The Little House in the Fairy Wood

  CHAPTER IV

  THE GOSSIP

  He slept long and deeply, for when he woke he felt rested. But he did notopen his eyes. "It must be time for Mrs. Freg to shake me," he wasthinking. "Until she does I'll just stay as I am and pretend it wasn't adream, but real." For although he remembered very well all that hadhappened to him yesterday, he could not believe it was true.

  So he lay still in his snug bed, wondering that Mrs. Freg's boys hadleft him so much of the bed-clothes. "How fine to have a little time topretend a dream!" he said to himself. But Mrs. Freg did not come and didnot come, until at last he opened his eyes, just in wonderment. "It mustbe six o'clock!"

  When he saw where he was, and that the dream was true, his heart almoststood still for joy. He was indeed far away in the woods, safe and snugand warm in this bright house, and Mrs. Freg could never reach him here.And he would not go to the canning factory that day, nor the next, northe next, nor ever again. The new mother had said so. His happinessbrought him up in bed wide awake, and then he got out. He had notlearned to bound out yet, but that came.

  The fire was burning merrily. All was in order, the beds made and pushedback against the wall, the hearth swept, and some clusters of bright redberries arranged above the fireplace. But where were Ivra andHelma?--Ivra had called her mother "Helma" last night, and so it wasthat Eric already called her and thought of her. There was not thetiniest sign of them.

  Oh, but yes. There on the floor near the hearth lay a little brownsandal, one of its strings pulled out and making a curlycue on thefloor. That must belong to Ivra. The fire, the red berries, and thelittle, worn sandal, seemed to be wishing Eric a good morning and ahappy day. There was plenty of mush in the pot swinging over the fire,and on the table drawn up to it, a wooden spoon, a bowl, and a jug ofrich cream. So they had not forgotten him. They had only let him sleepas long as he would. They must have stolen about like mice, gettingbreakfast, clearing up, and tidying the room; and then closed the doorvery softly behind them when they went out.

  And wonder of wonders! After yesterday's Indian Summer, outside it was awild winter day. Gusts of snow were hurling against all the windows ofthe house, and blowing a fine spray under the door. Eric with his faceagainst a windowpane could see only as far as the evergreen hedgebecause the trees beyond were wreathed in whirling snowclouds. The deadflowers in the garden were hidden under the blowing snow. The littlestraight walk up to the door was lost in it, and the footprints Ivra andHelma must have made when they went away were hidden too.

  Something red blew against the hedge. For a minute Eric thought it was abig bird. But it found the opening and came through, and then he saw itwas a little old woman. She came briskly up to the house, a red capeblowing about her, sometimes right up over her head, for because of thejug she was carrying she could not hold it down. She walked in withoutstopping to knock and was as surprised to see Eric there as he was tosee her. But she got over it at once.

  "Good morning," she said cheerfully, going across the room, whisking apitcher out of the cupboard and emptying her jug of milk into it. "Thisis the milk for them, and it's as much as ever that I got here with it.The wind is in a fine mood-pushed me here and there all the way throughthe wood, and tried to steal my cape from me, say nothing of Helma'smilk! Perhaps some of the Wind Creatures wanted them, or it might be oldTree Man himself, looking for a winter cape for his daughter. But Isaid, 'No, no. The milk is for Helma and little Ivra! I take it to themevery morning and I'll take it this morning whether or no, so pull allyou like--cape or milk you'll not get. The cape has a good clasp, andI've a good hold of the jug. Pull away!"

  Here the old woman--the pitcher put away, and the cupboard doorclosed--dropped down on the settle and waited for Eric to speak. She wasa jolly little old woman, one could see at a glance. Her face was thecolor of a good red apple, and just as round and shiny. Her eyes werebeady black, bright and quick, and surrounded by a hundred finestwrinkles, that all the smiles of her life had made. Her mouth was pursedup like a button, out of which her words came shooting, quick and brightand merry.

  Eric stood looking at her, not thinking to say anything. So after thebriefest pause she went on, peeping into the pot.

  "I see you have some mush here, so as I've come all the way from thefarm and am ready for a second breakfast after my tussle with the wind,I'll share it with you. Or perhaps you have had yours already."

  "No, no," cried Eric, suddenly remembering how hungry he was and hopingshe would not take it all. "I have just waked up."

  "So. Then we'll breakfast together," and away she flew to the cupboardagain and brought out a second bowl and spoon. Then she stirred the mushround and round a few times and dished it up. Eric noticed that shedivided it exactly evenly. She flooded both bowls with cream, andtogether they sat down to it. What a good breakfast that was, and howfast the little old woman talked!

  But in spite of all her talking and flying around she had looked Eric upand down and through and through, and made up her mind what kind of aperson he was. What she saw was a pale little boy of nine in a raggedshirt and trousers, and barefooted. His hair was shaggy and unbrushedbut tossed back from a wide brow. His mouth was sullen. But she forgotall about shabby clothes, unbrushed hair, and sullen mouth when she cameto his eyes. They were wide and clear, and returned the old woman's keenglance with a gaze of steady interest. Sullen and pale, butclear-eyed--she liked the little stranger. And so she went on talking.

  "I bring them milk every day. It's a long way here from my farm, but nottoo far when it's for them. Helma's gone into the village, hasn't she?When I came to Little Pine Hill this morning the snow stopped whirlingfor a minute, and I caught a glimpse of her a-striding across thefields. It's a fine way of walking she has--like the bravest of ForestPeople! When I reached the Tree Man's the wind didn't stop for me, but Ispied that child, Ivra, just where I knew she'd be,--racing and chasingand dancing with the Snow Witches out at the edge of the wood. 'It's apity she can't go with her mother,' I said to myself when I saw her,'and not be wasting her time like that. The Snow Witches are no good toany one. But--'"

  Eric interrupted there, having finished his mush and pricking up hiscars at the mention of witches.

  "Are they really witches?" he cried. "And have you seen them yourself?"

  "What else would they be?" asked the old woman. "They're the creaturesthat come out in windy, snowy weather, to dance in the open fields andrun along country roads. Ordinary people are afraid of them and stayindoors when they're about. Their streaming white hair has a way oflashing your face as they rush by, and then they never look wherethey're going. They care nothing about running into you and knocking thebreath out of you. Then, they're so cruel to children!"

  "But Ivra isn't afraid of them!" wondered Eric.

  "Not she," said the old woman. "She runs _with_ them instead of awayfrom them. When I saw them back there they had all taken hands and wereleaping in a circle around her. She was jumping and dancing in thecenter as wild and lawless as they, and just as high, too. . . . But it's apity she isn't with her mother all the same, going on decent errands inthe village. Only of course it's not her fault, poor child! She daren'tgo into the village."

  "Why _daren't_ she?" asked Eric.

  "_How_ dare she?" cried the old woman. "She'd be seen, for she's onlypart fairy, of course. But hush, hush!"

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. "What am I telling you,--one ofthe secrets of the forest, and you a stranger here? You must forget itall. Ivra's a good child. Now don't ask me any more questions, or Imight tell you more."

  But Eric had begun to wonder. What did it mean, that Ivra was partfairy? And why wasn't it safe for her to be seen in the village? Andwere there really witches, and was she playing with them out there inthe wild day?

  The old woman was talking on, but he heard no more.

  Then the door blew open in a snowy gust of wind, and there stood Helma,the mother, her arms full of bundles, her cheeks ruddy from the wind,and her short hair cri
sp and blown.