NORA'S GRANDCHILDREN
One afternoon Eric and Ivra started out for the Forest Children's moss
village to play with them. But when they got there they found all the
little houses deserted: not a Forest Child was to be found. They must
have gone into some other part of the forest to play. So Ivra and Eric
wandered on and on, a little lonely, a little tired of just each other
for comrades, till at last they came to the very edge of the
forest,--and there was Nora's farm, a rambling red brick house, with a
barn twice its size behind it. Down in the pasture by the house half a
dozen Snow Witches were dancing in a circle, now near, now far, all over
the pasture, and sometimes right up to the farm-house windows.
Ivra clapped her hands and bounded forward. Eric did not follow. He
stood to watch. When the Snow Witches saw Ivra running to them they
rushed to meet her. For a minute she was lost in a cloud of blown snow,
and then there she was dancing in their circle back and forth across the
pasture, and then away, away, away! But before she frolicked quite out
of sight she turned to look for her playfellow, and beckoned to him.
"Come on," she called. "We're going to slide on the brook below the
cornfield."
But Eric did not follow. He did not like the Snow Witches. And just as
Ivra and the Witches drifted out of sight, he thought he heard the
Forest Children laughing. The sound came from the barn. So Eric ran to
the door. It was a big sliding door, and now stood open on a crack just
large enough for a child to slip through. Eric went in.
The barn was tremendously big, a great dusty place full of the smell of
hay. Ahead of him were two stalls, with a horse in one. But Eric was
most interested in the empty stall, for it was from there the laughter
seemed to come. He stood looking and listening, and then right down
through the ceiling of the stall shot a child, and landed laughing and
squealing in the hay in the manger. She sat up, saw Eric and stared. She
was a little girl about his own age, freckle-faced, snub-nosed and
red-haired. She had the jolliest, the nicest face in the world.
Eric opened his mouth to say, "Hello," but kept it open, silent in
amazement, for another child had shot through the ceiling and landed
beside the girl. This was a boy. He was red-headed, too, freckle-faced
and snub-nosed. He looked even jollier than the girl.
Before Eric had closed his mouth on his amazement, "Whoop!" and down
came another boy. This boy was red-haired, freckle-faced and snub-nosed,
and he looked jollier than the other two put together, if that were
possible, for his red hair curled in saucy, tight little ringlets, and
his mouth was wide with smiles.
It was this last one who said, "Hello, who are you?"
"Eric,--who are you?"
"Nora's grandchildren, of course. Come up. We're having sport."
The three children ran across the barn to a ladder and scrambled up and
disappeared through a trap door at the top. Eric followed. The attic was
full of hay in mountains and little hills,--hay and hay and hay. He
followed the children around the biggest mountain, through a tunnel--and
there they vanished!
He found the hole in the stable ceiling and looked down. Not very far
below him was the manger full of hay and red-headed children. "Look out
down there! Whoop!" cried Eric, and dropped, landing among them.
Then the four laughed heartily together and ran across the barn again,
up the ladder, around the hay mountain and dropped down the hole. They
did that dozens of times until they were tired of it.
Then they played hide-and-go-seek in the hay country, and after that
Blind Man's Buff in the barn below. The little girl was Blind Man first.
They tied a red handkerchief tight over her eyes. Then they ran about,
dodging her, calling her, laughing at her groping hands and hesitating
steps. But after a few minutes she became accustomed to the darkness and
ran and jumped about after them until they had to be very wary and swift
indeed. Soon she caught Eric and then he was Blind Man.
By and by they played tag, just plain tag, and Eric liked that best of
all. Back and forth across the great room they raced,--up the ladder,
over the hay, through the hole into the stable, round and round, in and
out, up and down until they were too tired and hot for any more.
Then they lay up in the hay where there was a little window, looking far
out across the meadows.
Eric saw Ivra out there in the first field, wandering around alone and
now and then looking up at the barn. She must have heard their shouts
and laughter. He pointed her out to the other children. "That is my
playmate out there," he said. "Let's open the window and call to her to
come up. She'll tell us stories."
The children looked out eagerly. "But there's nobody there," they said.
Eric laughed. "No, look!" He pointed with his finger. "Over there by the
white birch. Look! She sees us." He waved. "Quick, help me open the
window."
He could not find the catch. The window was draped with cobwebs and
dusty with the dust of years. It looked as though it had never been
opened.
The little red-headed girl put her hand on his arm. She was laughing.
"Don't be silly," she said. "There's no one by the white birch. You're
imagining."
"Why, look! Of course she's there!" Eric was impatient. "She's moving
now, waving to us. Of course you see her!"
"Yes," said the jolliest of the boys. "We do see it--faintly. We've seen
it before too,--a kind of a shadow on the snow. But father says it's
nothing to mind. Imaginings. Nothing real, just spots in our eyes or
something."
