woven of spring flowers and leaves, and put food in it. Still the bird
escaped, pulling the food out with its long bill and never getting
inside the door. And finally she told them how she did capture that
wild, shy bird by learning its song and singing it sitting in her
tree-house with the window open, until the bird heard and came flying in
wonder to find what other bird was calling it. Then she had closed the
window and the bird was hers. It hung now in the pretty cage in her
prettiest room, and sometimes sang in the middle of the night.

Eric liked the story, and all the better because it was a true story.
And the Beautiful Wicked Witch said he could see the bird himself if he
would come to her house. He could stroke its bright breast, and it would
sing perhaps. Then there were other things caged in her house, cunning
little animals, and some big ones, worth any boy's seeing.

But Ivra answered for Eric, shaking her head hard. "No, no. Mother
doesn't want us to visit you."

But Eric said, "May I open the cage door and the window and see the bird
flash away? I should like that."

"No. Well, perhaps," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Will you come
then?"

"I can't, I suppose, if Mother Helma doesn't want me to. Are you sure
she doesn't, Ivra?"

Ivra was sure.

The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed then. "Of course, if you _tell_ her