CHAPTER XI
THE BEAUTIFUL WICKED WITCH
The next morning before Eric woke Ivra slipped away to play with theForest Children.
"On such wild days as this they usually play indoors, for they're littlethings and the Snow Witches love to tease them," said the Tree Man.
"Perhaps she'll be telling them World Stories," thought Eric, and so hedecided to go to the little moss village, too, for though Ivra had toldhim dozens of World Stories by now, he always wanted to hear more. Soafter breakfast with the Tree Man and his pretty, shy daughter, he ranout in search of Ivra.
It was indeed a cold morning, blustering and raw. Eric felt chilledalmost as soon as he was out of doors. Very soon he lost his way, for hehad 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 thecold he came to the big fir where the Beautiful Wicked Witch lived. Itstood green and comforting among all the bare trees of winter.
Eric stopped to look, for now he remembered the Beautiful Wicked Witchand the bird she had caged in there. He saw a door in the tree trunkajar, and swinging to and fro with tiny tinkling music. He peeped in,and between the swingings caught glimpses of little blue and yellowflowers arranged in tight bunches in hanging vases. He could smell theirsweetness even out there in the cold air.
Then high up in the tree trunk a window opened, and he heard the birdsinging. The Beautiful Wicked Witch's face appeared at the window,looking down at him. Her black eyes were sparkling and she noddedgood-morning to him as though he were a prince, or at least a grown-up.He could not help nodding back. He liked her very much, she was sobeautiful and so friendly.
"Come in and get warm," she called, "and I'll show you my pretty bird."
Eric remembered Ivra's warnings, but he wanted to go in so much that hefound himself doing it. The door tinkled louder music when he touchedit, and he pushed his way through, as a bee pushes his way into aflower.
The Witch came running twinklingly down a spiral stairway. She kissedhis mouth, took off his winged cap and coat, threw them somewhere out ofsight, and then he had time to look at her well.
Her gown was green satin, the color of the fir boughs, and her littlesandals were green satin, too. A green fir frond bound her forehead; andher black hair hung loose, soft and electric to her waist. Eric hadnever seen a prettier person in the world, nor one more kind.
She took his two hands and began to whirl in a happy dance. Eric danced,too, for joy and good comradeship. Round and round the room they whirleduntil their breath was spent.
Then the Beautiful Wicked Witch took him up the spiral staircase to showhim the bird. Up and up they went, until they came to a little room highin the tree. The floor was carpeted with yellow satin, and yellowcurtains hung at the window. Deep blue mirrors lined the walls, and theyreflected Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch dozens of times over.
The pretty bird cage, all made of flowers and leaves, hung in the verymiddle of the room. Eric stood by it a long time. He put his fingersthrough the bars, and stroked the bird's soft feathers. But the gorgeousbird paid no attention to him, and did not sing.
"Why doesn't it hop about?" he asked the Beautiful Wicked Witch.
The Witch frowned and pouted. "It ought to, I'm sure. I like to see ithopping. But it would rather sulk. It thinks all the time about theforest, and its mate who is out there somewhere. Sometimes it sings,though. Its voice is wonderful."
"Oh, let's open the cage and free him," cried Eric.
But the Beautiful Wicked Witch seized his hand. "No, no, _no_! It is_mine_. I have caged it in my pretty cage. And it fits into the room,don't you think?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Eric.
"Why, you fit into it, too," said the Witch, looking hard at him. "Youryellow hair and blue eyes match the yellow and blue flowers. Would youlike 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 toherself, around the room. Then Eric noticed other cages. The walls werelined 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 helda pretty gray squirrel, running 'round and 'round on a wheel. He stoppedevery 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 uprunning and playing long ago, and was huddled in the farthest anddarkest corner of his cage, his little beady eyes open and watchful.
Eric walked around the room, looking at all the poor little animals andbirds. One and all peered through their bars with watchful and fearfuleyes. Eric remembered himself in the canning factory and pitied themmore than he could ever have done had he not once been a caged littlecreature too. How he longed to open their doors and the window, and seethem scamper and fly away!
But the Witch had stopped her dancing by the bird cage in the middle ofthe room, and her little hands were between the bars stroking the brightbird-breast. She was saying, "Sing for us, bird. Sing your nicest songfor us. Little Eric wants to hear it."
The bird began to beat its wings and breast against the bars. Again andagain its bright breast struck the door. But it did not fly open.
"It does not want to sing," laughed the Beautiful Wicked Witch; "but itmust. Sing, bird, sing! It does you no good to struggle. You can't getaway. Sing, sing!"
Then the bird sang. Its song was truly wonderful, high and clear, asEric had heard it from outside. But now that he could see the bird cagedhe 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 theWitch again. He would find Ivra and the Forest Children and forget allabout these cages. So he said good-by to the Witch and ran down thespiral staircase. But he could not find the door out. He went round andround the wall, but there was no sign of a door. It was indeed as thougha flower had let him in and then closed its petals tight.
The little posies swung in their cases, the bird sang up stairs, and theBeautiful Wicked Witch played and danced, and laughed at all hissearching. She would do nothing to help him find the door.
All that day he wandered up stairs and down stairs, or stood at thewindow looking down through the green fir branches to the freeforest-floor. Once the Witch offered to tell him stories. But he wantedno stories of caged things, and those were all the stories she knew. TheWitch did not mind his short answers and dark face. She seemed perfectlyable to have a good time with herself, and needed no comrades.
