ght. They
sat up in their beds and talked about it.

"She always comes back before bedtime," said Ivra. "She has never stayed
away before."

Eric said, "Perhaps that is why the Tree Mother brought you in and
undressed you--perhaps she knew our mother had not come back. She looked
wise, as though she knew everything."

"She does know everything,--at least everything in the forest. But did
she bring me in, right here in her arms, Eric!"

"And undressed you while you were sound asleep."

Ivra laughed with delight, and clasped her hands. "Truly, truly? The
dear Tree Mother undressed me? Are you sure? Did she kiss me
good-night?--" But suddenly she grew solemn. "Yes, she knew that mother
was not here. She only takes care of those who have no one else. Well,
we will have to wait for mother, that is all. She will surely come this
morning."

But she did not come that morning, nor that day, nor for many days. You
shall hear it all.

The children laid the fire, together,--shivering but hopeful. Ivra got
the breakfast, teaching Eric, so that next time he could help. They
chattered and played a good deal, and really had quite a merry time over
it. It was only at first that Ivra was solemn over Helma's
disappearance. Soon her good sense told her that Helma loved them both,
and nothing could keep her long from her children.

After breakfast they washed and put away the dishes. Then they tidied
the room. They hurried over it a little, perhaps, for it was a bright
winter day, and all the forest was waiting to be played in. Before they
ran out, they put a log on the fire that it took both of them to lift.
If Helma should come back while they were away, she must find a warm
house. Ivra skipped back after they were outside to set out a bowl and
spoon for her, and stand the cream jug beside them.

Then away they fled, running and jumping in the frosty morning air. Ivra
taught Eric some games that could be played by two alone. They were
running games, climbing games, hiding games, jumping games. Ivra was
swift and strong and unafraid. Her cheeks reddened like apples in the
cold. She was a fine playfellow.

Not until they were hungry did they think of home. Then they ran, hand
in hand at last, jumping the garden hedge like deer, their hearts
beating with the expectation of running straight into Helma's arms. But
no Helma was there. Nora had come with the milk, left it, eaten the rest
of the porridge, and gone away again without