A WITCH AT THE WINDOW
When the children woke the next morning, there was no Helma. Her bed had
not been slept in. They had been too sleepy the night before to wonder
at her absence, but now they could hardly believe their eyes. The room
was strange and lonely without her. The fire had died in the night. They
sat up in their beds and talked about it.
"She always comes back before bedtime," said Ivra. "She has never stayed
away before."
Eric said, "Perhaps that is why the Tree Mother brought you in and
undressed you--perhaps she knew our mother had not come back. She looked
wise, as though she knew everything."
"She does know everything,--at least everything in the forest. But did
she bring me in, right here in her arms, Eric!"
"And undressed you while you were sound asleep."
Ivra laughed with delight, and clasped her hands. "Truly, truly? The
dear Tree Mother undressed me? Are you sure? Did she kiss me
good-night?--" But suddenly she grew solemn. "Yes, she knew that mother
was not here. She only takes care of those who have no one else. Well,
we will have to wait for mother, that is all. She will surely come this
morning."
But she did not come that morning, nor that day, nor for many days. You
shall hear it all.
The children laid the fire, together,--shivering but hopeful. Ivra got
the breakfast, teaching Eric, so that next time he could help. They
chattered and played a good deal, and really had quite a merry time over
it. It was only at first that Ivra was solemn over Helma's
disappearance. Soon her good sense told her that Helma loved them both,
and nothing could keep her long from her children.
After breakfast they washed and put away the dishes. Then they tidied
the room. They hurried over it a little, perhaps, for it was a bright
winter day, and all the forest was waiting to be played in. Before they
ran out, they put a log on the fire that it took both of them to lift.
If Helma should come back while they were away, she must find a warm
house. Ivra skipped back after they were outside to set out a bowl and
spoon for her, and stand the cream jug beside them.
Then away they fled, running and jumping in the frosty morning air. Ivra
taught Eric some games that could be played by two alone. They were
running games, climbing games, hiding games, jumping games. Ivra was
swift and strong and unafraid. Her cheeks reddened like apples in the
cold. She was a fine playfellow.
Not until they were hungry did they think of home. Then they ran, hand
in hand at last, jumping the garden hedge like deer, their hearts
beating with the expectation of running straight into Helma's arms. But
no Helma was there. Nora had come with the milk, left it, eaten the rest
of the porridge, and gone away again without waiting for a word with any
one. The children wished she had stayed. They needed some one to talk
with about their mother. Of course they knew she would come back, all in
her good time. Ivra made Eric understand that. But the room seemed even
emptier without her than it had in the morning. They cheered each other
as best they could, drank a lot of the fresh milk and ate some nuts.
They wanted to get away into the forest again and forget the empty
house, so they did not try to cook anything.
They played hard all the afternoon. Towards twilight it grew warmer and
began to snow, great wet flakes. They ran home, leaping the hedge again.
The house was still empty. Helma was not there.
They stirred up the fire, and sat down on the floor in front of it to
talk over what they should do. Then it happened,--the strange, the
beautiful, the frightful thing! Eric saw a face at the window. It was so
perfectly beautiful, that face, that he wanted to shut his eyes against
it. It almost hurt. It was the face of a young woman, very pale, but
when her eyes met Eric's they filled with dancing laughter. Her hair
under her peaked, white hood glistened blue-black like a river in the
snow. She lifted a small white hand and tapped on the window pane,
nodding to him merrily.
Ivra turned at the sound of the little fingers on the glass. When she
saw the face, she started to her feet with a frightened cry, and rushing
to the door, drew the bolt.
"She can't get in. She can't get in, Eric. Don't be afraid. We are
safe." But the poor little girl did not believe her own words. She was
trembling.
"Why, I'm not afraid," said Eric, running to the window. The merry eyes
drew him. Now her mouth danced into smiles with her eyes. She made
pretty signs to him to open the window and let her in.
But Ivra pulled him back. "Don't you know? It's the Beautiful Wicked
Witch!" she whispered.
But Eric was impatient. "How can she be wicked when she's so beautiful!"
he exclaimed. He was so little used to beautiful people in his life that
now he was fascinated and delighted.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch looked at Ivra then, and Ivra saw how her
eyes were dancing, great black eyes full of splendor and fun. She caught
her breath. She laughed back at the Beautiful Wicked Witch. She could
not help herself. But her hands flew to her mouth to stop the laugh.
"Shut your eyes, Eric. That must be best, not to look at her at all.
That is what mother did when she came before. She bolted the door and
then we sat down in front of the fire and never looked at the window
once, while she told me a long, lovely World Story about Psyche and her
little playmate Eros. Then when we had forgotten all about the Beautiful
Wicked Witch, we looked at the window by accident and she was gone.
Come, I'll tell you a World Story now, the same one."
But Eric hardly heard what she was saying. He moved nearer and nearer to
the window. Ivra followed him, charmed by the laughing face there too.
Then together they unbolted the windowpane and opened it outward. The
Beautiful Wicked Witch stepped in.
