ss in Paris, was
also preparing a surprise. Without writing his mother he traveled to
Ragatz on a sunny summer morning. He had arrived on this very day,
some hours after his mother's departure, and now, taking a carriage,
he drove to Mayenfeld.

The long ascent to the Alp from there seemed very weary and far to
the traveller. When would he reach the goat-herd's hut? There were
many little roads branching off in several directions, and sometimes
Mr. Sesemann doubted if he had taken the right path. But not a soul
was near, and no sound could be heard except the rustling of the wind
and the hum of little insects. A merry little bird was singing on a
larch-tree, but nothing more.

Standing still and cooling his brow, he saw a boy running down the
hill at topmost speed. Mr. Sesemann called to him, but with no
success, for the boy kept at a shy distance.

"Now, my boy, can't you tell me if I am on the right path to the hut
where Heidi lives and the people from Frankfurt are staying?"

A dull sound of terror was the only reply. Peter shot off and rushed
head over heels down the mountain-side, turning wild somersaults on
his perilous way. His course resembled the course his enemy had taken
some days ago.

[Illustration: PETER SHOT OFF AND RUSHED DOWN THE MOUNTAIN-SIDE,
TURNING WILD SOMERSAULTS ON HIS PERILOUS WAY]

"What a funny, bashful mountaineer!" Mr. Sesemann remarked to himself,
thinking that the appearance of a stranger had upset this simple son
of the Alps. After watching the downward course of the boy a little
while, he soon proceeded on his way.

In spite of the greatest effort, Peter could not stop himself, and
kept rolling on. But his fright and terror were still more terrible
than his bumps and blows. This stranger was the policeman, that was a
certain fact! At last, being thrown against a bush, he clutched it
wildly.

"Good, here's another one!" a voice near Peter said. "I wonder who is
going to be pushed down tomorrow, looking like a half-open
potato-bag?" The village baker was making fun of him. For a little
rest after his weary work, he had quietly watched the boy.

Peter regained his feet and slunk away. How did the baker know the
chair had been pushed? He longed to go home to bed and hide, for there
alone he felt safe. But he had to go up to the goats, and the uncle
had clearly told him to come back as quickly as he could. Groaning, he
limped away up to the Alp. How could he run now, with his fear