Heidi

From the old, pleasantly situated village of Mayenfeld, a footpath winds through green, shady meadows to the foot of the mountains, which on this side look down from their stern, lofty heights upon the valley below. The land grows wilder as the path climbs, and the hiker has not gone far before breathing in the fragrance of the short grass and sturdy mountain plants, for the way is steep and leads straight up to the summits above.

On a clear sunny June morning two figures could be seen climbing the narrow mountain path: one, a tall, strong-looking girl; the other, a child she was leading by the hand, whose little cheeks were so hot that the crimson color showed even through the dark, sunburned skin. And no wonder, for despite the blazing June sun the child was dressed as if to keep out the bitterest frost. She did not look more than five years old, if that, but what her natural shape was like would have been hard to tell, for she had apparently two, if not three, dresses on, one over the other, and over these a thick red woolen shawl wrapped around her, so the little body looked shapeless as, with small feet wearing heavy nailed mountain shoes, she slowly and laboriously plodded up in the heat. They must have left the valley a good hour’s walk behind when they came to the hamlet called Dorfli, which lies halfway up the mountain. Here the travelers were greeted from all sides—some calling from windows, some from open doors, others from outside—for the older girl was back in her old home. She did not, however, pause to answer her friends’ welcoming shouts and questions, but kept on without stopping until she reached the last of the scattered houses. From that doorway a voice called, “Wait a moment, Dete; if you’re going higher, I’ll come with you.”