Then Eric remembered all that Ivra had told him. She was half fairy.
People could see her if they looked hard enough. But they were not apt
to believe their own eyes when they had looked. That was dreadful for
her. She had not said so, but he had guessed it from her face when she
told him. Well, well, now he understood a little better. These were
Earth Children, with shadows in their eyes. Ivra could never be their
playmate.
But _he_ could see her well enough because his eyes were clear. And
presently he would run out to her and they would go home together. But
just now it was jolly and cozy here in the barn, and these Earth
Children were good fun. He hoped she would wait for him, but if she did
not he would find his way alone easily enough.
"You don't really believe in it, do you?" the red-headed girl was
asking. "If you do,--better not. Grown-ups will laugh at you."
"Nora, your grandmother, won't laugh," said Eric. "She knows Ivra well
enough, and Helma, too."
"Oh, yes," said the jolliest boy. "But she is queer. We love her, and
she's a fine grandmother, I can tell you. And she tells the best
stories. But she's queer just the same, and she can't fool us."
"Let's go in and get some cookies from her," said the other boy. "They
must be done by now."
So up they hopped, and without another look towards the shadow out on
the snow by the white birch, jumped down the hole, and ran out of the
barn into the kitchen.
Nora was there knitting by a table, two big pans of cookies just out of
the oven cooling in front of her.
How good they smelled! Eric had never tasted hot ginger cookies before,
and when Nora gave him one, a big round one all for his own, he almost
danced with delight. He perched on the edge of the table and ate that
one and many another before he was done.
"This boy, grandma," began the red-headed girl.
"His name is Eric," interrupted Nora, handing him another cookie. "I
know him very well."
"Well, he saw It while we were looking out of the barn window! And he
said It was real and his playmate, and he wanted to call It in to tell
us stories!"
"Don't say 'It,'" said Nora. "Her name is 'Ivra.' But of course you
can't play with her. She isn't an Earth Child. She's a fairy. So don't
say anything about it to your father when he comes home to-night. It
would make him cross."
"But it doesn't make you cross," laughed the jolliest boy. "And so won't
you tell us some stories about it now. You know,--the little house in
the wood, the Tree Man, the Forest Children, Helma, Ivra and all the
rest of it."
"Do tell us a story," begged the other two.
So Nora put down her knitting, and taking the cat on her lap, a great
sleepy white fellow who had been purring by the stove, she began to tell
them stories.
She told stories about Helma and Ivra, the Wind Creatures, the Snow
Witches and many more. The children listened eagerly, clapping their
hands now and then, and at the end of every story asking for more.
But Eric was lost in wonder. The children thought the stories were not
true,--just fairy stories told them by a grandmother. And Nora had
evidently long ago given up expecting them to believe. Her black eyes
twinkled knowingly when they met Eric's puzzled ones.
And all the time Eric had only to turn his head to see Ivra walking out
there around in the field, looking at the farm house, waiting for him.
But gradually, as the stories went on the little figure out there grew
more and more to look like just a blue shadow on the snow, paler and
paler. Finally he had to strain his eyes to see it at all.
Then he jumped down from the table and said he must go home. His heart
was beating a little wildly. For he was afraid Ivra might fade away from
him altogether. These red-headed children were fine playfellows. He
liked them,--oh, so much! He wished he could stay and play with them
for--a week. Yes. But he must go now. That blue shadow on the snow
seemed lonely.
"Take her some cookies," said Nora, filling his pockets. The children
laughed at the top of their voices. "Yes, take some cookies to the
fairy. But you can eat them yourself and pretend it is the fairy eating
them," they cried.
Nora laughed with them, and so after a minute Eric joined in. But he and
Nora looked at each other through their laughter and nodded
understanding.
When Ivra saw him at last come out of the farm house door, she didn't
wait longer, but ran away into the wood. He overtook her a long way in,
walking rapidly.
"Did you have a good time with the witches?" he asked.
"Why didn't you come, too?" she said
"Oh, it was too cold. Nora's grandchildren are awfully good fun. We
played hide-and-go-seek, just as we played it at the Tree Man's party."
"Did they laugh at me?"
" . . . No, they laughed at me. They thought I was a funny boy."
"To have me for a playmate?"
Then Eric began to think that Ivra was not very happy. Perhaps she had
been lonely.
"You're always running off with the Snow Witches," he said. "But I won't
play with Nora's grandchildren any more unless they'll let you play too.
I won't, truly!"
Ivra laughed. And it was like spring coming into winter. "Yes, play with
them all you like! I love them, too. I've often watched them. The
littlest boy, the one with the funny curls, laughs at me and stares and
stares. But the other two . . . they just give me a glance and then forget
all about me. They don't think I'm real. But they are awfully jolly. You
play with them and when you tell me about it afterwards I'll pretend I
was there playing too."
Then the two clasped hands and went skipping home.