It was a very high wall that hid their mother, and at first glance it seemed impossible that they could ever climb it. But Ivra did not stop to wonder. She ran up and down, hunting for a foothold. At last she reached the end of the wall and disappeared around the corner. Eric and the Wind Creatures followed. When they came up to her she had already found a place where the stones were laid a bit unevenly, one on the other, and was half way to the top, clinging with toes and fingers.
"Bravo!" cried the Wind Creatures. Eric went up after her, often slipping back and bruising and scratching his hands and knees, but as resolute as his playmate. At last they gained the top. The Wind Creatures had flown up and were waiting for them there, sitting cross-legged with their purple wings folded down their backs.
The wall enclosed the garden of a very rich family. It was a formal garden with straight walks, trellises, fountains, benches and neat flower beds laid out in squares and circles, now piled high with blossoming snow.
Just as the children reached the top of the wall, the door into the garden from the stern gray mansion behind it opened and through it came three people. First was a very tall lady all wrapped up in furs,—tails and heads of the poor animals that had been slain to make them hanging from her shoulders and down her back. Even the children could see that her face was sour in spite of all its smiling. Then came a young man in a stiff, funny hat, carrying a cane, beating up the snow flowers with it as he passed the flower beds. And behind them walked—Helma, with her gaze on the ground. That is why they did not know her at first, that and her very strange clothes. She was dressed all in velvet and fur, and her arms up to her elbows were hidden in a huge white muff. She swayed as she walked on weird little high heels and the toes of her boots drew out to long points, almost like a goblin's. Her hat was a velvet affair, so awkward and heavy it seemed to weigh down her head, and her candleflame hair was smothered under it. Is it any wonder that they did not know her like that!
But when she walked close under the wall and they heard her voice they knew her, and the Wind Creatures had to hold Ivra from jumping down and throwing herself into her arms. "Wait," they whispered.
From their high place on the wall they could look down on the heads of the three people, and hear all they were saying. They had never learned that it is not fair to listen that way.
From all Helma said they could plainly see she was a prisoner. She was pleading with the old woman. She was saying, "No, never, never, never, in a thousand days and years will I ever be happy here. My place is in the forest. Oh, how these heels bother!"
"Silly girl!" cried the old woman, smiling more than ever, and looking more disagreeable than ever at the same time. "Your place is where you were born—in a fine house and wearing clothes like other people. Heels indeed! Did you expect them to do any thing else but bother? Mine have bothered for sixty years, but you haven't heardmecomplain."
"Neither would I," Helma said, "if I didn't know about other kinds of shoes that don't hurt. Those sandals I wore when you caught me didn't hurt. Why can't I wear those, at least when I walk in the garden?"
"Well, you might," began the old woman, a little more kindly, and smiling less, "if you promise always to put on the high heels before coming into the drawing room—"
"No," said the young man sharply. "Let her once into the garden in her sandals and she'll climb the wall and be off. I say that we give her no chance to escape. After she has been to a hundred or so balls and worn these beautiful and appropriate clothes long enough she'll be glad of her luck, and nothing could drag her into the forest. Believe me!"
Now Helma stopped pleading, and laughed at the young man. "Do you think high heels, or even a hat that weighs down my head like this horrid one can keep me much longer from my little daughter, and that dear new little boy? What they are doing without me all this time—I wonder!" She stopped laughing to sigh.
The old woman took her hand not unkindly. "My poor, dear girl," she said, "how many times must I tell you it is only a dream, that house in the woods and the little girl and boy? They aren't really there at all, you know. You have dreamed them. Come, cheer up. Be a brave girl. We have parties and good times enough here, if you will only get into the spirit of them, to make up for all your forest foolishness."
Helma answered in a low even voice, that showed well enough how sure she was of the truth of what she was saying—"No, they are realer than you. Ivra is realer than all the people in that mansion put together, cousins, uncles, aunts, guests, servants and all. She is my little fairy daughter."
"No," said the young man.
The wings of the Wind Creatures on the top of the wall rustled just then in a gust of cold north wind. Helma threw up her head as at a familiar sound, and her eyes slowly lifted to the faces of the children looking down. For a minute she looked steadily at them without believing, and then it was as though her pale face suddenly burst into song. But the old woman and the young man were not looking at her and so they noticed nothing. The young man said, "The neighbors have talked about us enough already for all your queer ideas and doings. So you'll wear no sandals, no, nor sleep with your skylight open, as you're always asking, nor go one step outside the wall until you have come to your senses and are more like other people. So there!"
But Helma laughed, her head thrown back, so that the children could look into her happy eyes and see the glow of her short hair under her grotesque hat.
