On a cold, starlit night, nestled in feathery warmth, to sail over the
dark tree-tops, high and higher and on and on--that is a wonderful
thing. And when the Tree Mother stands above you, wrapped in her dark
cloak with her face shining under her cloudy white hair, now and then
bending to tuck the blanket more snugly about you--what could be more
blissful?

Very soon Eric became drowsy against his will. His eyelids dropped like
curtains shutting out the stars. But he roused when the boat stopped,
hovered, and sank down like a bird until it rested on the crusted snow
in the middle of a tiny village of tiny moss houses; only now, of
course, the houses were covered with snow, and looked like baby Eskimo
huts. The Forest Children crept sleepily out of the boat, kissing the
Tree Mother good-by as though in a dream. Not a word was spoken. There
was the creak of their little feet on the cold snow,--that was all. Each
child went alone into his little house. They were lighted and looked
warm through the doors, and Tree Mother nodded as though that were well.
But before the air-boat had risen out of sight, the lights were all out,
and the Forest Children sound asleep, snuggled into their moss beds.

From then on stops were frequent, and Eric woke at each one. At every
Bird Fairy nest at which they stopped, the Tree Mother leaned from the
boat and scooped the crusted snow out of the nest. Then when the Bird
Fairy was settled down, she powdered the snow with her fingers until it
was soft, and heaped it over the little creature, who was already
asleep.

Wild Star was left in the tip of the tallest tree in the forest. There
he lay without covering, his face up to the cold sky, his arms flung