At last night fell. The rooms blossomed with candlelight. In the yellowroom up stairs the Beautiful Wicked Witch paraded back and forth beforethe mirrors, loving her own reflection, smiling at herself, courtesying,frowning, looking back over her shoulder,--lifting her hair to let itfall again in electric waves. Eric stood by the window, thoroughly wearyof his search and loneliness, and watched her. The bird sat in the cageand watched her. All the little bright eyes of animals watched her. Thecandles burned steadily.
How Eric longed for Ivra now, and their own big friendly room. Heimagined Ivra in the room there all alone getting her supper over thefire, bathing in the fountain bath, opening the windows, and at lastfalling softly to sleep before the firelight faded.
Oh, if there were only a window open here! How hot it was, and howover-sweetly scented! The Beautiful Wicked Witch went on posing andpreening before the mirrors, and seemed to have forgotten all about hernew little prisoner.
So he pulled back the yellow satin curtain, and looked out. It wasclear, cold starlight. He pressed his face against the window pane andstared down into the shadows beneath the fir. And there, standing erectin the shadow, her face lifted like a pale little moon, stood Ivra.
She saw him, but did not wave. She only nodded, as though she knew nowwhat she had come to make sure of. She stood still for a few minutes,until Eric almost thought she was frozen in the cold. But at last shemov
ed and disappeared under the fir.
Music tinkled through the house. The Beautiful Wicked Witch poised onher toes, surprisedly looking into the reflection of her own eyes.
"Some one has come in, for that was the door," she said. "It opensinward with music."
Eric's heart stood still. Had Ivra come into the Witch's house, Ivra whowas so afraid of the Witch? He ran down the stairs and the Witchfollowed him. Yes, Ivra stood there in the middle of the warm,flower-hung room, like a little cold star beam.
But she did not look at the quaint flowers in their golden vases. Andwhen the Witch ran to her and kissed her she did not even look at her.She looked only at Eric, and her eyes said, "I have come to free you."
"Oh, so you did want to try on the pretty frock after all," cried theWitch, and drew her up the stairs. Eric followed to the yellow room."No," said Ivra. But the Witch brought it out and tried to slip it overher head. It was sheerest gossamer web, and shimmered like moonlight.And the little rosebuds seemed to make it belong to Ivra.
Eric forgot all about being a prisoner, and forgot the little cagedcreatures around the wall. He was delighted with the frock being pusheddown on Ivra's shoulders. "How beautiful you'll be!" he cried. But Ivrawriggled away from it and stood clear. Her rudely made brown frock andworn sandals looked odd in that satin room. "I didn't come to see thefrock," she said, shaking her head till her pigtails bobbed. "I came toget Eric."
The Beautiful Wicked Witch laughed. "Get him if you can," she said. Thenshe turned her back on the children and began to braid her black hairamong the mirrors.
They went to the window and waited there, watching her.
"The door doesn't open out,--only in, I think," Eric whispered. "So wecan't get out."
"Mother has told me how it would be," Ivra whispered back. "We'll haveto wait until she's asleep and then find a way."
Then Ivra sat down on the floor and began to rock back and forth andsing a lullaby. It was a lullaby her mother had sung to her all herbabyhood, Ivra sang in a very little voice, almost a murmur only, but bylistening Eric and the Beautiful Wicked Witch could catch the words. Shesang the same words over and over and over.
Night is in the forest, Tree Mother is nigh. By-abye, by-abye-bye.
Sleep is in the forest-- His feathers brush your eye. By-abye, by-abye-bye.
Mother's arms are holding you, Forest dreams are folding you. By-abye, by-abye--bye.
The Beautiful Wicked Witch sat down before the mirrors after a while,still watching her reflection, but listening to the song, too. Her headgradually sank lower and lower, first resting chin in hand and at lastright down on her arm stretched along the floor. Her face lay turnedtowards the children, and they saw the mirth slowly fade in her greatblack eyes, the lids drop lower and lower,--and then she was asleepsuddenly. Now she looked almost as young as themselves, and like a palechild who has fallen to sleep at its play.
But the children did not stop to look at her. Once they were sure shewas asleep they were off searching for the door. Up and down the stairsand all around the rooms they ran on tiptoes. But it was no use, and atlast they came back to the window.
"We must jump," whispered Ivra.
Eric looked down, and wondered. It was a long way to the ground!
"The snow is soft beneath the crust," Ivra said. "It will only cut us alittle."
"Let's take the bird," Eric said. Ivra ran to it, and opened the cagedoor. It hopped onto her finger eagerly, and she held its bill so thatit would not sing.
Eric opened the window. "I'll jump first," he whispered.
But Ivra said, "Oh, let's hold hands and jump together."
The Beautiful Wicked Witch felt the cold night air from the window onher face, and stirred in her sleep. Her eyelids quivered. So thechildren did not wait a minute more. They climbed up onto the windowsill, Ivra still holding the bird. "One, two, three," she whispered, andthey jumped.
Out and down they went like two shooting stars and plunked through thesnowcrust. They were up in a second. Their wrists and elbows were alittle bruised and cut, but they were not really hurt at all. Butstrange and strange, the bird had fluttered near Ivra's hand for thatsecond, and then flew straight back up and into the open window. It hadbeen caged so long it did not really want its freedom after all. Ericcried out with regret.
But Ivra seized his hand, and they ran home together through the cold,starlit forest. Before they leapt the hedge into their own garden Ericsaw the firelight blossoming in the windows. But he stood still outsidethe door, after Ivra had gone in, for a time, breathing the cold air andthe clear silence right down into his toes.