A SUMMER EVENING ON THE MOUNTAIN
called out, “Mayenfeld.” She and Sebastian both jumped up, the latter also taken by surprise. In another minute they were both standing on the platform with Heidi’s trunk, and the train was steaming away down the valley. Sebastian looked after it regretfully, for he preferred the easier mode of traveling to a wearisome climb on foot, especially as there was danger no doubt as well as fatigue in a country like this, where, according to Sebastian’s idea, everything and everybody were half savage. He therefore looked cautiously to either side to see who was a likely person to ask the safest way to Dörfli.
Just outside the station he saw a shabby-looking little cart and horse which a broad-shouldered man was loading with heavy sacks that had been brought by the train, so he went up to him and asked which was the safest way to get to Dörfli.
“All the roads about here are safe,” was the curt reply.
So Sebastian altered his question and asked which was the best way to avoid falling over the precipice, and also how a box could be conveyed to Dörfli. The man looked at the box, weighing it with his eye, and then volunteered if it was not too heavy to take it on his own cart, as he was driving to Dörfli. After some little interchange of words it was finally agreed that the man should take both the child and the box to Dörfli, and there find some one who could be sent on with Heidi up the mountain.
“I can go by myself, I know the way well from Dörfli,” put in Heidi, who had been listening attentively to the conversation. Sebastian was greatly relieved at not having to do any mountain climbing. He drew Heidi aside and gave her a thick rolled parcel, and a letter for her grandfather; the parcel, he
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