"Do tell us a story," begged the other two.

So Nora put down her knitting, and taking the cat on her lap, a great
sleepy white fellow who had been purring by the stove, she began to tell
them stories.

She told stories about Helma and Ivra, the Wind Creatures, the Snow
Witches and many more. The children listened eagerly, clapping their
hands now and then, and at the end of every story asking for more.

But Eric was lost in wonder. The children thought the stories were not
true,--just fairy stories told them by a grandmother. And Nora had
evidently long ago given up expecting them to believe. Her black eyes
twinkled knowingly when they met Eric's puzzled ones.

And all the time Eric had only to turn his head to see Ivra walking out
there around in the field, looking at the farm house, waiting for him.
But gradually, as the stories went on the little figure out there grew
more and more to look like just a blue shadow on the snow, paler and
paler. Finally he had to strain his eyes to see it at all.

Then he jumped down from the table and said he must go home. His heart
was beating a little wildly. For he was afraid Ivra might fade away from
him altogether. These red-headed children were fine playfellows. He
liked them,--oh, so much! He wished he could stay and play with them
for--a week. Yes. But he must go now. That blue shadow on the snow
seemed lonely.

"Take her some cookies," said Nora, filling his pockets. The children