Bath-time! Baths had been rare in Eric's life, and when they did happen
were unhappy adventures,--cold water in a hand basin in the kitchen
sink, a scratchy sponge, and a towel too small. So if Mrs. Freg had said
"bath-time and bed-time" to him now, he might have run away. But if
Ivra's mother said it, it must be. She was _his_ mother too, now, and he
loved her and thought her beautifully strange.

A surprise was waiting for him. The bath was a deep basin set in the
wall. There was a fountain in it that one had only to turn on to have
the basin fill with clear water. Eric slipped out of his ragged shirt
and trousers and climbed up into it. The fountain came splashing down on
his dusty, shaggy head, falling in rivulets down his back and breast. He
was like a bird taking a bath; there was such happy splashing and
dipping.

But no bird had ever the gentle soft drying, or was wrapped in such a
warm night gown as the mother found for Eric. It was one of Ivra's night
gowns, but quite large enough. Then she tucked him into a narrow couch
far from the fire. It was the first time Eric could ever remember having
slept alone.

Ivra was already in a bed against the opposite wall. Before the mother
got into hers, which was open and ready for her, she blew out all the
candles and opened the door and windows.

"Good night, my lambs," she said, and a very few minutes afterwards Eric
could see by the firelight that his mother and playmate were asleep.

How cold the wind felt as it blew over his face! But how warm and snug
his body was, there in the soft, clean night gown between the light,