"Keep your keys, cousin," she said, "and your old skylight keep shut tight as tight. I shall find a way out. But my children must be patient, and Ivra must teach Eric to keep his face and body clean. They must not forget meal-times, and when anything goes wrong, or they think it is going wrong, they must ask the Tree Man's advice. I will find a way to them soon. They must keep happy and wait."
She said all that slowly and distinctly, her eyes smiling into theirs.
"What silly talk," laughed the sour old lady. "Just as though you were making a speech. Well, it must be luncheon time now, and high time we were changing our frocks. Wear your gray velvet, Helma, and don't forget to put on stockings to match. There's to be strawberry ice to-day,—and goose to begin with of course. Cook says she has never seen a tenderer—"
The old lady went on talking about the wonderful luncheon they were to have until they were out of hearing. But the children on the gray wall could see that Helma was going in differently from the way she had come out. Her head was high, and she stepped out in her funny high heeled boots as though she were walking in sandals. At the little door into the mansion she turned and waved her queer great muff to the children and the Wind Creatures, and they heard her laugh.
But when she was gone, and the door was shut and locked—they heard the great key scrape—Eric turned joyfully to Ivra. She was staring intently at the closed door, her face very pale. Suddenly she buried her head in her arms and burst into sobs, hoarse, jerky sobs, the first and the last time Eric was ever to hear her cry. Eric and the Wind Children sat cross-legged and waited. Soon she stopped and wiped her face on her sleeve.
"She is locked in, but shewillfind a way home," she said, almost laughing. "How glad and how surprised she was to see us! It was almost as though she had begun to believe all their talk about dreams, until she heard the Wind Creatures' wings!"
The Wind Creatures took them back to the forest. Under the giant cedars they said good-by and left them. The children went straight to the Tree Man's to tell him the news. He gave them deep bowls of warm milk to drink, and took off their sandals so that their toes might spread and warm in front of the fire.
Then the Tree Girl begged for a story, and Ivra told a World Story about the rivers,—how they go in search of their mother, the ocean, day and night, around mountains and through mountains, and across whole continents, and never stop until they find her,—and of the myriad presents they carry to her,—of the things they see and the things they do, as they flow searching.
It was a long story. And almost before the end the little story teller had fallen asleep with her head tipped back against the Tree Man's chest.
They spent that night in the tree, and that was good, for a storm had risen outside, and it was bitter cold in the forest.
The next morning before Eric woke Ivra slipped away to play with the Forest Children.
"On such wild days as this they usually play indoors, for they're little things and the Snow Witches love to tease them," said the Tree Man.
"Perhaps she'll be telling them World Stories," thought Eric, and so he decided to go to the little moss village, too, for though Ivra had told him dozens of World Stories by now, he always wanted to hear more. So after breakfast with the Tree Man and his pretty, shy daughter, he ran out in search of Ivra.
It was indeed a cold morning, blustering and raw. Eric felt chilled almost as soon as he was out of doors. Very soon he lost his way, for he had not been in the forest long enough to grow familiar with landmarks. Just when he was beginning to be a bit hopeless and pinched with the cold he came to the big fir where the Beautiful Wicked Witch lived. It stood green and comforting among all the bare trees of winter.
Eric stopped to look, for now he remembered the Beautiful Wicked Witch and the bird she had caged in there. He saw a door in the tree trunk ajar, and swinging to and fro with tiny tinkling music. He peeped in, and between the swingings caught glimpses of little blue and yellow flowers arranged in tight bunches in hanging vases. He could smell their sweetness even out there in the cold air.
Then high up in the tree trunk a window opened, and he heard the bird singing. The Beautiful Wicked Witch's face appeared at the window, looking down at him. Her black eyes were sparkling and she nodded good-morning to him as though he were a prince, or at least a grown-up. He could not help nodding back. He liked her very much, she was so beautiful and so friendly.
"Come in and get warm," she called, "and I'll show you my pretty bird."
Eric remembered Ivra's warnings, but he wanted to go in so much that he found himself doing it. The door tinkled louder music when he touched it, and he pushed his way through, as a bee pushes his way into a flower.
The Witch came running twinklingly down a spiral stairway. She kissed his mouth, took off his winged cap and coat, threw them somewhere out of sight, and then he had time to look at her well.
Her gown was green satin, the color of the fir boughs, and her little sandals were green satin, too. A green fir frond bound her forehead; and her black hair hung loose, soft and electric to her waist. Eric had never seen a prettier person in the world, nor one more kind.
She took his two hands and began to whirl in a happy dance. Eric danced, too, for joy and good comradeship. Round and round the room they whirled until their breath was spent.
