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Heidi Chapter 16 part 2

A Guest On The Alp   continued…

“Child, I must tell you something now which will grieve you as much as it grieves me,” replied the doctor. “I had to come alone, for Clara has been very ill and could not travel. Of course grandmama has not come either; but the spring will soon be here, and when the days get long and warm, they will surely visit you.”

Heidi was perfectly amazed; she could not understand how all those things that she had pictured to herself so clearly would not happen after all. She was standing perfectly motionless, confused by the blow.

It was some time before Heidi remembered that, after all, she had come down to meet the doctor. Looking up at her friend, she was struck by his sad and cheerless face. How changed he was since she had seen him! She did not like to see people unhappy, least of all the good, kind doctor. He must be sad because Clara and grandmama had not come, and to console him she said: “Oh, it won’t last long till spring comes again; then they will come for sure; they’ll be able to stay much longer then, and that will please Clara. Now we’ll go to grandfather.”

Hand in hand she climbed up with her old friend. All the way she tried to cheer him up by telling him again and again of the coming summer days. After they had reached the cottage, she called out to her grandfather quite happily:

“They are not here yet, but it won’t be very long before they are coming!”

The grandfather warmly welcomed his guest, who did not seem at all a stranger, for had not Heidi told him many things about the doctor? They all three sat down on the bench before the door, and the doctor told of the object of his visit. He whispered to the child that something was coming up the mountain very soon which would bring her more pleasure than his visit. What could it be?

The uncle advised the doctor to spend the splendid days of autumn on the Alp, if possible, and to take a little room in the village instead of in Ragatz; then he could easily walk up every day to the hut, and from there the uncle could take him all around the mountains. This plan was accepted.

The sun was in its zenith and the wind had ceased. Only a soft delicious breeze fanned the cheeks of all.

The uncle now got up and went into the hut, returning soon with a table and their dinner.

“Go in, Heidi, and set the table here. I hope you will excuse our simple meal,” he said, turning to his guest.

“I shall gladly accept this delightful invitation; I am sure that dinner will taste good up here,” said the guest, looking down over the sun-bathed valley.

Heidi was running to and fro, for it gave her great joy to be able to wait on her kind protector. Soon the uncle appeared with the steaming milk, the toasted cheese, and the finely-sliced, rosy meat that had been dried in the pure air. The doctor enjoyed his dinner better than any he had ever tasted.

“Yes, we must send Clara up here. How she could gather strength!” he said; “If she would have an appetite like mine today, she couldn’t help getting nice and fat.”

At this moment a man could be seen walking up with a large sack on his shoulders. Arriving on top, he threw down his load, breathing in the pure, fresh air.

Opening the cover, the doctor said: “This has come for you from Frankfurt, Heidi. Come and look what is in it.”

Heidi timidly watched the heap, and only when the gentleman opened the box with the cakes for the grandmother she said joyfully: “Oh, now grandmother can eat this lovely cake.” She was taking the box and the beautiful shawl on her arm and was going to race down to deliver the gifts, when the men persuaded her to stay and unpack the rest. What was her delight at finding the tobacco and all the other things. The men had been talking together, when the child suddenly planted herself in front of them and said: “These things have not given me as much pleasure as the dear doctor’s coming.” Both men smiled.

When it was near sunset, the doctor rose to start on his way down. The grandfather, carrying the box, the shawl and the sausage, and the guest holding the little girl by the hand, they wandered down the mountain-side. When they reached Peter’s hut, Heidi was told to go inside and wait for her grandfather there. At parting she asked: “Would you like to come with me up to the pasture to-morrow, doctor?”

“With pleasure. Good-bye, Heidi,” was the reply. The grandfather had deposited all the presents before the door, and it took Heidi long to carry in the huge box and the sausage. The shawl she put on the grandmother’s knee.

Brigida had silently watched the proceedings, and could not open her eyes wide enough when she saw the enormous sausage. Never in her life had she seen the like, and now she really possessed it and could cut it herself.

