never seen a prettier person in the world, nor one more kind.

She took his two hands and began to whirl in a happy dance. Eric danced,
too, for joy and good comradeship. Round and round the room they whirled
until their breath was spent.

Then the Beautiful Wicked Witch took him up the spiral staircase to show
him the bird. Up and up they went, until they came to a little room high
in the tree. The floor was carpeted with yellow satin, and yellow
curtains hung at the window. Deep blue mirrors lined the walls, and they
reflected Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch dozens of times over.

The pretty bird cage, all made of flowers and leaves, hung in the very
middle of the room. Eric stood by it a long time. He put his fingers
through the bars, and stroked the bird's soft feathers. But the gorgeous
bird paid no attention to him, and did not sing.

"Why doesn't it hop about?" he asked the Beautiful Wicked Witch.

The Witch frowned and pouted. "It ought to, I'm sure. I like to see it
hopping. But it would rather sulk. It thinks all the time about the
forest, and its mate who is out there somewhere. Sometimes it sings,
though. Its voice is wonderful."

"Oh, let's open the cage and free him," cried Eric.

But the Beautiful Wicked Witch seized his hand. "No, no, _no_! It is
_mine_. I have caged it in my pretty cage. And it fits into the room,
don't you think?"