Then the Beautiful Wicked Witch took him up the spiral staircase to show him the bird. Up and up they went, until they came to a little room high in the tree. The floor was carpeted with yellow satin, and yellow curtains hung at the window. Deep blue mirrors lined the walls, and they reflected Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch dozens of times over.
The pretty bird cage, all made of flowers and leaves, hung in the very middle of the room. Eric stood by it a long time. He put his fingers through the bars, and stroked the bird's soft feathers. But the gorgeous bird paid no attention to him, and did not sing.
"Why doesn't it hop about?" he asked the Beautiful Wicked Witch.
The Witch frowned and pouted. "It ought to, I'm sure. I like to see it hopping. But it would rather sulk. It thinks all the time about the forest, and its mate who is out there somewhere. Sometimes it sings, though. Its voice is wonderful."
"Oh, let's open the cage and free him," cried Eric.
But the Beautiful Wicked Witch seized his hand. "No, no,no! It ismine. I have caged it in my pretty cage. And it fits into the room, don't you think?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Eric.
"Why, you fit into it, too," said the Witch, looking hard at him. "Your yellow hair and blue eyes match the yellow and blue flowers. Would you like me to make a pretty cage for you and put you into it?"
"No, no!" Eric was suddenly afraid of the Beautiful Wicked Witch.
But she laughed at his fear, and danced a little dance, humming to herself, around the room. Then Eric noticed other cages. The walls were lined with them. Some hung from the ceiling, and some stood in corners. In every cage was a bird or animal. The one standing nearest to him held a pretty gray squirrel, running 'round and 'round on a wheel. He stopped every now and then to peer out through the bars with quick, bright eyes. In the cage next was a tiny brown field mouse. But he had given up running and playing long ago, and was huddled in the farthest and darkest corner of his cage, his little beady eyes open and watchful.
Eric walked around the room, looking at all the poor little animals and birds. One and all peered through their bars with watchful and fearful eyes. Eric remembered himself in the canning factory and pitied them more than he could ever have done had he not once been a caged little creature too. How he longed to open their doors and the window, and see them scamper and fly away!
But the Witch had stopped her dancing by the bird cage in the middle of the room, and her little hands were between the bars stroking the bright bird-breast. She was saying, "Sing for us, bird. Sing your nicest song for us. Little Eric wants to hear it."
The bird began to beat its wings and breast against the bars. Again and again its bright breast struck the door. But it did not fly open.
"It does not want to sing," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but it must. Sing, bird, sing! It does you no good to struggle. You can't get away. Sing, sing!"
Then the bird sang. Its song was truly wonderful, high and clear, as Eric had heard it from outside. But now that he could see the bird caged he did not like the song so well. It was all too sad.
Eric wanted to go away then, out of the tree, and never, never see the Witch again. He would find Ivra and the Forest Children and forget all about these cages. So he said good-by to the Witch and ran down the spiral staircase. But he could not find the door out. He went round and round the wall, but there was no sign of a door. It was indeed as though a flower had let him in and then closed its petals tight.
The little posies swung in their cases, the bird sang up stairs, and the Beautiful Wicked Witch played and danced, and laughed at all his searching. She would do nothing to help him find the door.
All that day he wandered up stairs and down stairs, or stood at the window looking down through the green fir branches to the free forest-floor. Once the Witch offered to tell him stories. But he wanted no stories of caged things, and those were all the stories she knew. The Witch did not mind his short answers and dark face. She seemed perfectly able to have a good time with herself, and needed no comrades.
At last night fell. The rooms blossomed with candlelight. In the yellow room up stairs the Beautiful Wicked Witch paraded back and forth before the mirrors, loving her own reflection, smiling at herself, courtesying, frowning, looking back over her shoulder,—lifting her hair to let it fall again in electric waves. Eric stood by the window, thoroughly weary of his search and loneliness, and watched her. The bird sat in the cage and watched her. All the little bright eyes of animals watched her. The candles burned steadily.
How Eric longed for Ivra now, and their own big friendly room. He imagined Ivra in the room there all alone getting her supper over the fire, bathing in the fountain bath, opening the windows, and at last falling softly to sleep before the firelight faded.
Oh, if there were only a window open here! How hot it was, and how over-sweetly scented! The Beautiful Wicked Witch went on posing and preening before the mirrors, and seemed to have forgotten all about her new little prisoner.
So he pulled back the yellow satin curtain, and looked out. It was clear, cold starlight. He pressed his face against the window pane and stared down into the shadows beneath the fir. And there, standing erect in the shadow, her face lifted like a pale little moon, stood Ivra.
She saw him, but did not wave. She only nodded, as though she knew now what she had come to make sure of. She stood still for a few minutes, until Eric almost thought she was frozen in the cold. But at last she moved and disappeared under the fir.
