ow and took his hand. "I picked these wanderers up at dawn,"
she said, "and now we are all going back together. We are well on the
way."

They had left the forest roof and were sailing over open country,--a
short cut, Tree Mother explained.

"Oh, look," cried Ivra excitedly, almost tumbling over the edge in her
endeavor to see better, "isn't that the gray wall off there?"

Yes, it was the gray wall, the gray wall that had prisoned their mother
all winter. The boat went slower and slower as they neared it and then
almost hung still over the garden. The garden was full of people, having
some kind of a party, for many little tables were set there with silver
and glass that shone brilliantly in the sun. Servants were hurrying back
and forth carrying trays and their gilt buttons sparkled almost as much
as the silver.

But how strange were the people! Eric and Ivra and the littlest Forest
Child laughed aloud. They were standing about so straight and stiff,
holding their cups and saucers, and their voices rising up to the
air-boat in confusion sounded like a hundred parrots.

"Why don't they sit down on the grass to eat?" wondered the littlest
Forest Child. "And why don't they wash their feet in the fountain? They
look so very hot and walk as though it hurt!"

"Sitting on the grass and washing their feet in the fountain is against
the law there," Helma said.

But neither Ivra nor the littlest Forest Child knew what "against the
law" meant. Eric knew, however, for he had lived nine years, remember,
where most everything a little boy wanted _was_ against the law.

"But why do they stay?" Eric asked.

Helma looked a little grave. "Why did you stay, dear, for nine long
years?"

He thought a minute. "I hadn't seen the magic beckoning," he answered
then.

"Neither have they," she said, "and perhaps never will, for their eyes
are getting dimmer all the time."

"But how can they _help_ seeing it?" cried the littlest Forest Child.
"See, all around the garden!"

It was true. All around the garden the tall trees stood and beckoned
with their high fingers, beckoned away and away with promise of magic
beyond magic. But the people in the garden never lifted their eyes to
see it. They were looking intently into their tea cups as though it
might be there magic was waiting.

"They are prisoners," said Tree Mother, "just as you were, Helma, with
this one difference. You were locked in, but they have locked themselves
in and c