Where is the golden ship? demanded an indignant voice. Where are the diamonds? What have you done with the Princess?

Dropping with a thud that sent a shower of ice splinters into the air, the weather cock planted himself before Grampa. He had been looking all over Isa Poso for Chin Chilly and had arrived just in time to see his friends sailing off on the iceberg.

Oh, Bill! cried Urtha, giving the iron bird an impulsive hug, I thought you were lost!

Where is the golden ship? Where are the diamonds? insisted the weather cock, slipping out of Urtha’s embrace.

Oh, go crack yourself some icicles, muttered the old soldier crossly. He did not like to be reminded of his cheerful prophecy. Go crack yourself some icicles, Bill, that’s all the diamonds you’ll get.

There isn’t any ship—nor any diamonds—nor anything! said Tatters, wrapping the skin of the old thread bear more tightly about him and staring drearily over the tossing waters of the Nonestic Ocean.

But you don’t have to marry the Princess, Urtha reminded him softly, and even if this isn’t a golden ship couldn’t we dance and be happy?

Well, if we don’t dance, we’ll freeze, fumed Grampa, beginning to stamp up and down. We’ll freeze anyway, he predicted gloomily. Look pleasant, my boy. We might as well freeze as attractively as possible. They’ll carve us a monument on a block of ice, no doubt: Frozen in the line of duty!

Tatters coughed plaintively and began to tramp sadly up and down after Grampa.

Don’t freeze, begged the little flower fairy, clasping her hands in distress and keeping step with the down-hearted adventurers. Why, where’s that funny bottle? she asked suddenly.

The medicine! What have you done with the wizard’s medicine? crowed the weather cock, flapping his wings. Now so much had happened to the old soldier since the eruption that he had entirely forgotten Gorba’s cure for everything. But at Urtha’s words he snatched it out and, there, listed under colds, chills, frost bites and exposure, Grampa found a remedy for their troubles.

You’ve saved our lives, my dear, sighed the old soldier, measuring out four drops for Tatters on a spoonful of snow. And everything was better after that, for as soon as Grampa and the Prince swallowed the marvelous mixture they began to tingle with warmth and even an iceberg could not long be cheerless with a little fairy like Urtha aboard. Everywhere she stepped gay posies blossomed and soon there were circles and circles of them bobbing in the bright sunshine. Urtha and Bill did not feel the cold, and as Grampa and Tatters were now frost proof, their whole outlook changed. The huge iceberg was sliding along through the choppy waves at high speed and the sensation was not only pleasant but highly exhilarating.

Which way are we going? asked the old soldier, sitting down recklessly on a cake of ice.

East, announced the weather cock, after twirling around three times like a top.

That’s good, sighed Grampa, for East of us lies Oz and the nearer we come to Oz, the farther we get from Isa Poso.

I never want to see it again! And if that is a sample of your Princesses, I’ll be like you, Grampa, and never marry, said the Prince, taking a seat beside the old soldier. I think, myself, that if we can find my father’s head, we’d better just go home anyway. We could work hard in the gingham gardens, raise bigger crops and—

And I’ll help you, smiled Urtha, drifting about over the ice like an old-fashioned bouquet and filling the frosty air with a lovely fragrance.

But the fortune, objected Bill, staring at the Prince in horror. We have to find the fortune.

That’s right, agreed the old soldier, remembering Mrs Sew-and-Sew’s words about refurnishing the castle. We mustn’t give up yet, just because we’ve bumped into some odd and chilly places. Just wait—there are lots of Princesses in Oz, and fortunes too!

Well I prefer fairies, sighed Tatters, with a smile at Urtha.

Look! cried the little flower girl delightedly. Let’s pretend this is a silver ship and there— as a spray of crystal drops dashed over the side of the iceberg—there are the diamonds! Let’s dance! She looked so coaxing and so cunning that Tatters sprang up impulsively and the two went skipping, sliding and twirling all over the ice until they were dancing on a perfect carpet of flowers.

Teach her the Ragbad quadrille, called Grampa. If we’re going back with a fortune, there’ll be high old times in the red castle and Urtha will want to know the dances the same as the other girls. Wait, I’ll play it for you.

Seizing his drum sticks, the old soldier broke into the spirited measures of the Ragbad quadrille and soon Tatters and Urtha were bowing and gliding, turning three times to the left and four to the right, pretending to change partners with a dozen imaginary courtiers—all troubles and dangers forgotten.

This reminds me of old times, said Grampa, stopping at last from lack of breath. And you’ll never be a wall-flower, my dear! chuckled the old soldier, wagging his finger at the little fairy.

Let’s play scrum, proposed Tatters, who was perfectly breathless too.

Oh let’s! cried Urtha. So Grampa obligingly unfastened his game leg, and the Prince and little flower girl were soon deep in the mysteries of the queer old game of scrum, Bill keeping score on the ice and the old soldier, with half closed eyes, thinking of the good old days when he was a lad and a hero to all the pretty girls in Ragbad.

First peaceful moment we’ve had since we left the old country, mused Grampa and, reaching down, he picked up his pipe and tobacco. Tatters had removed them from the game leg before they started to play. Absently Grampa filled his pipe from one of the pouches—the blue pouch he had taken from Vaga, the bandit. All this time it had lain forgotten in Grampa’s game leg. Without realizing that he had used the robber’s tobacco, Grampa felt for a match. At the same moment Urtha and Tatters finished their fifth game of scrum and, closing up the game leg, they buckled it back in place.

Now tell me all about Ragbad, begged Urtha, leaning against Grampa’s knee. This Tatters was only too delighted to do, for the young Prince was heartily homesick and, as he could not be in Ragbad, talking about it was the next best thing. So he told little Urtha all about his pigeons and the Redsmith and Pudge’s tower—where you could see clear out into Jinxland—and of the fun he and Grampa had in the old castle and of Mrs Sew-and-Sew’s garden. The old soldier nodded from time to time and at last, taking up his pipe, he began to smoke. I say began, for at the third puff a simply astonishing thing happened. Bill vanished instanter [and you know how quick that is]. Tatters turned to a great black crow, Urtha to a crow of vari-colored feathers, and Grampa, himself, to an old crow with a game leg.