Music tinkled through the house. The Beautiful Wicked Witch poised on her toes, surprisedly looking into the reflection of her own eyes.
"Some one has come in, for that was the door," she said. "It opens inward with music."
Eric's heart stood still. Had Ivra come into the Witch's house, Ivra who was so afraid of the Witch? He ran down the stairs and the Witch followed him. Yes, Ivra stood there in the middle of the warm, flower-hung room, like a little cold star beam.
But she did not look at the quaint flowers in their golden vases. And when the Witch ran to her and kissed her she did not even look at her. She looked only at Eric, and her eyes said, "I have come to free you."
"Oh, so you did want to try on the pretty frock after all," cried the Witch, and drew her up the stairs. Eric followed to the yellow room. "No," said Ivra. But the Witch brought it out and tried to slip it over her head. It was sheerest gossamer web, and shimmered like moonlight. And the little rosebuds seemed to make it belong to Ivra.
Eric forgot all about being a prisoner, and forgot the little caged creatures around the wall. He was delighted with the frock being pushed down on Ivra's shoulders. "How beautiful you'll be!" he cried. But Ivra wriggled away from it and stood clear. Her rudely made brown frock and worn sandals looked odd in that satin room. "I didn't come to see the frock," she said, shaking her head till her pigtails bobbed. "I came to get Eric."
The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed. "Get him if you can," she said. Then she turned her back on the children and began to braid her black hair among the mirrors.
They went to the window and waited there, watching her.
"The door doesn't open out,—only in, I think," Eric whispered. "So we can't get out."
"Mother has told me how it would be," Ivra whispered back. "We'll have to wait until she's asleep and then find a way."
Then Ivra sat down on the floor and began to rock back and forth and sing a lullaby. It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her all her babyhood, Ivra sang in a very little voice, almost a murmur only, but by listening Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch could catch the words. She sang the same words over and over and over.
Night is in the forest,
Tree Mother is nigh.
By-abye, by-abye-bye.
Sleep is in the forest—
His feathers brush your eye.
By-abye, by-abye-bye.
Mother's arms are holding you,
Forest dreams are folding you.
By-abye, by-abye—bye.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch sat down before the mirrors after a while, still watching her reflection, but listening to the song, too. Her head gradually sank lower and lower, first resting chin in hand and at last right down on her arm stretched along the floor. Her face lay turned towards the children, and they saw the mirth slowly fade in her great black eyes, the lids drop lower and lower,—and then she was asleep suddenly. Now she looked almost as young as themselves, and like a pale child who has fallen to sleep at its play.
But the children did not stop to look at her. Once they were sure she was asleep they were off searching for the door. Up and down the stairs and all around the rooms they ran on tiptoes. But it was no use, and at last they came back to the window.
"We must jump," whispered Ivra.
Eric looked down, and wondered. It was a long way to the ground!
"The snow is soft beneath the crust," Ivra said. "It will only cut us a little."
"Let's take the bird," Eric said. Ivra ran to it, and opened the cage door. It hopped onto her finger eagerly, and she held its bill so that it would not sing.
Eric opened the window. "I'll jump first," he whispered.
But Ivra said, "Oh, let's hold hands and jump together."
The Beautiful Wicked Witch felt the cold night air from the window on her face, and stirred in her sleep. Her eyelids quivered. So the children did not wait a minute more. They climbed up onto the window sill, Ivra still holding the bird. "One, two, three," she whispered, and they jumped.
Out and down they went like two shooting stars and plunked through the snowcrust. They were up in a second. Their wrists and elbows were a little bruised and cut, but they were not really hurt at all. But strange and strange, the bird had fluttered near Ivra's hand for that second, and then flew straight back up and into the open window. It had been caged so long it did not really want its freedom after all. Eric cried out with regret.
But Ivra seized his hand, and they ran home together through the cold, starlit forest. Before they leapt the hedge into their own garden Eric saw the firelight blossoming in the windows. But he stood still outside the door, after Ivra had gone in, for a time, breathing the cold air and the clear silence right down into his toes.
"To-morrow is the shortest day in the year," Ivra told Eric one night after they were in bed. He did not answer, for he was very sleepy. But after a minute she spoke again. "It's my birthday too!"
Then he opened his eyes and sat up, for her voice sounded very queer and far away. He saw that she too was sitting up, her hands folded under her chin. "Mother always had a party for me," she said. "Such fun!"
"Perhaps one will happen to-morrow even with her away," Eric comforted. "Oh, goody! I do hope so!"
"Perhaps. Anyway I'm going to pretend there's a party waiting for me to-morrow. You pretend too, Eric, and then even if it doesn't come true we will have had the pretending at least."
