When supper was done the three put away the supper things, carried the table back to its place in the corner, and set the candles in their brackets about the walls. Then almost at once the mother said it was bath-time and bed-time.

Bath-time! Baths had been rare in Eric's life, and when they did happen were unhappy adventures,—cold water in a hand basin in the kitchen sink, a scratchy sponge, and a towel too small. So if Mrs. Freg had said "bath-time and bed-time" to him now, he might have run away. But if Ivra's mother said it, it must be. She was his mother too, now, and he loved her and thought her beautifully strange.

A surprise was waiting for him. The bath was a deep basin set in the wall. There was a fountain in it that one had only to turn on to have the basin fill with clear water. Eric slipped out of his ragged shirt and trousers and climbed up into it. The fountain came splashing down on his dusty, shaggy head, falling in rivulets down his back and breast. He was like a bird taking a bath; there was such happy splashing and dipping.

But no bird had ever the gentle soft drying, or was wrapped in such a warm night gown as the mother found for Eric. It was one of Ivra's night gowns, but quite large enough. Then she tucked him into a narrow couch far from the fire. It was the first time Eric could ever remember having slept alone.

Ivra was already in a bed against the opposite wall. Before the mother got into hers, which was open and ready for her, she blew out all the candles and opened the door and windows.

"Good night, my lambs," she said, and a very few minutes afterwards Eric could see by the firelight that his mother and playmate were asleep.

How cold the wind felt as it blew over his face! But how warm and snug his body was, there in the soft, clean night gown between the light, warm blankets! How fine to be there so warm in bed while his cheeks grew red in the cold air and burned deliciously. How could he ever sleep? He was too happy!

He looked at the fire. And then he looked harder. It was not a fire at all, but a young girl, all bright and golden, sitting with her head drowsily bent forward on her knees and her arms wrapped close about her legs. But as he watched she slowly lifted her bright head, and looked quietly about the room. Then she gradually and beautilully rose and stepped out of the fireplace onto the floor. Slowly she moved across to the mother's couch and stood still as though looking down at her. Slowly she bent and drew the bed-clothes higher about her shoulders, and kissed the flower-petal hair curled back on the pillow.

She moved then to Ivra's couch, still slowly and very beautifully, and Eric could see her smile at the little one huddled there, half on her face, one arm thrown up over her head. Gently the fire-girl rolled her into a relaxed position on her side, tucked in the flung arm, and kissed the closed eyelids.

Then she stood a minute, looking away, Eric did not know where. But his heart began to ache with wonder and longing. Would she come to him too—or was he only a stranger?

He lay still, watching her from his dark corner. At last she stopped looking away, and came across the floor to him. She brought all the brightness of the room with her, and her feet made no sound on the boards. When she stood above him he shut his eyes, though he wanted very much to look up into her face. She bent down and her hands smoothed his covers, warmed his pillow and lay still for a minute like sunlight on his cheek.

When he opened his eyes again, she had gone back to the fireplace, all her brightness with her, and was resting there, a drowsy, golden girl, her head bent forward on her knees and her slim arms wrapped close about her legs.

Eric lay and watched her for many sleepy minutes while her light fell dimmer and dimmer, lower and lower. When it was just a tiny flicker he dropped to sleep.