Helma stripped off the tattered silk frock, the funny thing with its
long sleeves and stiff lace collar, and hid it away out of sight. On
went the new smock over her head in a twinkling. She stepped into the
sandals. And there was their mother, the Helma Eric had first seen.

"The garden now, we must see about that," she said in her old quiet way.
Then they went out into the garden, and Helma began to plan just where
there should plant seeds and just what must be done. The children clung
to her hands, looking up into her face, and would not let her take a
step away from them. When she stood still they leaned against her, one
against either side, and wound their arms about her.

In mid-afternoon, Spring came--not the spring of the year, but Spring
himself, the person the season is named for. He was a tall young man,
with a radiant face, and fair curls lifting in a cloud from his head.
Where he walked the earth sprang up in green grass after his bare feet,
and flowers followed him like a procession. Helma ran to him, swifter
than the children, and he kissed her lips. He lifted Ivra nigh on his
shoulder for one minute where she thought she looked away over the
treetops hundreds of miles to the blue ocean. But it may have been only
his eyes, which were very blue, that shee was looking into.

With him came two Earth Giants. They were huge brown fellows with
rolling muscles and kind, sleepy eyes. They crouched down at the opening
in the hedge and waited for Spring to go on with them.

"Shall we plant the garden, Helma?" asked Spring.

"Yes, yes," cried the children, and Helma said, "Yes, yes," as eagerly
as they.