Eric agreed to pretend. It was one of his favorite games. And very soon the two children nestled down under their covers and drifted into sleep and dreams of a party.
They were roused early in the morning by something tapping lightly on the doors and windows. Eric was out of bed first, and saw the Wind Creatures, half a dozen or more of them, looking in and beckoning. Their purple wings gleamed gold in the early morning sun. Wild Star was standing in the open door.
"Happy birthday!" he cried and tossed a snow ball into Ivra's bed. She popped to her knees, laughing and rosy with sleep. But then she was grave in a minute. "There's to be no party, Wild Star," she said. "Mother's not back yet. Are you all here for that?"
"Yes, we're here for that, and there is to be a party, an all day one too. Your Forest Friends have seen to that."
The children were radiant with joy. And Ivra whispered to Eric, "We had our pretending, too!"
The Wind Creatures would not come in to breakfast, for of course they do not like in-doors at all, and besides, they need very little food. So they played in the garden while the children dressed and ate. Very soon the children were done, though, and came leaping out ready for a day's joy.
The Wind Creatures led them then out through the forest. The Tree Girl was watching for them at her door. It was plain to be seen, when she joined them, that she carried something in her arms very secretly under her white cloak. But no one mentioned it. Ivra knew it must be a surprise for her birthday. Where the party was to be no one told her, and she did not ask. She liked surprises.
They came to the Forest Children's little moss village. The youngest Forest Child of all was the only one up so early. He was busily breaking dead twigs from bushes to build his morning fire and making up a little rhymeless song about Ivra's birthday as he worked.
This is her birthday,
Spring's little daughter—
Spring's little daughter—
This is her birthday.
Wake now, wake now,
All you Forest Children,
Wake for her birthday
And tie your sandals on.
When he saw them he cried, "Hurrah! Happy birthday, Ivra!"
At his cry all the little windows in the little moss houses opened and there were the tousled heads of the Forest Children, their eyes blinking sleepily against the gilded morning light.
"Thank you, thank you," Ivra cried back to the youngest Forest Child. "Hurry and follow."
Before they had gone on their way five minutes more the Forest Children were up with them, tugging at buckles and sandal strings as they ran, begging not to be left behind. Soon they came to Big Pine Hill, a hill deep in the forest with no trees but a giant pine at the top. The Wind Creatures had built a slide there by brushing away the snow and leaving a broad track of shining blue ice. Up under the pine were sleds enough for every one, made all of woven hemlock branches. They needed no runners for the ice was so slippery and the hill so steepanythingwould go down it fast enough. Ivra's Forest Friends must have worked all the day before to make those sleds—and now her shining face and clasped hands were reward enough.
She was the first to try the hill. She threw herself on her sled and down she flashed. At the bottom she tumbled off, and still on her knees shouted up to Eric and the others at the top, "Oh, it's splendid! Come on!"
Then the hill was covered with speeding sleds. The Bird Fairies had none of their own, for they were so little they might have come to harm on that hill. But they had just as good a time for all of that, catching rides with the others, clinging to shoulders or heads or feet as it happened.
Every one was there, even the Snow Witches who had not been invited. They came whirling and dancing through the forest almost as soon as the sliding had begun. Ivra gave them glad welcome in spite of their rough ways and stinging hair. For she, the only one of all who were there, liked them very well and had made them her comrades often and often on windy winter days. And they, who cared for nobody, cared for her. "She is not like anybody," they explained it to each other. "She is a great little girl."
But they would not take Ivra's sled as she wanted them to. They had not come to spoil her fun. Instead they raced down the hill behind her or before her, pushing and pulling, their stinging hair in her face. But that only made her cheeks very red, and she did not mind them at all. Then she tried sliding down on her feet, with the long line of witches pushing from behind, their hands on each other's shoulders. That was the best fun of all, and almost always ended in a tumble before the bottom was reached. Though the others avoided the witches as much as they could they admired Ivra for such hardy comrading.
Before noon every one was very hungry. Then the littlest Forest Child said, "Follow me. The Tree Girl has gone ahead."
It was true, she had slipped away when no one noticed.
The littlest Forest Child led them away to a little valley-place where hemlock boughs had been spread to make a floor and raised on three sides to make a shelter. When they had come close enough for Ivra to see what it was perched so big and white in the middle of the hemlock floor she stopped and sighed with joy while she clasped her hands.
It was a beautiful frosted birthday cake with nine brave candles of all colors and burning steadily, just the kind of cake her mother had always baked for her birthdays.—Only last year there had been eight candles. She had not hoped for this final delight. She ran quickly forward and was the first to kneel down by it. The Tree Girl was there waiting, and now Ivra knew it was the cake that she had been carrying so secretly under her cloak.
