The old woman took her hand not unkindly.  “My poor, dear girl,” she said, “how many times must I tell you it is only a dream, that house in the woods and the little girl and boy?  They aren’t really there at all, you know.  You have dreamed them.  Come, cheer up.  Be a brave girl.  We have parties and good times enough here, if you will only get into the spirit of them, to make up for all your forest foolishness.”

Helma answered in a low even voice, that showed well enough how sure she was of the truth of what she was saying—­“No, they are realer than you.  Ivra is realer than all the people in that mansion put together, cousins, uncles, aunts, guests, servants and all.  She is my little fairy daughter.”

“No,” said the young man.

The wings of the Wind Creatures on the top of the wall rustled just then in a gust of cold north wind.  Helma threw up her head as at a familiar sound, and her eyes slowly lifted to the faces of the children looking down.  For a minute she looked steadily at them without believing, and then it was as though her pale face suddenly burst into song.  But the old woman and the young man were not looking at her and so they noticed nothing.  The young man said, “The neighbors have talked about us enough already for all your queer ideas and doings.  So you’ll wear no sandals, no, nor sleep with your skylight open, as you’re always asking, nor go one step outside the wall until you have come to your senses and are more like other people.  So there!”

But Helma laughed, her head thrown back, so that the children could look into her happy eyes and see the glow of her short hair under her grotesque hat.

“Keep your keys, cousin,” she said, “and your old skylight keep shut tight as tight.  I shall find a way out.  But my children must be patient, and Ivra must teach Eric to keep his face and body clean.  They must not forget meal-times, and when anything goes wrong, or they think it is going wrong, they must ask the Tree Man’s advice.  I will find a way to them soon.  They must keep happy and wait.”

She said all that slowly and distinctly, her eyes smiling into theirs.

“What silly talk,” laughed the sour old lady.  “Just as though you were making a speech.  Well, it must be luncheon time now, and high time we were changing our frocks.  Wear your gray velvet, Helma, and don’t forget to put on stockings to match.  There’s to be strawberry ice to-day,—­and goose to begin with of course.  Cook says she has never seen a tenderer—­”

The old lady went on talking about the wonderful luncheon they were to have until they were out of hearing.  But the children on the gray wall could see that Helma was going in differently from the way she had come out.  Her head was high, and she stepped out in her funny high heeled boots as though she were walking in sandals.  At the little door into the mansion she turned and waved her queer great muff to the children and the Wind Creatures, and they heard her laugh.