"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.