The Snow Witches did not follow into that shelter. They have a great fear of shelters, you must know, for when forced into them they quickly lose their fierceness, and their fierceness is their greatest pride. But before they left the party one of them came close to Eric, so close that tears were whipped into his eyes and quickly froze on his lashes. "Take this to your little comrade," shes said, thrusting a box made of pine cones into his hands. "It's for her to keep her paper dolls in. We witches made it."
Then all the witches went screeching and swirling away through the forest, and Ivra, Eric and the others settled down to the business of eating the birthday cake.
But first the Tree Girl, who is very sensible, insisted that they eat some nuts and apples. Indeed, she would allow no one a bite of the wonderful cake until he had eaten at least one apple and twenty nuts.
Before Ivra cut the cake the others blew out the candles, one after another, and made her a wish in turn for every candle. The Tree Girl wished her a bright new year, the Bird Fairies that her mother would soon return, the Wind Creatures that she would keep her gay heart forever, the Forest Children that she would become the most famous story teller in the Forest World.
And then it was Eric's turn. He had never been to a birthday party before, and never had he made a wish for some one else. So he was a little puzzled. But at last he had an idea and cried, "I wish that your hair will grow golden and curly before to-morrow morning." All princesses Ivra had ever told him about had curly golden hair, and though she had never said it, Eric had suspected for some time that Ivra would like that kind of hair herself. Then he puffed his cheeks and blew out his candle, a fat green one. Ivra laughed.
"The Snow Witches would never let me keep curly hair," she said. "They'd whip it straight in an hour."
That reminded Eric of the pine cone box and he gave it to her and told her about it. She was almost as delighted with that as with the cake.
What a wonderful cake it was! Such food Eric had never dreamed of, and he was a great dreamer! The frosting was over an inch thick.
Then, of course, Ivra must tell them stories. All the Forest People loved her stories. They built a fire to keep from freezing. The Wind Creatures sat a little way off where it was cool enough for their comfort, but not too far to hear Ivra's clear voice. This time she told all she knew about the birthday of this Earth, one of the most magical and splendid and strange of her stories.
But it was the shortest day in the year, Ivra's birthday, and night fell all too soon. Then the Tree Girl, who seldom forgot to be sensible, said they had better go home. The littlest Forest Child was already asleep, curled close by the fire. They roused him gently. Good-nights were called and a few minutes after, the shelter was deserted, and the fire out. And by starlight could be seen many footprints leading away in the white snow out into all parts of the Forest.
Eric and Ivra walked toward home hand in hand. They had to pass the morning's slide on the way. When they came in sight of it they began to walk more quickly and quietly and to look intently. The blue ice shone bluer than ever in starlight, but more than the ice shone. Shiningpeoplewere using the sleds and the hill was covered with them.
"Why, they must be Star People," Ivra cried excitedly.
When they were quite near they stood to watch.
The strange Star folk were very silent, never calling and laughing as those who had slid there in the morning had done. Two, a little boy and a young girl, came spinning down on the same sled and stopped so near that Ivra and Eric might have touched them by leaning forward. But the Star-two must have thought the Forest-two shadows, for they paid no attention to them at all.
Now that they were so near Eric could see that their hair was blue, like the shadows on snow, and their faces a beautiful shining white. Their straight short garments were blue like shadows, too, and their arms, legs and feet were bare. But they did not seem conscious of the cold. Eric did not hear them speak, but they looked at each other as though theywerespeaking, and then suddenly the little boy laughed merrily, as though the young girl had just told him something very amusing.
Soon the girl turned and ran away up the hill. But the little boy was as quick as she and threw himself on the sled while she never slackened her pace, but drew him straight and fast up the steep slope.
"I have never seen them before," Ivra whispered to Eric. "But mother has told me of them. They don't talk as we do you see. They don'thaveto. They know each other's thoughts. They almost never leave their Stars. Do you think—perhaps, to-night they saw our slide shining, and wondered so much about it they had to come down? Even mother has never seen them. It was Tree Mother told her."
Eric was very silent, for he had never seen such beautiful people. The little boy had had a face like a star, and great shining eyes. The young girl had been clear like the day, and without smiling her face had been brimmed with happiness.
But now he felt Ivra trembling. She whispered again, "You know, Eric, it is wonderful for us to see them like this. Some day, mother says, we may get to be like them!"
"And speak without words?" Eric asked wondering.
"Yes, and more than that. We may be asaliveas they. Now we're only Forest people, and not allthateven—almost dreams. They arereal!"
Then she took his hand and drew him away. "I cannot look any more," she said; "can you? They are too beautiful!"
Eric put his fingers to his eyes as he walked. "Yes, it's hard to see the ground now. My eyes ache a little."