“Oh grandmother, don’t the cakes please you awfully? Just look how soft they are!” the child exclaimed. What was her amazement when she saw the grandmother more pleased with the shawl, which would keep her warm in winter.

“Grandmother, Clara has sent you that,” Heidi said.

“Oh, what kind good people they are to think of a poor old woman like me! I never thought I should ever own such a splendid wrap.”

At this moment Peter came stumbling in.

“The uncle is coming up behind me, and Heidi must—” that was as far as he got, for his eyes had fastened on the sausage. Heidi, however, had already said good-bye, for she knew what he had meant. Though her uncle never went by the hut any more without stepping in, she knew it was too late to-day. “Heidi, come, you must get your sleep,” he called through the open door. Bidding them all good-night, he took Heidi by the hand and under the glistening stars they wandered home to their peaceful cottage.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in 1807 in Portland, Maine. His ancestors included pilgrims who sailed from England to America on the Mayflower, and his grandfather was both a general in the American Revolutionary War and a congressman.

Longfellow was an avid student who loved learning and reading. He went to Bowdoin College and later became a professor there. After studying in Europe, he taught at Harvard College.

Longfellow was one of the five New England poets known as the “Fireside Poets.” He wrote many song-like poems celebrated for their musical quality, often weaving in tales from myths and legends. He became the most popular American poet of his time, with his work admired both at home and abroad. Some critics felt he borrowed too much from European styles or that his poetry was overly sentimental.

In his life, Longfellow married, had six children, toured Europe worked as a college professor, and became a well-known poet. Longfellow faced sadness in his life. His first wife, Mary Potter, passed away in 1835. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after her dress accidentally caught fire. After this tragedy, it was hard for Longfellow to write poetry for a while. He spent time translating books from other languages instead. Longfellow passed away in 1882 of peritonitis in Cambridge, Massachusetts at the age of 75.

Poems:

Kindergarten week 23 out of 36

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Mother Goose: Over the Water

OVER THE WATER
Over the water, and over the sea,
And over the water to Charley,
I’ll have none of your nasty beef,
Nor I’ll have none of your barley;
But I’ll have some of your very best flour
To make a white cake for my Charley.

THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT

THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT

A certain King took account of his servants and began to reckon what they owed him. And there was brought to him one that owed him nearly ten million dollars. But as he had not the money to pay, the King commanded that he should be sold, together with his wife and children and everything that he had, that payment might be made. Then the servant fell down before the King and worshipped him, saying, “Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.” Then the King had compassion on his servant, and loosed him, and forgave him his debt.

But when that servant had gone out from the presence of the King, he found a fellow-servant who owed him a little over fifteen dollars, and he laid hands on him and seized him by the throat, saying, “Pay me that which thou owest.” And his fellow-servant fell down at his feet and implored him, saying, “Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.” And he would not have patience, but cast his fellow-servant into prison till he should pay the debt.

When his other fellow-servants saw what had been done they were very sorry, and came to their King to tell him all about it. Then the King called the unmerciful servant to him, and said, “O thou wicked servant; I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me. Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as I had pity on thee?”

And the King was wroth, and delivered him up to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him.

So likewise, says Christ, shall our Heavenly Father do also unto us if from our hearts we forgive not every one that trespasses against us.

“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.”

Onward, Christian Soldiers

By S. Baring – Gould

Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus Going on before!
Christ the royal Master Leads against the foe;
Forward into battle, See His banners go.
Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus Going on before!

Like a mighty army Moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading Where the saints have trod;
We are not divided, All one body we,
One in hope and doctrine, One in charity.
Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus Going on before!
Onward, then ye people! Join our happy throng!


Blend with ours your voices in the triumph song!
Glory, laud, and honor Unto Christ the King.
This through countless ages Men and angels sing.
Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus Going on before!

