"Come on," she called. "We're going to slide on the brook below the
cornfield."

But Eric did not follow. He did not like the Snow Witches. And just as
Ivra and the Witches drifted out of sight, he thought he heard the
Forest Children laughing. The sound came from the barn. So Eric ran to
the door. It was a big sliding door, and now stood open on a crack just
large enough for a child to slip through. Eric went in.

The barn was tremendously big, a great dusty place full of the smell of
hay. Ahead of him were two stalls, with a horse in one. But Eric was
most interested in the empty stall, for it was from there the laughter
seemed to come. He stood looking and listening, and then right down
through the ceiling of the stall shot a child, and landed laughing and
squealing in the hay in the manger. She sat up, saw Eric and stared. She
was a little girl about his own age, freckle-faced, snub-nosed and
red-haired. She had the jolliest, the nicest face in the world.

Eric opened his mouth to say, "Hello," but kept it open, silent in
amazement, for another child had shot through the ceiling and landed
beside the girl. This was a boy. He was red-headed, too, freckle-faced
and snub-nosed. He looked even jollier than the girl.

Before Eric had closed his mouth on his amazement, "Whoop!" and down
came another boy. This boy was red-haired, freckle-faced and snub-nosed,
and he looked jollier than the other two put together, if that were
possible, for his red hair curled in saucy, tight little ringlets, and
his mouth was wide with smiles.

It was this last one who said, "Hello, who are you?"