nothing, nothing," said the grandmother in a voice of
lamentation.

"But if I were to go outside and put back the shutter so that
you had more light, then you could see, grandmother?"

"No, no, not even then, no one can make it light for me again."

"But if you were to go outside among all the white snow, then
surely you would find it light; just come with me, grandmother,
and I will show you." Heidi took hold of the old woman's hand to
lead her along, for she was beginning to feel quite distressed
at the thought of her being without light.

"Let me be, dear child; it is always dark for me now; whether in
snow or sun, no light can penetrate my eyes."

"But surely it does in summer, grandmother," said Heidi, more
and more anxious to find some way out of the trouble, "when the
hot sun is shining down again, and he says good-night to the
mountains, and they all turn on fire, and the yellow flowers
shine like gold, then, you will see, it will be bright and
beautiful for you again."

"Ah, child, I shall see the mountains on fire or the yellow
flowers no more; it will never be light for me again on earth,
never."

At these words Heidi broke into loud crying. In her distress she
kept on sobbing out, "Who can make it light for you again? Can