Swiss Family Robinson chapter 51

Chapter 51

Fritz was now swimming far before us, and appeared to have no idea of turning, so that I was at once certain he projected swimming on to the point where we had lost sight of the natives, to be the first to discover and aid his brother. Although he was an excellent swimmer, yet the distance was so great, that I was much alarmed; and especially for his arrival by night in the midst of the natives. This fear was much increased by a very extraordinary sound, which we now heard gradually approaching us; it was a sort of submarine tempest. The weather was beautiful; there was no wind, the moon shone in a cloudless sky, yet the waves were swoln as if by a storm, and threatened to swallow us; we heard at the same time a noise like violent rain. Terrified at these phenomena, I cried out aloud for Fritz to return; and though it was almost impossible my voice could reach him, we saw him swimming towards us with all his strength. Ernest and I used all our power in rowing to meet him, so that we soon got to him. The moment he leaped in, he uttered in a stifled voice, pointing to the mountains of waves, “They are enormous marine monsters! whales, I believe! such an immense shoal! They will swallow us up!”

“No,” said Ernest, quietly; “don’t be alarmed; the whale is a gentle and harmless animal, when not attacked. I am very glad to see them so near. We shall pass as quietly through the midst of these colossal creatures, as we did through the shining zoophytes: doubtless the whales are searching for them, for they constitute a principal article of their food.”

They were now very near us, sporting on the surface of the water, or plunging into its abysses, and forcing out columns of water through their nostrils to a great height, which occasionally fell on us, and wetted us. Sometimes they raised themselves on their huge tail, and looked like giants ready to fall on us and crush us; then they went down again into the water, which foamed under their immense weight. Then they seemed to be going through some military evolutions, advancing in a single line, like a body of regular troops, one after another swimming with grave dignity; still more frequently they were in lines of two and two. This wonderful sight partly diverted us from our own melancholy thoughts. Fritz had, however, seized his oar, without giving himself time to dress, whilst I, at the rudder, steered as well as I could through these monsters, who are, notwithstanding their appearance, the mildest animals that exist.

They allowed us to pass so closely, that we were wetted with the water they spouted up, and might have touched them; and with the power to overturn us with a stroke of their tail, they never noticed us; they seemed to be satisfied with each other’s society. We were truly sorry to see their mortal enemy appear amongst them, the sword-fish of the south, armed with its long saw, remarkable for a sort of fringe of nine or ten inches long, which distinguishes it from the sword-fish of the north. They are both terrible enemies to the whale, and next to man, who wages an eternal war with them, its most formidable foes. The whales in our South Seas had only the sword-fish to dread; as soon as they saw him approach, they dispersed, or dived into the depths of the ocean. One only, very near us, did not succeed in escaping, and we witnessed a combat, of which, however, we could not see the event. These two monsters attacked each other with equal ferocity; but as they took an opposite direction to that we were going, we soon lost sight of them, but we shall never forget our meeting with these wonderful giants of the deep.

We happily doubled the promontory behind which the canoe had passed, and found ourselves in an extensive gulf, which narrowed as it entered the land, and resembled the mouth of a river. We did not hesitate to follow its course. We went round the bay, but found no traces of man, but numerous herds of the amphibious animal, called sometimes the sea-lion, the sea-dog, or the sea-elephant, or trunked phoca: modern voyagers give it the last name. These animals, though of enormous size, are gentle and peaceful, unless roused by the cruelty of man. They were in such numbers on this desert coast, that they would have prevented our approach if we had intended it. They actually covered the beach and the rocks, opening their huge mouths, armed with very sharp teeth, more frightful than dangerous. As it was night when we entered the bay, they were all sleeping, but they produced a most deafening noise with their breathing. We left them to their noisy slumber; for us, alas! no such comfort remained. The continual anxiety attending an affliction like ours destroys all repose, and for three days we had not slept an hour. Since the new misfortune of Jack’s captivity, we were all kept up by a kind of fever. Fritz was in a most incredible state of excitement, and declared he would never sleep till he had rescued his beloved brother. His bath had partially removed the colouring from his skin, but he was still dark enough to pass for a native, when arrayed like them. The shores of the strait we were navigating were very steep, and we had yet not met with any place where we could land; however, my sons persisted in thinking the natives could have taken no other route, as they had lost sight of their canoe round the promontory. As the strait was narrow and shallow, I consented that Fritz should throw off the clothes he had on, and swim to reconnoitre a place which seemed to be an opening in the rocks or hills that obstructed our passage, and we soon had the pleasure of seeing him standing on the shore, motioning for us to approach. The strait was now so confined, that we could not have proceeded any further with the pinnace; we could not even bring it to the shore. Ernest and I were obliged to step into the water up to the waist; but we took the precaution to tie a long and strong rope to the prow, and when we were aided by the vigorous arm of Fritz, we soon drew the pinnace near enough to fix it by means of the anchor.

