all about, even up into the trees for their mother, they would suddenly
burst into play. "Tag," Ivra would cry, tapping Eric on the shoulder,
and away she would fly, he after her, in a race that grew merrier and
merrier as it ran on. Ivra darted and twisted away when Eric thought he
had her, rolling down little hills on the snow crust, climbing trees,
jumping brooks until he was lucky enough to catch her by one of her
pigtails at last, or snatch her flying skirt. "Tag!" Then away he sped,
and the game would go on for a happy while.

But sooner or later they always stopped running, stopped laughing, and
remembered why they were wandering the wood alone. Then they would call
for Helma. Ivra's voice was shrill and sweet, and rang through the bare
woods like a birdsong. Eric's wavered a little uncertainly, as though he
doubted whether Helma knew it well enough to answer. "Helma, Helma,
Helma! Ohh Helma! Helmaa-a!"

No Helma answered. Sometimes a Forest Child came running to say, "We
haven't seen her yet, Ivra. But we are watching." The Bird Fairies
fluttered at the call and nodded their little heads uneasily. Children's
voices calling for their mother was a sad sound, and made the kindly
little creatures restless. One or two of them would fly to nestle in
Ivra's neck and whisper, "Give her time. Do not hurry her so. She will
come back."

But the children were losing faith. They went calling, seeking and
playing through the woods all the hours of daylight. At night Ivra told
Eric World Stories, World Story after World Story until sleep made them
forget.

The fifth morning of their search dawned blue and clear and windy.