Just as the children reached the top of the wall, the door into the garden from the stern gray mansion behind it opened and through it came three people.  First was a very tall lady all wrapped up in furs,—­tails and heads of the poor animals that had been slain to make them hanging from her shoulders and down her back.  Even the children could see that her face was sour in spite of all its smiling.  Then came a young man in a stiff, funny hat, carrying a cane, beating up the snow flowers with it as he passed the flower beds.  And behind them walked—­Helma, with her gaze on the ground.  That is why they did not know her at first, that and her very strange clothes.  She was dressed all in velvet and fur, and her arms up to her elbows were hidden in a huge white muff.  She swayed as she walked on weird little high heels and the toes of her boots drew out to long points, almost like a goblin’s.  Her hat was a velvet affair, so awkward and heavy it seemed to weigh down her head, and her candleflame hair was smothered under it.  Is it any wonder that they did not know her like that!

But when she walked close under the wall and they heard her voice they knew her, and the Wind Creatures had to hold Ivra from jumping down and throwing herself into her arms.  “Wait,” they whispered.

From their high place on the wall they could look down on the heads of the three people, and hear all they were saying.  They had never learned that it is not fair to listen that way.

From all Helma said they could plainly see she was a prisoner.  She was pleading with the old woman.  She was saying, “No, never, never, never, in a thousand days and years will I ever be happy here.  My place is in the forest.  Oh, how these heels bother!”

“Silly girl!” cried the old woman, smiling more than ever, and looking more disagreeable than ever at the same time.  “Your place is where you were born-in a fine house and wearing clothes like other people.  Heels indeed!  Did you expect them to do any thing else but bother?  Mine have bothered for sixty years, but you haven’t heard me complain.”

“Neither would I,” Helma said, “if I didn’t know about other kinds of shoes that don’t hurt.  Those sandals I wore when you caught me didn’t hurt.  Why can’t I wear those, at least when I walk in the garden?”

“Well, you might,” began the old woman, a little more kindly, and smiling less, “if you promise always to put on the high heels before coming into the drawing room—­”

“No,” said the young man sharply.  “Let her once into the garden in her sandals and she’ll climb the wall and be off.  I say that we give her no chance to escape.  After she has been to a hundred or so balls and worn these beautiful and appropriate clothes long enough she’ll be glad of her luck, and nothing could drag her into the forest.  Believe me!”

Now Helma stopped pleading, and laughed at the young man.  “Do you think high heels, or even a hat that weighs down my head like this horrid one can keep me much longer from my little daughter, and that dear new little boy?  What they are doing without me all this time—­I wonder!” She stopped laughing to sigh.