"Not yet," I answered, for we had had _Sauerkraut_ for breakfast, and I felt that I should not want anything more to eat for a long time. She looked disappointed, and sighed as she threw the bread away. A bird flew down and pecked it, but after a taste or two he left it where it was. "Then surely you are thirsty, and will drink from my horn?" she pleaded, showing me a silver vessel with curious scrolls and writings traced in gold, which had been hidden by her beautiful hair. I took a sip from its bevelled edge, and had scarcely swallowed the first drop when I felt myself sinking through the hill, the Wild Woman still beside me. "At last! At last!" she cried, clapping her shadowy hands as we stood in a wide hall lit with amber light. "O sisters, rejoice with me! I have found a child, and his eyes, his eyes are crystal clear." She bent over me as she spoke, half smothering me with her silken tresses, and I was so afraid that those sisters of hers would hug me too, that I scrambled away and I took to my heels and _ran_. But you couldn't get far in that place. It was a miniature town, with silver streets and golden houses, and gorgeous palaces in between. Every turn I took led to a wide square filled with rose trees, where fountains of gold and silver water bubbled and sparkled in the mysterious pale green light. A flock of brilliant humming birds whirred their wings in my face so that I could not see where I was going, and the Wild Women formed a circle round me and began to sing: "Only once did mortal child, By our silver horn beguiled, Find a way to leave us; Though they call us strange and wild, Thou shalt find us soft and mild. Stay, and do not grieve us." Their voices were very sweet, but when they had sung that verse twice over, I did not want to hear it again. "I don't mind staying with you for an hour or two," I said, as they stopped singing, "but I shouldn't care to live here. I am a Christmas Child, and there are other Fairy Folk I want to see." Then they looked at each other, and drew away. "Since he is a Christmas Child," said one, "we cannot keep him. You should have known better, Sister Snow-blossom, than to bring him here!" "How could I tell," wailed Snow-blossom. "He seemed like any other boy, and would just have fitted the green silk suit that I wove so long ago." "Alas, alas!" the others sighed. "The longer he stays, the more it will wring our hearts to part with him. Take him back to the hill at once, dear Snow-blossom, and bid him hasten home."