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Updated: June 21, 2025
Eric liked the story, and all the better because it was a true story. And the Beautiful Wicked Witch said he could see the bird himself if he would come to her house. He could stroke its bright breast, and it would sing perhaps. Then there were other things caged in her house, cunning little animals, and some big ones, worth any boy's seeing. But Ivra answered for Eric, shaking her head hard.
Then the Tree Girl begged for a story, and Ivra told a World Story about the rivers, how they go in search of their mother, the ocean, day and night, around mountains and through mountains, and across whole continents, and never stop until they find her, and of the myriad presents they carry to her, of the things they see and the things they do, as they flow searching. It was a long story.
Now the fairies are afraid of humans because humans look right through them and do not see them. That upsets the fairies and makes them uncomfortable. Of course Helma and Eric were exceptions, for because they had no shadows in their eyes they could see them and play with them. So the fairies accepted those two as one of themselves. Ivra was different.
Ivra opened that door gayly, and through it with her, Eric went to his first party. It was the jolliest room in all the world. The firelight and candlelight did not reach so far as the walls, but left them in soft darkness. So Eric had the feeling that the room was really much too large to be inside of a tree. But in spite of its bigness, it was very cozy.
"Tag," Ivra would cry, tapping Eric on the shoulder, and away she would fly, he after her, in a race that grew merrier and merrier as it ran on. Ivra darted and twisted away when Eric thought he had her, rolling down little hills on the snow crust, climbing trees, jumping brooks until he was lucky enough to catch her by one of her pigtails at last, or snatch her flying skirt. "Tag!"
"And then when I have told you, Eric, you may want to go across yourself and see the wonders." Eric drew a deep breath. "Yes, you and Ivra and I. In a boat." He pointed to a white sail far out stuck up like a feather slantwise in the water. Ivra clapped her hands. But Helma shook her head. "When you go, it must be alone, Ivra and I belong to the Forest." "Why, then I don't want to go, ever."
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.
And with man, and the wonderful happenings that came along with him, Ivra had begged for the stories day and night, and never could have enough of them. For then in a great procession came the stories of cities and nations, of great men and women, of explorations and adventures. They led in turn to stories of languages and writing, of painting and geometry, of music and of life.
Perhaps some of the Wind Creatures wanted them, or it might be old Tree Man himself, looking for a winter cape for his daughter. But I said, 'No, no. The milk is for Helma and little Ivra! I take it to them every morning and I'll take it this morning whether or no, so pull all you like cape or milk you'll not get. The cape has a good clasp, and I've a good hold of the jug. Pull away!"
Father has gone on a spring wandering, and I shall stay within tree no longer for a while." "We know, we know!" crowed Ivra. "I knew before my eyes were open this morning. Eric had to smell the ground first. Imagine! We have been cleaning house. Mother will surely come now. Don't you feel it?" The Tree Girl lifted her face up in the new warm wind. Her soft hair floated feather-like.
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