She held them off and looked into their eyes.

She was dressed in a brown silk gown, all torn and stained from her wall-climbing and rush through the bushes.  Her feet were bare, for she had kicked off her funny high-heeled city boots the minute she had reached the forest.  Her hair had grown to her shoulders and looked more like flower petals than ever.  But her face was not brown and serene, as Eric had first seen it.  It was pale and wild.

“They don’t believe in you, children,” she said.  “They don’t believe in me, not the me that I am.  And from morning to night they made me a slave.  They made me wear such ugly, hurting things, and then they made me dance!  Every night we danced in hot rooms and ate strange bad-tasting food.  They called dancing like that a party.  But I could only remember our forest parties, and our dancing here under the cool moon.

“The only glimpse of the forest I had was your Snow Witches, Ivra.  Sometimes I saw them from my bedroom window, ’way out in the fields, whirling and scudding in mad games.  And then at last one morning some Wind Creatures flew by, above the garden wall!  But when I called Wild Star back and tried to ask him about you, children, as he perched on the wall, they came rushing into the garden and dragged me away.  They said it was time for luncheon, and I must change my frock.  But let us forget.  I am here!  It is spring!”

She jumped up and stood just as the Tree Girl had stood earlier that morning, her face lifted in the wind.  Slowly that face grew calm and warm color flooded it.

“How nicely cleaned the house is!” she exclaimed when at last they went in.  For she did not see the tracks on the floor nor the clouded windows.  All she saw was that the children had worked there to make it fit for her home-coming.

Ivra was proud and glad that she noticed.  “I have made you a spring frock too,” she said, bringing it out.  “And Eric has made you some sandals.  He makes fine sandals now!”

The frock was a brown smock with a narrow green belt.

The sandals were well made, and very soft and light.

Helma stripped off the tattered silk frock, the funny thing with its long sleeves and stiff lace collar, and hid it away out of sight.  On went the new smock over her head in a twinkling.  She stepped into the sandals.  And there was their mother, the Helma Eric had first seen.

“The garden now, we must see about that,” she said in her old quiet way.  Then they went out into the garden, and Helma began to plan just where there should plant seeds and just what must be done.  The children clung to her hands, looking up into her face, and would not let her take a step away from them.  When she stood still they leaned against her, one against either side, and wound their arms about her.