But how the children wished their mother were waiting for them in the little house to hear the tale!
One afternoon Eric and Ivra started out for the Forest Children's moss village to play with them. But when they got there they found all the little houses deserted: not a Forest Child was to be found. They must have gone into some other part of the forest to play. So Ivra and Eric wandered on and on, a little lonely, a little tired of just each other for comrades, till at last they came to the very edge of the forest,—and there was Nora's farm, a rambling red brick house, with a barn twice its size behind it. Down in the pasture by the house half a dozen Snow Witches were dancing in a circle, now near, now far, all over the pasture, and sometimes right up to the farm-house windows.
Ivra clapped her hands and bounded forward. Eric did not follow. He stood to watch. When the Snow Witches saw Ivra running to them they rushed to meet her. For a minute she was lost in a cloud of blown snow, and then there she was dancing in their circle back and forth across the pasture, and then away, away, away! But before she frolicked quite out of sight she turned to look for her playfellow, and beckoned to him.
"Come on," she called. "We're going to slide on the brook below the cornfield."
But Eric did not follow. He did not like the Snow Witches. And just as Ivra and the Witches drifted out of sight, he thought he heard the Forest Children laughing. The sound came from the barn. So Eric ran to the door. It was a big sliding door, and now stood open on a crack just large enough for a child to slip through. Eric went in.
The barn was tremendously big, a great dusty place full of the smell of hay. Ahead of him were two stalls, with a horse in one. But Eric was most interested in the empty stall, for it was from there the laughter seemed to come. He stood looking and listening, and then right down through the ceiling of the stall shot a child, and landed laughing and squealing in the hay in the manger. She sat up, saw Eric and stared. She was a little girl about his own age, freckle-faced, snub-nosed and red-haired. She had the jolliest, the nicest face in the world.
Eric opened his mouth to say, "Hello," but kept it open, silent in amazement, for another child had shot through the ceiling and landed beside the girl. This was a boy. He was red-headed, too, freckle-faced and snub-nosed. He looked even jollier than the girl.
Before Eric had closed his mouth on his amazement, "Whoop!" and down came another boy. This boy was red-haired, freckle-faced and snub-nosed, and he looked jollier than the other two put together, if that were possible, for his red hair curled in saucy, tight little ringlets, and his mouth was wide with smiles.
It was this last one who said, "Hello, who are you?"
"Eric,—who are you?"
"Nora's grandchildren, of course. Come up. We're having sport."
The three children ran across the barn to a ladder and scrambled up and disappeared through a trap door at the top. Eric followed. The attic was full of hay in mountains and little hills,—hay and hay and hay. He followed the children around the biggest mountain, through a tunnel—and there they vanished!
He found the hole in the stable ceiling and looked down. Not very far below him was the manger full of hay and red-headed children. "Look out down there! Whoop!" cried Eric, and dropped, landing among them.
Then the four laughed heartily together and ran across the barn again, up the ladder, around the hay mountain and dropped down the hole. They did that dozens of times until they were tired of it.
Then they played hide-and-go-seek in the hay country, and after that Blind Man's Buff in the barn below. The little girl was Blind Man first. They tied a red handkerchief tight over her eyes. Then they ran about, dodging her, calling her, laughing at her groping hands and hesitating steps. But after a few minutes she became accustomed to the darkness and ran and jumped about after them until they had to be very wary and swift indeed. Soon she caught Eric and then he was Blind Man.
By and by they played tag, just plain tag, and Eric liked that best of all. Back and forth across the great room they raced,—up the ladder, over the hay, through the hole into the stable, round and round, in and out, up and down until they were too tired and hot for any more.
Then they lay up in the hay where there was a little window, looking far out across the meadows.
Eric saw Ivra out there in the first field, wandering around alone and now and then looking up at the barn. She must have heard their shouts and laughter. He pointed her out to the other children. "That is my playmate out there," he said. "Let's open the window and call to her to come up. She'll tell us stories."
The children looked out eagerly. "But there's nobody there," they said.
Eric laughed. "No, look!" He pointed with his finger. "Over there by the white birch. Look! She sees us." He waved. "Quick, help me open the window."
He could not find the catch. The window was draped with cobwebs and dusty with the dust of years. It looked as though it had never been opened.
The little red-headed girl put her hand on his arm. She was laughing. "Don't be silly," she said. "There's no one by the white birch. You're imagining."
"Why, look! Of course she's there!" Eric was impatient. "She's moving now, waving to us. Of course you see her!"
"Yes," said the jolliest of the boys. "We do see it—faintly. We've seen it before too,—a kind of a shadow on the snow. But father says it's nothing to mind. Imaginings. Nothing real, just spots in our eyes or something."
