you credit for more sense, neighbor."

"Indeed," replied the old man, "could you expect me to send a young child down the mountain on ice-cold mornings through storm and snow, and let her return at night when the wind is raging? Have you forgotten the child's mother, Adelaide? She was a sleep-walker, and had fits. Might not the child be attacked in the same way if obliged to over-exert herself? And you think you can come and force me to send her? I will go before all the courts of justice in the country, and then we shall see who will force me to do it!"

"Perhaps you are right, neighbor," said the pastor in a friendly tone of voice. "If it is impossible to send the child to school from here, come down into Doerfli and live again among your fellow-men. What sort of a life is this you lead, alone, and with bitter thoughts towards God and man."

"No, pastor, as to going down to Doerfli to live, that is far from my thoughts; the people despise me and I them; it is therefore best for all of us that we live apart."

The visitor had risen and stood holding out his hand to the old man as he added with renewed earnestness, "I will wager, that next winter you will be down among us again, and we shall be good neighbors as of old. Promise me that you will come and live with us again and become reconciled to God and man."

Alm-Uncle gave the pastor his hand and answered him calmly and firmly, "You mean well by me, I know, but I will not send the child to school nor come and live among you."

"Then God help you!" said the pastor, as he left the hut and went down the mountain.

Alm-Uncle was out of humor. When Heidi said as usual that afternoon, "Can we go down to grandmother now?" he answered, "Not today." He did not speak again the whole day, and the following morning when Heidi again asked the same question, he replied, "We will see." But before the dinner bowls bad been cleared away another visitor arrived, and this time it was Dete. She wore a fine feathered hat and a long trailing dress which swept the floor.

The grandfather looked her up and down without uttering a word. But Dete was prepared with an exceedingly amiable speech and began at once to praise the looks of the child. She should hardly have known her again, and it was evident that Heidi had been happy and well-cared-for with her grandfather. But she had just heard of something that would be a lucky chance for her. Some wealthy people in Frankfurt wanted a companion for their only daughter who was an invalid. Heidi was just the sort of child they were looking for, simple-minded and unspoiled, and after Dete had given them a description of Heidi, they had agreed to take her. And no one could tell what good fortune there might not be in store for her, for if these rich people should take a fancy to Heidi—

"Have you nearly finished what you had to say?" broke in Alm-Uncle, who had allowed her to talk on uninterruptedly so far.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Dete, throwing up her head in disgust, "one would think I had been talking to you about the most ordinary matter; why, there is not one person in all Praettigau who would not thank God if I were to bring them such a piece of news as I am bringing you."

"You may take your news to anybody you like, I will have nothing to do with it."

Dete leaped up from her seat like a rocket and cried, "If that is all you have to say about it, why, then I will give you a bit of my mind. The child is now eight years old and knows nothing, and you will not let her learn. You will not send her to church or school, as I was told down in Doerfli, and she is my own sister's child. I am responsible for what happens to her, and this is a good opening for her. I have everybody in Doerfli on my side; there is not one person there who will not take my part against you; and I advise you to think well before bringing it into court, if that is your intention; there are certain things which might be brought up against you that you would not care to hear, for when one has to do with lawcourts there is a great deal raked up that had been forgotten."

"Be silent!" thundered the Uncle, and his eyes flashed with anger. "Go and be done with you! and never let me see you again with your hat and feather." And with that he strode out of the hut.

"You have made grandfather angry," said Heidi, and her dark eyes had anything but a friendly expression in them as she looked at Dete.

"He will soon be all right again; come now," said Dete hurriedly, "and show me where your clothes are."

"I am not coming," said Heidi.

"Come, come, you will have all sorts of good things that you never dreamed of." Then she went to the cupboard and taking out Heidi's things rolled them up in a bundle. "Come along now, there's your hat; it is very shabby but will do for the present; put it on and let us make haste off."

"I am not coming," repeated Heidi.

"Don't be stupid and obstinate, like a goat; I suppose it's from the goats you have learnt to be so. Listen to me: you saw your grandfather was angry and heard what he said, that he did not wish to ever see us again; he wants you to go away with me and you must not make him angrier still. You can't think how nice it is at Frankfurt, and if you do not like it you can come back again; your grandfather will be in a good humor by that time."

"Can I return at once and be back home again here this evening?" asked Heidi.

"What are you talking about, come along now! I tell you that you can come back here when you like. Today we shall go as far as Mayenfeld, and early tomorrow we shall start in the train; it will bring you home again in no time when you wish it, for it goes as fast as the wind."

They started down the mountain and as they neared the grandmother's hut they met Peter coming round the corner carrying an immense bundle of long, thick hazel sticks on his shoulders. He stood still and stared at the two approaching figures; as they came up to him, he exclaimed, "Where are you going, Heidi?"

"I am only just going over to Frankfurt for a little visit with Dete," she replied; "but I must first run in to grandmother, she will be expecting me."

"No, no, you must not stop to talk; it is already too late," said Dete, holding Heidi, who was struggling to get away. "You can go in when you come back," and she pulled the child on with her. Peter ran into the hut and banged against the table with his bundle of sticks with such violence that everything in the room shook, and his grandmother leaped up with a cry of alarm from her spinning-wheel.

"What is the matter? what is the matter?" cried the frightened old woman.

"She is taking Heidi away," explained Peter.

"Who? who? where to, Peter, where to?" asked the grandmother, growing still more agitated; but even as she spoke she guessed what had happened, for Brigitta had told her shortly before that she had seen Dete going up to Alm-Uncle. The old woman opened the window and called out beseechingly, "Dete, Dete, do not take the child away from us! do not take her away!"

The two who were hastening down the mountain heard her voice, and Dete evidently caught the words, for she grasped Heidi's hand more firmly. Heidi struggled to get free, crying, "Grandmother is calling, I must go to her."

But Dete had no intention of letting the child go, and quieted her as best she could by promising that she could take something nice back to grandmother. This was a new idea to Heidi, and it pleased her so much that Dete had no longer any difficulty in getting her along.

"What could I take back to her?" Heidi asked.

"A soft roll of white bread; she would enjoy that, for now she is old she can hardly eat the hard, black bread," answered Dete.

"Yes, she always gives it back to Peter, telling him it is too hard," affirmed Heidi. "Do let us make haste, for then perhaps we can get back soon from Frankfurt, and I shall be able to give her the white bread today." And Heidi started off running so fast that Dete with the bundle under her arm could scarcely keep up with her.

From that day forward Alm-Uncle looked fiercer and more forbidding than ever when he came down and passed through Doerfli. He spoke to no one, and looked such an ogre as he came along with his pack of cheeses on his back, his immense stick in his hand, and his thick, frowning eyebrows, that the women would call to their little ones, "Take care! get out of Alm-Uncle's way or he may hurt you!"

The old man took no notice of anybody as he strode through the village on his way to the valley below, where he sold his cheeses and bought what bread and meat he wanted for himself. After he had passed, the villagers all crowded together looking after him. They agreed that it was a great mercy the child had got away from him. Only the blind grandmother would have nothing to say against him, and told those who came to bring her work, how kind and thoughtful he had been with the child, how good to her and her daughter, and how many afternoons he had spent mending the house. All this was repeated down in Doerfli; but most of the people who heard it said that grandmother was too old to understand, and very likely had not heard rightly what was said; as she was blind, probably she was also deaf.