throwing herself into her arms. "Wait," they whispered.

From their high place on the wall they could look down on the heads of
the three people, and hear all they were saying. They had never learned
that it is not fair to listen that way.

From all Helma said they could plainly see she was a prisoner. She was
pleading with the old woman. She was saying, "No, never, never, never,
in a thousand days and years will I ever be happy here. My place is in
the forest. Oh, how these heels bother!"

"Silly girl!" cried the old woman, smiling more than ever, and looking
more disagreeable than ever at the same time. "Your place is where you
were born-in a fine house and wearing clothes like other people. Heels
indeed! Did you expect them to do any thing else but bother? Mine have
bothered for sixty years, but you haven't heard _me_ complain."

"Neither would I," Helma said, "if I didn't know about other kinds of
shoes that don't hurt. Those sandals I wore when you caught me didn't
hurt. Why can't I wear those, at least when I walk in the garden?"

"Well, you might," began the old woman, a little more kindly, and
smiling less, "if you promise always to put on the high heels before
coming into the drawing room--"

"No," said the young man sharply. "Let her once into the garden in her
sandals and she'll climb the wall and be off. I say that we give her no
chance to escape. After she has been to a hundred or so balls and worn
these beautiful and appropriate clothes long enough she'll be glad of
her luck, and nothing could drag her into the forest. Believe me!"