stood green and comforting among all the bare trees of winter.

Eric stopped to look, for now he remembered the Beautiful Wicked Witch
and the bird she had caged in there. He saw a door in the tree trunk
ajar, and swinging to and fro with tiny tinkling music. He peeped in,
and between the swingings caught glimpses of little blue and yellow
flowers arranged in tight bunches in hanging vases. He could smell their
sweetness even out there in the cold air.

Then high up in the tree trunk a window opened, and he heard the bird
singing. The Beautiful Wicked Witch's face appeared at the window,
looking down at him. Her black eyes were sparkling and she nodded
good-morning to him as though he were a prince, or at least a grown-up.
He could not help nodding back. He liked her very much, she was so
beautiful and so friendly.

"Come in and get warm," she called, "and I'll show you my pretty bird."

Eric remembered Ivra's warnings, but he wanted to go in so much that he
found himself doing it. The door tinkled louder music when he touched
it, and he pushed his way through, as a bee pushes his way into a
flower.

The Witch came running twinklingly down a spiral stairway. She kissed
his mouth, took off his winged cap and coat, threw them somewhere out of
sight, and then he had time to look at her well.

Her gown was green satin, the color of the fir boughs, and her little
sandals were green satin, too. A green fir frond bound her forehead; and
her black hair hung loose, soft and electric to her waist. Eric had