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 dren, and all at once the tears started to his eyes. What memories arose in his heart! Just so had Clara’s mother looked, the fair-haired girl with the delicate pink-and-white complexion. Herr Sesemann did not know if he was awake or dreaming.

“Don’t you know me, papa?” called Clara to him, her face beaming with happiness. “Am I so altered since you saw me?” Then Herr Sesemann ran to his child and clasped her in his arms.

“Yes, you are indeed altered! How is it possible? Is it true what I see?” And the delighted father stepped back to look full at her again, and to make sure that the picture would not vanish before his eyes.

“Are you my little Clara, really my little Clara?” he kept on saying, then he clasped her in his arms again, and again put her away from him that he might look and make sure it was she who stood before him.

And now grandmamma came up, anxious for a sight of her son’s happy face.

“Well, what do you say now, dear son?” she exclaimed. “You have given us a pleasant surprise, but it is nothing in comparison to what we have prepared for you, you must confess,” and she gave her son an affectionate kiss as she spoke. “But now,” she went on, “you must come and pay your respects to Uncle, who is our chief benefactor.”

“Yes, indeed, and with the little inmate of our own house, our little Heidi, too,” said Herr Sesemann, shaking Heidi by the hand. “Well? are you still well and happy in your mountain home? but I need not ask, no Alpine rose could look more blooming. I am glad, child, it is a pleasure to me to see you so.”