There were neither trees nor rocks on that desert shore to which we could fasten the pinnace; but, to our great delight and encouragement, we found, at a short distance from our landing-place, a bark canoe, which my sons were certain was that in which Jack had been carried off. We entered it, but at first saw only the oars; at last, however, Ernest discovered, in the water which half filled the canoe, part of a handkerchief, stained with blood, which they recognized as belonging to Jack. This discovery, which relieved our doubts, caused Fritz to shed tears of joy. We were certainly on the track of the robbers, and might trust that they had not proceeded farther with their barbarity. We found on the sand, and in the boat, some cocoa-nut shells and fish-bones, which satisfied us of the nature of their repasts. We resolved to continue our search into the interior of the country, following the traces of the steps of the natives. We could not find any traces of Jack’s foot, which would have alarmed us, if Fritz had not suggested that they had carried him, on account of his wound. We were about to set out, when the thoughts of the pinnace came over us; it was more than ever necessary for us to preserve this, our only means of return, and which moreover contained our goods for ransom, our ammunition, and our provisions, still untouched, for some bread-fruit Fritz had gathered, some muscles, and small, but excellent, oysters, had been sufficient for us. It was fortunate that we had brought some gourds of water with us, for we had not met with any. We decided that it would be necessary to leave one of our party to guard the precious pinnace, though this would be but an insufficient and dangerous defence, in case of the approach of the natives. My recent bereavements made me tremble at the idea of leaving either of my sons. I cannot yet reflect on the agony of that moment without horror yet it was the sole means to secure our vessel; there was not a creek or a tree to hide it, and the situation of the canoe made it certain the natives must return there to embark. My children knew my thoughts, by the distracted glances with which I alternately regarded them and the pinnace, and, after consulting each other’s looks, Ernest said

“The pinnace must not remain here unguarded, father, to be taken, or, at any rate, pillaged by the natives, who will return for their canoe. Either we must all wait till they come, or you must leave me to defend it. I see, Fritz, that you could not endure to remain here.”

In fact, Fritz impatiently stamped with his foot, saying

“I confess, I cannot remain here; Jack may be dying of his wound, and every moment is precious. I will seek him find him and save him! I have a presentiment I shall; and if I discover him, as I expect, in the hands of the natives, I know the way to release him, and to prevent them carrying off our pinnace.”

I saw that the daring youth, in the heat of his exasperation, exposed alone to the horde of barbarians, might also become their victim. I saw that my presence was necessary to restrain and aid him; and I decided, with a heavy heart, to leave Ernest alone to protect the vessel. His calm and cool manner made it less dangerous for him to meet the natives. He knew several words of their language, and had read of the mode of addressing and conciliating them. He promised me to be prudent, which his elder brother could not be. We took the bag of toys which Fritz had brought, and left those in the chest, to use if necessary; and, praying for the blessing of Heaven on my son, we left him. My sorrow was great; but he was no longer a child, and his character encouraged me. Fritz embraced his brother, and promised him to bring Jack back in safety.

Morning Prayer by Rebecca J. Weston

MORNING PRAYER

Father, we thank Thee for the night
And for the pleasant morning light,
For rest and food and loving care,
And all that makes the world so fair.
Help us to do the things we should,
To be to others kind and good,
In all we do, in all we say,
To grow more loving every day.


Heidi Chapter 16

A Guest On The Alp

The early dawn was tinging the mountains and a fresh morning-breeze rocked the old fir-trees to and fro. Heidi opened her eyes, for the rustling of the wind had awakened her. These sounds always thrilled her heart, and now they drew her out of bed. Rising hurriedly, she soon was neatly dressed and combed.

