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Updated: June 21, 2025
So Ivra and Eric wandered on and on, a little lonely, a little tired of just each other for comrades, till at last they came to the very edge of the forest, and there was Nora's farm, a rambling red brick house, with a barn twice its size behind it.
She made pretty signs to him to open the window and let her in. But Ivra pulled him back. "Don't you know? It's the Beautiful Wicked Witch!" she whispered. But Eric was impatient. "How can she be wicked when she's so beautiful!" he exclaimed. He was so little used to beautiful people in his life that now he was fascinated and delighted.
Eric longed to wave his arms about, and jump up and down to get warm, but he had to cling, still and motionless, to the branches to keep from falling. At last Ivra whispered "It's our turn now," and taking Eric's hand, she made him jump with her right out into cold space. For one awful instant he thought they were both falling down, down to the ground. But they had only dropped into the air-boat.
"This boy, grandma," began the red-headed girl. "His name is Eric," interrupted Nora, handing him another cookie. "I know him very well." "Well, he saw It while we were looking out of the barn window! And he said It was real and his playmate, and he wanted to call It in to tell us stories!" "Don't say 'It," said Nora. "Her name is 'Ivra. But of course you can't play with her.
When those saw who it was Eric had captured they ran to meet her, shouting gayly, "Wild Thyme! Goody! Goody! Hello, Wild Thyme!" They seemed to have known her always. She and Ivra threw their arms about each other's shoulders and danced away to the goal. Wild Thyme was a wonderful playfellow. She was so wild, so free, so strong, so mischievous.
If Helma should come back while they were away, she must find a warm house. Ivra skipped back after they were outside to set out a bowl and spoon for her, and stand the cream jug beside them. Then away they fled, running and jumping in the frosty morning air. Ivra taught Eric some games that could be played by two alone. They were running games, climbing games, hiding games, jumping games.
Eric forgot all about being a prisoner, and forgot the little caged creatures around the wall. He was delighted with the frock being pushed down on Ivra's shoulders. "How beautiful you'll be!" he cried. But Ivra wriggled away from it and stood clear. Her rudely made brown frock and worn sandals looked odd in that satin room.
"Oh, so you did want to try on the pretty frock after all," cried the Witch, and drew her up the stairs. Eric followed to the yellow room. "No," said Ivra. But the Witch brought it out and tried to slip it over her head. It was sheerest gossamer web, and shimmered like moonlight. And the little rosebuds seemed to make it belong to Ivra.
Wild Star pointed him the shortest way, and off he ran, jumping the stream and the moss beds beyond, and disappearing into the underbrush. "I'll look for you next time the other side of the world!" Wild Star shouted after him. It was twilight when he reached home. Helma and Ivra were sitting on the door stone, hand in hand. They made room for Eric. But he did not snuggle up.
He half opened his slumbrous eyes on the Tree Mother as the boat floated away, but before the smile in them faded he was asleep. There was straight, sure, even flying then to Helma's little house, set in its snowy garden, and down they sank to the door stone. The Tree Mother carried Ivra, who was fast asleep, in in her arms.
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