, Ivra stood there in the middle of the warm,
flower-hung room, like a little cold star beam.

But she did not look at the quaint flowers in their golden vases. And
when the Witch ran to her and kissed her she did not even look at her.
She looked only at Eric, and her eyes said, "I have come to free you."

"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.

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. "I didn't come to see the
frock," she said, shaking her head till her pigtails bobbed. "I came to
get Eric."

The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed. "Get him if you can," she said. Then
she turned her back on the children and began to braid her black hair
among the mirrors.

They went to the window and waited there, watching her.

"The door doesn't open out,--only in, I think," Eric whispered. "So we
can't get out."

"Mother has told me how it would be," Ivra whispered back. "We'll have
to wait until she's asleep and then find a way."

Then Ivra sat down on the floor and began to rock back and forth and
sing a lullaby. It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her all her
babyhood, Ivra sang in a very little voice, almost a murmur only, but by
listening Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch could catch the words. She
sang the same words over and over and over.

Night is in the forest,
Tree Mother is nigh.
By-abye, by-abye-bye.

Sleep is in the forest--
His feathers brush your eye.
By-abye, by-abye-bye.

Mother's arms are holding you,
Forest dreams are folding you.
By-abye, by-abye--bye.

The Beautiful Wicked Witch sat down before the mirrors after a while,
still watching her reflection, but listening to the song, too. Her head
gradually sank lower and lower, first resting chin in hand and at last
right down on her arm stretched along the floor. Her face lay turned
towards the children, and they saw the mirth slowly fade in her gr