Peter was accustomed to give immediate obedience to Uncle, and
he marched off with his goats, but with a turn of the head and
roll of the eye that showed he had some thought in reserve. The
goats carried Heidi along with them a little way, which was what
Peter wanted. "You will have to come with them," he called to
her, "for I shall be obliged to follow Little Swan."
"I cannot," Heidi called back from the midst of her friends,
"and I shall not be able to come for a long, long time--not as
long as Clara is with me. Grandfather, however, has promised to
go up the mountain with both of us one day."
Heidi had now extricated herself from the goats and she ran back
to Clara. Peter doubled his fists and made threatening gestures
towards the invalid on her couch, and then climbed up some
distance without pause until he was out of sight, for he was
afraid Uncle might have seen him, and he did not care to know
what Uncle might have thought of the fists.
Clara and Heidi had made so many plans for themselves that they
hardly knew where to begin. Heidi suggested that they should
first write to grandmamma, to whom they had promised to send word
every day, for grandmamma had not felt sure whether it would in
the long run suit Clara's health to remain up the mountain, or if
she would continue to enjoy herself there. With daily news of her
granddaughter she could stay on without anxiety at Ragatz, and be
ready to go to Clara at a moment's notice.
"Must we go indoors to write?" asked Clara, who agreed to Heidi's
proposal but did not want to move from where she was, as it was
so much nicer outside. Heidi was prepared to arrange everything.
She ran in and brought out her school-book and writing things and
her own little stool. She put her reading book and copy book on
Clara's knees, to make a desk for her to write upon, and she
herself took her seat on the stool and sat to the bench, and then
they both began writing to grandmamma. But Clara paused after
every sentence to look about her; it was too beautiful for much
letter writing. The breeze had sunk a little, and now only gently
fanned her face and whispered lightly through the fir trees.
210