OUT WITH THE GOATS
shall be with you again to-morrow, so you must not bleat so sadly any more.” Snowflake gave her a friendly and grateful look, and then went leaping joyfully after the other goats.
Heidi returned to the fir trees. “O grandfather,” she cried, even before she had come up to him, “it was so beautiful. The fire, and the roses on the rocks, and the blue and yellow flowers, and look what I have brought you!” And opening the apron that held her flowers she shook them all out at her grandfather’s feet. But the poor flowers, how changed they were! Heidi hardly knew them again. They looked like dry bits of hay—not a single little flower cup stood open. “O grandfather, what is the matter with them?” exclaimed Heidi in shocked surprise, “they were not like that this morning, why do they look so now?”
“They like to stand out there in the sun and not to be shut up in an apron,” said her grandfather.
“Then I will never gather any more. But, grandfather, why did the great bird go on croaking so?” she continued in an eager tone of inquiry.
“Go along now and get into your bath while I go and get some milk; when we are together at supper I will tell you all about it.”
Heidi obeyed, and when later she was sitting on her high stool before her milk bowl with her grandfather beside her, she repeated her question, “Why does the great bird go on croaking and screaming down at us, grandfather?”
“He is mocking at the people who live down below in the villages, because they all go huddling and gossiping together, and encourage one another in evil talking and deeds. He calls
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