While the two men were talking, the old lady wandered away to the fir trees. There, in a little space between the lowest branches, she was enchanted to discover a clump of beautiful blue gentians, looking as fresh as if they were actually growing there.
‘Oh how exquisite!’ she cried. ‘Heidi my dear, come over here. Did you do that to surprise me? It was a lovely thought.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Heidi replied, ‘but I know who did.’ ‘They grow just like that up on the mountain,’ Clara told her, ‘lots and lots of them. Guess who gathered them for you this morning.’
She looked so happy that, for a moment, her grandmother wondered if she could possibly have done it herself.
They were interrupted at that moment by a little scuffling noise from behind the trees. It was Peter, who had seen the stranger outside the hut with Uncle Alp, and so was trying to creep by unnoticed. Mrs Sesemann caught sight of him, however, and the thought struck her that it might have been he who had brought the flowers, and that the slipping away was out of shyness.
‘Come here,’ she called, meaning to reward him in some way. ‘Come along my boy. Don’t be shy.’
Peter was too frightened to run away any more. ‘It’s all up with me now,’ he thought, and he came slowly towards her with an agonized expression on his face.
‘Be brave,’ said Mrs Sesemann, trying to help him out. ‘Just tell me plainly, was it you who did that?’
Peter did not look up, so he did not see what she was pointing at, but he felt Uncle’s eyes upon him from the angle of the hut, and he muttered a shaky, ‘Yes.’
‘Well well,’ she murmured, ‘what is there to be afraid of in that?’
‘It’s… because… because… it’s all broken… and can’t be mended.’ He brought the words out with great difficulty, and his knees were knocking together so that he could hardly stand.
After a thoughtful glance at him, Grandmamma went over to Uncle Alp, and asked quietly if the boy was half‐witted.
‘Oh no,’ he assured her, ‘not in the least. But he was the “wind” that blew your granddaughter’s chair away, and now he’s expecting to be punished for it, as he richly deserves to.’
Mrs Sesemann found it hard to believe this of him. He did not look to her like a bad boy, and she could not think why anyone should have wanted to destroy such a necessary article as an invalid’s chair.
Uncle Alp, however, had had his suspicions from the very beginning. He had not missed the scowls Peter had cast at Clara, nor his whole air of resentment of everything that had been happening on the mountain. Uncle had put two and two together, and had spoken with conviction when he accused Peter. He explained all this now to Mrs Sesemann, who said at once:
‘Oh poor boy! He mustn’t be punished any more. We must be kind, and try to see things from his angle. Think, here are we, complete strangers, keeping Heidi away from him for weeks on end — and of course he regarded her as very much his private property — and he has been left all alone to brood on it. Of course his feelings got the better of him and drove him to this foolish act of revenge. We are all foolish when we are angry.’
She turned and called Peter to her, as she sat down under the trees.
‘Come, my boy,’ she said in a friendly voice, ‘stop trembling and listen to me. You sent Miss Clara’s wheel‐chair rolling down the mountainside so that it was smashed to bits, didn’t you? And you knew all the time that it was wrong, and that you would deserve to be punished for it, but you’ve been trying to hide it, hoping that no one would find out. Isn’t that it? I thought so. But you make a great mistake if you think you can do wrong and no one will know about it. God sees and hears everything, and when He notices someone trying to hide what they have done, He stirs up the little watchman we all have inside us — a little watchman who sleeps until we do something wrong. Then he wakes up, and he has a little goad to prick us with, and he does not give us a moment’s peace after that, but goes on pricking us and telling us in a nagging little voice, “Someone has found out. Now you’ll get into trouble.” Isn’t that what has been happening to you lately?’
Much ashamed, Peter gave a little nod, for those had been exactly his feelings.
‘And things haven’t turned out as you expected, have they?’ she went on. ‘Instead of injuring her, you’ve actually done her good. Without her chair, Clara has had to make a special effort to walk, and you see she has succeeded. That’s the way God brings good out of evil. You, who did wrong, were the one to suffer. Do you understand, Peter? Remember what I’ve been saying, and the next time you feel inclined to do something you know you shouldn’t, think of that little watchman with his goad and his disagreeable voice inside you.’
‘Yes, I will,’ said Peter, very subdued but still anxious as to how the matter was going to end, for the ‘policeman’ was still standing beside Uncle Alp.
‘Then we’ll say no more about it,’ Mrs Sesemann told him. ‘And I should like you to have something as a pleasant reminder of the visitors from Frankfurt. Now tell me. What would you like most of all for a present?’
Peter raised his eyes at that, and stared at her in amazement. His head was in a whirl. He had been sure that something terrible would happen to him. Instead, he was to be given a present!
‘Yes, I mean it,’ she assured him. ‘I want you to choose something really nice to remember us by, and to show you that we bear you no ill will. Do you understand?’
The truth slowly dawned on Peter. This kind lady was going to stand between him and the policeman. He had nothing more to fear. He felt as though a weight like one of the great mountains themselves had dropped off his shoulders. He began to see too that it might be better to own up at once when he had done any wrong, so he said quickly, ‘I lost the paper too.’
This puzzled Mrs Sesemann for a moment, then she remembered the telegram.
‘Ah, that’s right,’ she said kindly, ‘you’re a good boy to tell me. Always confess right away when you’ve done anything wrong, and it will save a lot of trouble. Now, what would you like for your present?’
Peter felt quite giddy at the thought that he could choose for himself anything in the whole world. He thought of the fair that came to Mayenfeld once a year, and of all the wonderful things he had seen on the stalls there, without a hope in the world of ever being able to buy any of them — nice red whistles, for instance. He could use one of them for calling the goats together. And those strong clasp‐knives which made short work of cutting hazel twigs. He thought and thought — what should he choose? Then a grand idea came to him, and he spoke up clearly.
‘A penny,’ he said. Then he would have all the time between now and the next fair to decide what to buy with it.
Mrs Sesemann could not help laughing. ‘What a modest request!’ she cried, opening her purse and bringing out some coins. ‘Come over here and we’ll settle our account at once. Look, here are as many pennies as there are weeks in the year, and every Sunday you can take one of them to spend.’
Peter looked at her open‐eyed. ‘Every Sunday for ever?’ he asked.
She laughed again, and the two men came over to hear what was going on.
‘Yes, for ever,’ she promised, ‘I’ll put it down in my wilclass="underline" To Peter, the goatherd, a penny a week for life,’ and she turned to her son and added, ‘Do you hear that? You must put it in your will too. A penny a week for Peter as long as he lives.’
Mr Sesemann agreed with a nod, and joined in the laughter.
Peter looked again and again at the coins in his hand, to be sure he was not dreaming. Then he thanked her and ran off up the mountain, in the highest spirits, leaping and jumping for joy. His troubles were over, and he was promised a penny a week for all the rest of his life!