OVER THE TREE TOPS

He was waked by Ivra’s joyous cries just at dawn, and rolled out of his shelter, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms and legs. But as soon as his eyes were well open he jumped up and uttered a cry of joy himself. For hanging just above the water on the edge of the sea was a great blue sea-shell air-boat with blue sails; and the Tree Mother stood in it, talking to Helma and Ivra who had run down to the water’s edge.

The boat and the sails were blue. Tree Mother’s gown was blue. The sea and the sky were blue. Tiny white caps feathered the water. Tiny white clouds feathered the sky. And Tree Mother’s hair was whiter and more feathery than either. Her eyes were dark like the Tree Man’s, only keener and softer, both. And in spite of her being a grandmother her face was brown and golden like a young out-of-door girl’s, and she was slim and quick and more than beautiful. Eric stood beside Ivra, his face lifted up to the Tree Mother’s, aglow and quivering.

“She is going to take us home,” Ivra said softly.

Then Tree Mother turned the boat, and it drifted in and down on the sand. The children and Helma climbed in. The Tree Mother said very little on the long ride, but her presence was enough. The three were almost trembling for joy, for the Tree Mother’s companionship is rare, and one of the splendidest things that can happen to a Forest Person.

The minute they were in the boat, it shot up and away towards home.

“Where are the Blue Water Children?” Eric cried, suddenly remembering their playmates of yesterday.

“Have you been playing with Blue Water Children?” asked Tree Mother. “They are gypsy-folk and you never know where you will find them next. They are probably miles away by now.”

“Faster, faster, Tree Mother,” begged Ivra, who was hanging over the side of the boat and losing herself in joy with the motion and height.

“Faster?” said the Tree Mother. “Then take care! Hold on!”

The boat shot forward with a sudden rush. The spring air changed from cool feathers to a sharp wing beating their faces. Eric and Ivra slipped to the floor and lay on their backs. They dared not sit up for fear of being swept overboard. They could see nothing but the sky from where they lay, but they loved the speed, and clapped their hands, and Ivra cried, “Faster, faster!”

The Tree Mother laughed. “These are brave children,” she thought. “Shut your eyes then,” she said, “and don’t try too hard to breathe.”

They swept on more swiftly than a wild-goose, so swiftly that soon the children could neither hear, speak nor see. And then at last they were traveling so fast that it felt as though the boat were standing perfectly still in a cold dark place.

Gradually light began to leak through their shut eyelids, the wing of the wind beat away from them, and the boat rocked slower and slower in warm, spring-scented air. But in that brief time, they had traveled many, many miles.

Now when the children leaned over the side, they saw that they were sailing slowly over their own Forest. The tree tops were like a restless green sea just a little beneath them. They flew low enough to hear bird calls and the voices of the streams.

It was then they suddenly noticed that the littlest of the Forest Children was there curled up fast asleep at Tree Mother’s feet. Ivra cried to him in surprise, and he woke slowly, stretching his little brown legs, shaking his curly head, and lifting a sleepy face. He was puzzled at seeing others beside Tree Mother in the boat. He had been riding and awake with her all night up near the stars, and had dropped to sleep as the stars faded.

She bent now and took his hand. “I picked these wanderers up at dawn,” she said, “and now we are all going back together. We are well on the way.”

They had left the forest roof and were sailing over open country, a short cut, Tree Mother explained.

“Oh, look,” cried Ivra excitedly, almost tumbling over the edge in her endeavor to see better, “isn’t that the gray wall off there?”

Yes, it was the gray wall, the gray wall that had prisoned their mother all winter. The boat went slower and slower as they neared it and then almost hung still over the garden. The garden was full of people, having some kind of a party, for many little tables were set there with silver and glass that shone brilliantly in the sun. Servants were hurrying back and forth carrying trays and their gilt buttons sparkled almost as much as the silver.

But how strange were the people! Eric and Ivra and the littlest Forest Child laughed aloud. They were standing about so straight and stiff, holding their cups and saucers, and their voices rising up to the air-boat in confusion sounded like a hundred parrots.

“Why don’t they sit down on the grass to eat?” wondered the littlest Forest Child. “And why don’t they wash their feet in the fountain? They look so very hot and walk as though it hurt!”

“Sitting on the grass and washing their feet in the fountain is against the law there,” Helma said.

But neither Ivra nor the littlest Forest Child knew what “against the law” meant. Eric knew, however, for he had lived nine years, remember, where most everything a little boy wanted was against the law.

“But why do they stay?” Eric asked.

Helma looked a little grave. “Why did you stay, dear, for nine long years?”

He thought a minute. “I hadn’t seen the magic beckoning,” he answered then.

“Neither have they,” she said, “and perhaps never will, for their eyes are getting dimmer all the time.”

“But how can they help seeing it?” cried the littlest Forest Child. “See, all around the garden!”

It was true. All around the garden the tall trees stood and beckoned with their high fingers, beckoned away and away with promise of magic beyond magic. But the people in the garden never lifted their eyes to see it. They were looking intently into their tea cups as though it might be there magic was waiting.

“They are prisoners,” said Tree Mother, “just as you were, Helma, with this one difference. You were locked in, but they have locked themselves in and carry their keys like precious things next their hearts.”

Helma sighed and laughed at once. Then she leaned far out and tossed a daffodil she was carrying down on the heads in the garden, shaking her short, flower petal hair as she did it she had cut it before starting on the adventure in a free, glad way.

No one looked up to see where the flower had dropped from. The people down there were not interested in offerings from the heavens. So the boat sailed on. Away and away over the canning factory they drifted, where the little girl looked out from her window and up, and waved her hands. “What are you waving at like that?” a man asked who was working near. “Oh, just a white summer cloud,” she said. For she knew very well he did not want the truth. And I might as well tell you here that that pale little girl was a prisoner who had not turned the lock herself, and did not carry the key next her heart. Others had done that before she was born. And she had seen the beckoning in spite of the lock and now was only waiting a little while to answer it.

The children were glad to find the forest roof beneath them again. It was noon when they sank down in the garden at their own white door stone. Tree Mother left them there and flew away with the littlest Forest Child, the one who liked to wander alone by himself.

Nora was in the house when they ran in. She had cleaned it with a different cleaning from what it had had for Helma’s first return. There were no little foot prints on the floor now, and the window panes shone like clear pools in sunlight. Three dishes of early strawberries and three deep bowls of cream were standing on the table before the open door. And then besides there was a big loaf of golden-brown bread.

“I thought you would be hungry,” said Nora, pointing to the feast.

They were hungry indeed, for they had had nothing at all to eat since yesterday’s lunch of chocolate. They very soon finished the strawberries and cream, and a jug of milk besides.

“You are a good neighbor, Nora,” Helma said gratefully.

All Nora wanted in return for her labor and kindness was the story of their adventure. She listened eagerly to every word. “I shall tell this to my grandchildren,” she said when the story was done, “and they will think it just a fairy tale. They’ll never believe it’s fairy truth! Oh, if they would only stop pretending to be so wise they themselves might some time get the chance of a ride over the tree tops with Tree Mother. But they never will. Come play with them again sometime, Eric. They often talk about you.”

“I’ll come to-day and bring Ivra if they’ll play with her, too!”

But Nora shook her head as she went away. “They don’t believe in Ivra. How could they play with her? Their grandmother can teach them nothing. But they’ll like the story of this adventure none the less for not believing it.”

When she was gone the three took the dishes into the house and washed them. Then they went out and worked in the garden until dusk.