from them. When I saw them back there they had all taken hands and were
leaping in a circle around her. She was jumping and dancing in the
center as wild and lawless as they, and just as high, too. . . . But it's a
pity she isn't with her mother all the same, going on decent errands in
the village. Only of course it's not her fault, poor child! She daren't
go into the village."

"Why _daren't_ she?" asked Eric.

"_How_ dare she?" cried the old woman. "She'd be seen, for she's only
part fairy, of course. But hush, hush!"

She clapped her hands over her mouth. "What am I telling you,--one of
the secrets of the forest, and you a stranger here? You must forget it
all. Ivra's a good child. Now don't ask me any more questions, or I
might tell you more."

But Eric had begun to wonder. What did it mean, that Ivra was part
fairy? And why wasn't it safe for her to be seen in the village? And
were there really witches, and was she playing with them out there in
the wild day?

The old woman was talking on, but he heard no more.

Then the door blew open in a snowy gust of wind, and there stood Helma,
the mother, her arms full of bundles, her cheeks ruddy from the wind,
and her short hair crisp and blown.