be pretty. If she would only go to the
Beautiful Wicked Witch's house, she could try on that dress, and wear it
for one whole day if she liked. Ivra clasped her hands. But then she
thought, and asked a question. "Could I play in it, and run and climb?
Would I be as free as in this little old brown smock?"

The Beautiful Wicked Witch raised her hands in horror. "My cobweb frock!
Why, it would be ruined! It would be in shreds! How can you even think
of treating it so!"

So Ivra shook her head until her funny little pigtails flopped from side
to side. "I don't want to wear it then for even a minute. What fun would
there be?"

"Well, think about it anyway," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch, and rose
to go away. "It's the fir, you know, beyond the white birch."

"Thank you for the stories," said the children.

"Good-by," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Perhaps Eric will remember
and come. It's a gorgeous bird, and I haven't said he couldn't free it."

Then she slipped out into the snow flakes, turning to give them one
dancing look over her shoulder before the door swung to.

Up flamed the candles, clear high flames when she was gone, and the fire
crackled again, and took on new life, reaching higher and higher.

They got their supper together rather silently. But just before going to
sleep Ivra roused herself to say, "Let's promise each other we won't go
to the Beautiful Wicked Witch's fir until mother comes home,--and we can
tell her how jolly the Witch is, and what good stories she told us."

"I don't want to go anyway," answered Eric, "unless I can free the
bird."--But you see, he had not promised.

After a while, "Did you notice how pale her face was when she wasn't
laughing?" asked Eric.

"Yes, and not so beautiful then. Mother may come in the night, and we
never know it till morning!"

Soon they were asleep, a tired, but happy little girl and boy.

I think the Tree Mother sank down in her air-boat to look in at them and
open the door wide, which they had forgotten, so they would have fresh
air all night; but it was dark, and the room was shadowy, so perhaps it
was only the wind.

CHAPTER IX

THE WIND HUNT

After all, Mother Helma was not there the next morning,--nor the next,
nor the next. She did not come back for days and days and days. Much
happened before she returned, and much happened after. I will tell you.

During the days the children roamed the forest looking for their mother.
Th