It was very cold kneeling there and clinging in the tip of the great beech-tree.  The forest below was still and dark.  But the air and the wintry star-filled sky were bright with a blue, cold light.  After the warmth at the heart of the tree, the cold was almost unbearable.  Eric longed to wave his arms about, and jump up and down to get warm, but he had to cling, still and motionless, to the branches to keep from falling.

At last Ivra whispered “It’s our turn now,” and taking Eric’s hand, she made him jump with her right out into cold space.  For one awful instant he thought they were both falling down, down to the ground.  But they had only dropped into the air-boat.  The Tree Mother leaned forward and pulled a blanket over them.  Her eyes as she did it, looked straight into Eric’s.  They were dark, and deep as the forest shadows.  He began to speak to tell her who he was, for her look was questioning.  But she put her finger to her lips.  Then he noticed for the first time that every one was silent.  Even the Tree Man and his daughter who stood in the tree top waving good-by spoke no words, only nodded and waved.  The last Bird Fairy fluttered noiselessly in.  Eric lay back under the warm blanket, snuggled against Ivra.  A Bird Fairy nestled into the palm of each of his hands.  All was still and warm.  The air-boat slipped away high and higher over the tree-tops and on and on.

On a cold, starlit night, nestled in feathery warmth, to sail over the dark tree-tops, high and higher and on and on—­that is a wonderful thing.  And when the Tree Mother stands above you, wrapped in her dark cloak with her face shining under her cloudy white hair, now and then bending to tuck the blanket more snugly about you—­what could be more blissful?

Very soon Eric became drowsy against his will.  His eyelids dropped like curtains shutting out the stars.  But he roused when the boat stopped, hovered, and sank down like a bird until it rested on the crusted snow in the middle of a tiny village of tiny moss houses; only now, of course, the houses were covered with snow, and looked like baby Eskimo huts.  The Forest Children crept sleepily out of the boat, kissing the Tree Mother good-by as though in a dream.  Not a word was spoken.  There was the creak of their little feet on the cold snow,—­that was all.  Each child went alone into his little house.  They were lighted and looked warm through the doors, and Tree Mother nodded as though that were well.  But before the air-boat had risen out of sight, the lights were all out, and the Forest Children sound asleep, snuggled into their moss beds.

From then on stops were frequent, and Eric woke at each one.  At every Bird Fairy nest at which they stopped, the Tree Mother leaned from the boat and scooped the crusted snow out of the nest.  Then when the Bird Fairy was settled down, she powdered the snow with her fingers until it was soft, and heaped it over the little creature, who was already asleep.