Then Eric remembered all that Ivra had told him. She was half fairy. People could see her if they looked hard enough. But they were not apt to believe their own eyes when they had looked. That was dreadful for her. She had not said so, but he had guessed it from her face when she told him. Well, well, now he understood a little better. These were Earth Children, with shadows in their eyes. Ivra could never be their playmate.
Buthecould see her well enough because his eyes were clear. And presently he would run out to her and they would go home together. But just now it was jolly and cozy here in the barn, and these Earth Children were good fun. He hoped she would wait for him, but if she did not he would find his way alone easily enough.
"You don't really believe in it, do you?" the red-headed girl was asking. "If you do,—better not. Grown-ups will laugh at you."
"Nora, your grandmother, won't laugh," said Eric. "She knows Ivra well enough, and Helma, too."
"Oh, yes," said the jolliest boy. "But she is queer. We love her, and she's a fine grandmother, I can tell you. And she tells the best stories. But she's queer just the same, and she can't fool us."
"Let's go in and get some cookies from her," said the other boy. "They must be done by now."
So up they hopped, and without another look towards the shadow out on the snow by the white birch, jumped down the hole, and ran out of the barn into the kitchen.
Nora was there knitting by a table, two big pans of cookies just out of the oven cooling in front of her.
How good they smelled! Eric had never tasted hot ginger cookies before, and when Nora gave him one, a big round one all for his own, he almost danced with delight. He perched on the edge of the table and ate that one and many another before he was done.
"This boy, grandma," began the red-headed girl.
"His name is Eric," interrupted Nora, handing him another cookie. "I know him very well."
"Well, he saw It while we were looking out of the barn window! And he said It was real and his playmate, and he wanted to call It in to tell us stories!"
"Don't say 'It,'" said Nora. "Her name is 'Ivra.' But of course you can't play with her. She isn't an Earth Child. She's a fairy. So don't say anything about it to your father when he comes home to-night. It would make him cross."
"But it doesn't make you cross," laughed the jolliest boy. "And so won't you tell us some stories about it now. You know,—the little house in the wood, the Tree Man, the Forest Children, Helma, Ivra and all the rest of it."
"Do tell us a story," begged the other two.
So Nora put down her knitting, and taking the cat on her lap, a great sleepy white fellow who had been purring by the stove, she began to tell them stories.
She told stories about Helma and Ivra, the Wind Creatures, the Snow Witches and many more. The children listened eagerly, clapping their hands now and then, and at the end of every story asking for more.
But Eric was lost in wonder. The children thought the stories were not true,—just fairy stories told them by a grandmother. And Nora had evidently long ago given up expecting them to believe. Her black eyes twinkled knowingly when they met Eric's puzzled ones.
And all the time Eric had only to turn his head to see Ivra walking out there around in the field, looking at the farm house, waiting for him. But gradually, as the stories went on the little figure out there grew more and more to look like just a blue shadow on the snow, paler and paler. Finally he had to strain his eyes to see it at all.
Then he jumped down from the table and said he must go home. His heart was beating a little wildly. For he was afraid Ivra might fade away from him altogether. These red-headed children were fine playfellows. He liked them,—oh, so much! He wished he could stay and play with them for—a week. Yes. But he must go now. That blue shadow on the snow seemed lonely.
"Take her some cookies," said Nora, filling his pockets. The children laughed at the top of their voices. "Yes, take some cookies to the fairy. But you can eat them yourself and pretend it is the fairy eating them," they cried.
Nora laughed with them, and so after a minute Eric joined in. But he and Nora looked at each other through their laughter and nodded understanding.
When Ivra saw him at last come out of the farm house door, she didn't wait longer, but ran away into the wood. He overtook her a long way in, walking rapidly.
"Did you have a good time with the witches?" he asked.
"Why didn't you come, too?" she said
"Oh, it was too cold. Nora's grandchildren are awfully good fun. We played hide-and-go-seek, just as we played it at the Tree Man's party."
"Did they laugh at me?"
" ... No, they laughed at me. They thought I was a funny boy."
"To have me for a playmate?"
Then Eric began to think that Ivra was not very happy. Perhaps she had been lonely.
"You're always running off with the Snow Witches," he said. "But I won't play with Nora's grandchildren any more unless they'll let you play too. I won't, truly!"
Ivra laughed. And it was like spring coming into winter. "Yes, play with them all you like! I love them, too. I've often watched them. The littlest boy, the one with the funny curls, laughs at me and stares and stares. But the other two ... they just give me a glance and then forget all about me. They don't think I'm real. But they are awfully jolly. You play with them and when you tell me about it afterwards I'll pretend I was there playing too."
Then the two clasped hands and went skipping home.