“Mr. Atom!” exclaimed both boys in a breath. “As I told you some little time ago, size is nothing. Even now, to some of the insects, you look like giants. But it was a pity about the Taj Mahal, wasn’t it? Never mind,” he added, “when you get to Japan look for the North Wind. He’s a good fellow, and perhaps he’ll lend you a December day.” “Yes! But how are we to get to Japan?” burst out Tibbs. “Quite easily,” answered Mr. Atom. “If you take MY advice, you’ll walk quietly along this road till you reach a Bungalow on the left-hand side. There you will find a little Baba-Sahib blowing beautiful soap bubbles. Wait until one falls to the ground, and then--before it breaks--step inside, and think hard that you want to go to Coppertop in far-away Japan. You’ll be there in the twinkling of an eye. Ta-ta!” Before they could thank him, Mr. Atom had gone, at least as far as they could tell. They soon arrived at the Bungalow, and there was the little Baba-Sahib, busily blowing soap bubbles, as Mr. Atom had foretold. They waited till a large and beautiful one came gracefully to the ground, where it bounced light-heartedly once or twice and then stood still! With the greatest care they crawled inside, and thought hard of their wish to go to Celia in Japan. After a moment’s hesitation the glorious bubble rose gracefully into the warm air, and off they started. CHAPTER XXI. COPPERTOP AND THE OLD MOTHER-BIRD. [Illustration: Miss Smiler sits on the White Elephant (p. 112).] “No! you can’t. You can’t have another WORM!” said a strange voice. Looking up, or down--Coppertop wasn’t quite sure which--she found to her amazement that she was no longer hanging by one leg to the palm tree, but was sitting in a large nest, made of sticks and clay, and surrounded by a nestful of very ugly chicks, all beaks and eyes! But what surprised her most was the hideous old Mother-bird--very like Mrs. Grudge--perched above them with a long, wriggling worm in her beak. “Oh, goodness gracious!” she exclaimed. “I DO hope I haven’t been eating WORMS! And, however did I get here? And what am I?” “What are you?” croaked the old Mother-bird, “a chick, like the rest, of course! Only you’ve the largest mouth of all, and a rampageous appetite for WORMS!” “Yes,” admitted Coppertop, sorrowfully; “I have got a large mouth and little piggy eyes, and--and--the only nice thing about me is my hair----” “Hair!” shrieked the old Mother-bird, “HAIR!! Feathers, you mean. Hair, indeed! As though any chick of mine ever had hair!” “But--am I a chick of _yours_?” cried Coppertop, feeling that some terrible change must have taken place. “I suppose so,” replied the old Bird; “but I never could count.” “And am I--am I like the other chicks?” “Like as two rice!” replied the old Mother-bird, as she dropped a worm into one of the ever-open beaks. This was all such terrible and confusing news to the poor child, that her brain failed to grasp it at once.