Coming down the little ladder and finding the grandfather’s bed empty, she ran outside. The old man was looking up at the sky to see what the weather was going to be like that day. Rosy clouds were passing overhead, but gradually the sky grew more blue and deep, and soon a golden light passed over the heights, for the sun was rising in all his glory.

“Oh, how lovely! Good-morning, grandfather,” Heidi exclaimed.

“Are your eyes bright already?” the grandfather retorted, holding out his hand.

Heidi then ran over to her beloved fir-trees and danced about, while the wind was howling in the branches.

After the old man had washed and milked the goats, he brought them out of the shed. When Heidi saw her friends again, she caressed them tenderly, and they in their turn nearly crushed her between them. Sometimes when Bärli got too wild, Heidi would say: “But Bärli, you push me like the Big Turk,” and that was enough to quiet the goat.

Soon Peter arrived with the whole herd, the jolly Thistlefinch ahead of all the others. Heidi, being soon in the mist of them, was pushed about among them. Peter was anxious to say a word to the little girl, so he gave a shrill whistle, urging the goats to climb ahead. When he was near her he said reproachfully: “You really might come with me today!”

“No, I can’t, Peter,” said Heidi. “They might come from Frankfurt any time. I must be home when they come.”

“How often you have said that,” grumbled the boy.

“But I mean it,” replied Heidi. “Do you really think I want to be away when they come from Frankfurt? Do you really think that, Peter?”

“They could come to uncle,” Peter growled.

Then the grandfather’s strong voice was heard: “Why doesn’t the army go forward? Is it the field-marshal’s fault, or the fault of the troop?”

Peter immediately turned about and led his goats up the mountain without more ado.

Since Heidi had come home again to her grandfather she did many things that had never occurred to her before. For instance, she would make her bed every morning, and run about the hut, tidying and dusting. With an old rag she would rub the chairs and table till they all shone, and the grandfather would exclaim: “It is always Sunday with us now; Heidi has not been away in vain.”

On this day after breakfast, when Heidi began her self-imposed task, it took her longer than usual, for the weather was too glorious to stay within. Over and over again a bright sunbeam would tempt the busy child outside. How could she stay indoors, when the glistening sunshine was pouring down and all the mountains seemed to glow? She had to sit down on the dry, hard ground and look down into the valley and all about her. Then, suddenly remembering her little duties, she would hasten back. It was not long, though, till the roaring fir-trees tempted her again. The grandfather had been busy in his little shop, merely glancing over at the child from time to time. Suddenly he heard her call: “Oh grandfather, come!”

He was frightened and came out quickly He saw her running down the hill crying: “They are coming, they are coming. Oh, the doctor is coming first.”

16a

When Heidi at last reached her old friend, he held out his hand, which Heidi immediately seized. In the full joy of her heart, she exclaimed: “How do you do, doctor? And I thank you a thousand times!”

“How are you, Heidi? But what are you thanking me for already?” the doctor asked, with a smile.

“Because you let me come home again,” the child explained.

The gentleman’s face lit up like sunshine. He had certainly not counted on such a reception on the Alp. On the contrary! Not even noticing all the beauty around him, he had climbed up sadly, for he was sure that Heidi probably would not know him any more. He thought that he would be far from welcome, being obliged to cause her a great disappointment. Instead, he beheld Heidi’s bright eyes looking up at him in gratefulness and love. She was still holding his arm, when he said: “Come now, Heidi, and take me to your grandfather, for I want to see where you live.”

Like a kind father he had taken her hand, but Heidi stood still and looked down the mountain-side.

“But where are Clara and grandmama?” she asked.

“Child, I must tell you something now which will grieve you as much as it grieves me,” replied the doctor. “I had to come alone, for Clara has been very ill and could not travel. Of course grandmama has not come either; but the spring will soon be here, and when the days get long and warm, they will surely visit you.”

Kindergarten week 20 out of 36

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