Then the windows were washed. And because the Forest Children could not
run on those they were made bright and clear. But soon the Forest
Children pressed their faces against the panes to watch for Helma, and
as the minutes passed breath-clouds formed there, spreading and
deepening until the glass sparkled no more. But no one noticed. No one
cared. For now they were shining up the dishes, polishing them with
cloths, and setting them in neat rows in the cupboard.

Then Wild Star appeared, his hands full of spring flowers that he had
found deep in the forest in the sunniest and most protected place, the
very first spring flowers. "Helma must have gotten past that wall, now
it's spring," he said; "and here are some flowers to greet her. See, I
left the roots on, the way she likes them. Let's plant them by the door
stone."

They dug up the earth with their hands, Forest Children's hands, Wild
Star's hands, Eric's and Ivra's,--and planted the flowers all about the
door stone. Then Wild Star flew away a little languidly.

Ivra looked after him. "He'll soon find the deepest, darkest, coolest
place," she said, "make himself a nest of smooth leaves and dream away
the summer. Fall and winter are his flying times. We shall see him at no
more parties for a while."

"And the Snow Witches? What will become of them?" asked Eric.

"They will get into hollows of old trees and under rocks, draw in their
skirts and their hair, curl up and sleep."