them back to the forest. Under the giant cedars
they said good-by and left them. The children went straight to the Tree
Man's to tell him the news. He gave them deep bowls of warm milk to
drink, and took off their sandals so that their toes might spread and
warm in front of the fire.

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. And almost before the end the little story teller
had fallen asleep with her head tipped back against the Tree Man's
chest.

They spent that night in the tree, and that was good, for a storm had
risen outside, and it was bitter cold in the forest.

CHAPTER XI

THE BEAUTIFUL WICKED WITCH

The next morning before Eric woke Ivra slipped away to play with the
Forest Children.

"On such wild days as this they usually play indoors, for they're little
things and the Snow Witches love to tease them," said the Tree Man.

"Perhaps she'll be telling them World Stories," thought Eric, and so he
decided to go to the little moss village, too, for though Ivra had told
him dozens of World Stories by now, he always wanted to hear more. So
after breakfast with the Tree Man and his pretty, shy daughter, he ran
out in search of Ivra.

It was indeed a cold morning, blustering and raw. Eric felt chilled
almost as soon as he was out of doors. Very soon he lost his way, for he
had not been in the forest long enough to grow familiar with landmarks.
Just when he was beginning to be a bit hopeless and pinched with the
cold he came to the big fir where the Beautiful Wicked Witch lived. It
stood green and comforting among all the bare trees of winter.

Eric stopped to look, for now he remembered the Beautiful Wicked Witch
and the bird she had caged in there. He saw a door in the tree trunk
ajar, and swinging to and fro with tiny tinkling music. He peeped in,
and between the swingings caught glimpses of little blue and yellow
flowers arranged in tight bunches in hanging vases. He could smell their
sweetness even out there in the cold air.

Then high up in the tree trunk a window opened, and he heard the bird
singing. The Beautiful Wicked Witch's face appeare