"How silly to be afraid of me, children," she laughed. "I have only come
to play with you."
"Oh goody!" cried both of the children together. For now that she was in
the room all their fear and wonder had vanished.
It was dusk, and so they lighted all the candles and poked the fire,
before they turned to entertain their guest. But the candles did not
burn very well, very faintly and flickeringly,--and the fire fell lower
and lower, instead of growing higher and higher as they nursed it.
"Don't mind about that," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "There's
enough light from the window for us to play together in. We won't bother
with the stubborn old fire and the silly little copy-cat candles. Come,
what shall we play?"
But the children had been playing hard all day, and their bodies were
tired. "Oh, tell us a story instead of playing," begged Ivra. "This is
the time when mother tells her very best stories."
"Well, I am not mother," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but I will
tell you the best stories I can. Come sit near the window where the
light is stronger. That fire will never burn while I am here. I am
brighter than it, and the old thing is jealous."
The children laughed at her joke. But it was true,--she was very bright.
Her eyes seemed to light the room, or perhaps it was her gown, like an
opal fire, blue and pink and purple, changing and glowing, and made of
the softest silk.
Ivra nestled close to her knee where she could stroke the gleaming silk.
Eric sprawled on the floor at her feet, his face upturned to hers.
Then she told them a story. It was not like any of Helma's World
Stories, but the children liked it. It was all about a gorgeous bird she
had at home in her tree-house. She told how she had heard it singing one
morning in early spring, high up in the branches of her tree, and how
she had watched it day after day flying back and forth in the forest,
its yellow breast flashing among the green leaves. It had a long golden
bill, and its tail was black as jet; and its wings were the softest gray
in the world with a feather of jet in either one. Its song was the
clearest, the highest, the purest of all the bird songs in the forest.
It was a wonderful bird, and she wanted it for her own.
Then she told the children how she had set traps for it, and how it had
escaped every time. But at last she had made a dear little cage, all
woven of spring flowers and leaves, and put food in it. Still the bird
escaped, pulling the food out with its long bill and never getting
inside the door. And finally she told them how she did capture that
wild, shy bird by learning its song and singing it sitting in her
tree-house with the window open, until the bird heard and came flying in
wonder to find what other bird was calling it. Then she had closed the
window and the bird was hers. It hung now in the pretty cage in her
prettiest room, and sometimes sang in the middle of the night.
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. "No, no. Mother
doesn't want us to visit you."
But Eric said, "May I open the cage door and the window and see the bird
flash away? I should like that."
"No. Well, perhaps," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Will you come
then?"
"I can't, I suppose, if Mother Helma doesn't want me to. Are you sure
she doesn't, Ivra?"
Ivra was sure.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed then. "Of course, if you _tell_ her
she won't let you come. But if you came without telling, how could she
mind?"
"That sounds true,--but someway it can't be," said Ivra. And that seemed
to end it.
But after a little the Beautiful Wicked Witch began another story. This
one was about a frock she had made, a wonderful thing all of cobwebs and
violet petals, with tiniest rosebuds around the neck. If Ivra were to
slip that frock over her head, and unbraid her funny little pigtails,
she would look as pretty as any fairy in the world.
Ivra was not too young to want to be pretty. If she would only go to the
Beautiful Wicked Witch's house, she could try on that dress, and wear it
for one whole day if she liked. Ivra clasped her hands. But then she
thought, and asked a question. "Could I play in it, and run and climb?
Would I be as free as in this little old brown smock?"
The Beautiful Wicked Witch raised her hands in horror. "My cobweb frock!
Why, it would be ruined! It would be in shreds! How can you even think
of treating it so!"
So Ivra shook her head until her funny little pigtails flopped from side
to side. "I don't want to wear it then for even a minute. What fun would
there be?"
"Well, think about it anyway," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch, and rose
to go away. "It's the fir, you know, beyond the white birch."
"Thank you for the stories," said the children.
"Good-by," said the Beautiful Wicked Witch. "Perhaps Eric will remember
and come. It's a gorgeous bird, and I haven't said he couldn't free it."
Then she slipped out into the snow flakes, turning to give them one
dancing look over her shoulder before the door swung to.
Up flamed the candles, clear high flames when she was gone, and the fire
crackled again, and took on new life, reaching higher and higher.
They got their supper together rather silently. But just before going to
sleep Ivra roused herself to say, "Let's promise each other we won't go
to the Beautiful Wicked Witch's fir until mother comes home,--and we can
tell her how jolly the Witch is, and what good stories she told us."
"I don't want to go anyway," answered Eric, "unless I can free the
bird."--But you see, he had not promised.
After a while, "Did you notice how pale her face was when she wasn't
laughing?" asked Eric.
"Yes, and not so beautiful then. Mother may come in the night, and we
never know it till morning!"
Soon they were asleep, a tired, but happy little girl and boy.
I think the Tree Mother sank down in her air-boat to look in at them and
open the door wide, which they had forgotten, so they would have fresh
air all night; but it was dark, and the room was shadowy, so perhaps it
was only the wind.