A pleading voice apparently came from the sky: "Please unbar the door
of this old cabin. We are locked inside."

The young man stopped short. He took off his cap and ran his hand
through his thick, light hair. He was too old to believe in fairies or
elves. But he heard the voice again even more distinctly. "Oh, don't
go away! Do open the log cabin door."

The young man looked up. There was a little, white face as wan and
pale as the early daylight, with an aureole of dark red curls around
it, staring at him through the broken window frame of the old log cabin
that he had seen deserted a dozen times in his hunting trips through
these woods.

"If there is some one really calling to me, please wave your hand three
times from that window, so I will know you are not a spook," called the
young man, "otherwise I may be afraid to open the door."

"I can't wave. I shall fall if I let go the window sill," answered
Madge, trying to keep from bursting into tears. "Please don't wait any
longer. We have been locked in all night."

The stranger drew back the heavy wooden bolt. He started when he saw
three white-faced girls staring at him. But the face he had seen at
the window was not among them. Clinging to the old window frame, her
slender feet stuck in the cracks between the logs, was the witch who
had summoned him to their rescue.

"Won't you please come help me down, Phil?" asked a plaintive voice.