nd blue eyes match the yellow and blue flowers. Would you
like me to make a pretty cage for you and put you into it?"

"No, no!" Eric was suddenly afraid of the Beautiful Wicked Witch.

But she laughed at his fear, and danced a little dance, humming to
herself, around the room. Then Eric noticed other cages. The walls were
lined with them. Some hung from the ceiling, and some stood in corners.
In every cage was a bird or animal. The one standing nearest to him held
a pretty gray squirrel, running 'round and 'round on a wheel. He stopped
every now and then to peer out through the bars with quick, bright eyes.
In the cage next was a tiny brown field mouse. But he had given up
running and playing long ago, and was huddled in the farthest and
darkest corner of his cage, his little beady eyes open and watchful.

Eric walked around the room, looking at all the poor little animals and
birds. One and all peered through their bars with watchful and fearful
eyes. Eric remembered himself in the canning factory and pitied them
more than he could ever have done had he not once been a caged little
creature too. How he longed to open their doors and the window, and see
them scamper and fly away!

But the Witch had stopped her dancing by the bird cage in the middle of
the room, and her little hands were between the bars stroking the bright
bird-breast. She was saying, "Sing for us, bird. Sing your nicest song
for us. Little Eric wants to hear it."

The bird began to beat its wings and breast against the bars. Again and
again its bright breast struck the door. But it did not fly open.

"It does not want to sing," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but it
must. Sing, bird, sing! It does you no good to struggle. You can't get
away. Sing, sing!"

Then the bird sang. Its song was truly wonderful, high and clear, as
Eric had heard it from outside. But now that he could see the bird caged
he did not like the song so well. It was all too sad.

Eric wanted to go away then, out of the tree, and never, never see the
Witch again. He would find Ivra and the Forest Children and forget all
about these cages. So he said good-by to the Witch and ran down the
spiral staircase. But he could not find the door out. He went round and
round the wall, but there was no sign of a door. It was indeed as though
a flower had let him in and then closed its petals tight.

The little posies swung in their cases, the bird sang up stairs, and the
Beautiful W