“Do you suppose I’d have wasted a good bullet on you if I had? I may have an iron constitution but I don’t eat cast iron birds,” sniffed Grampa. “What do you mean, flying through this forest deceiving hungry travellers?” “I don’t know what I mean,” replied the weather cock calmly, “for I’ve only been alive since last night. What do you mean yourself, pray? Must everyone have a meaning like a riddle?” Grampa stroked his whiskers thoughtfully over this remark. “But how did you come to be alive?” asked the Prince, leaning on his red umbrella and regarding the bird with deep interest—for even in Oz weather cocks usually stick to their poles. “There was a storm,” explained the cock, lifting one claw, “lightning, thunder, wind and rain. One minute I was whirling around on the top of my barn and next minute I was spinning through space. Then all at once I came in contact with a live wire, there was a flash, I was charged with a strange force and to my infinite amazement I found that my wings would work and that I could crow. So I crew and flew and flew and crew, till I fell exhausted in this forest.” “Humph!” grunted Grampa. “A likely story. In the first place there are no live wires in Oz and—” “Oz!” screeched the weather cock, “I didn’t say Oz. I was on a barn near Chicago when the storm broke. Have you never heard of Chicago, you odd looking, old creature?” “Never,” answered Grampa emphatically, “but wherever you started from, you’re in Oz now and you might as well get used to it. Come along, Tatters. There’s nothing to be gained by arguing, it only makes me hungry.” “But tell me,” the weather cock fluttered into the air, “what am I to do with my life?” “Keep it—if you can,” chuckled the old soldier and started off between the trees. But Tatters was loath to leave this singular bird. “Let him come with us Grampa,” coaxed the Prince. “He won’t need anything to eat and he might help us find the fortune.” “Yes, do,” crowed the weather cock. “I can waken you in the morning, tell you which way the wind blows and fall upon the heads of your enemies. Have you any enemies?” the weather cock asked hopefully. “Not yet,” murmured the Prince, looking ahead into the shadows,—“but—” “Shouldn’t wonder if he would make a good fighter,” reflected Grampa, half closing his eyes. “Never saw a cock yet that wasn’t game. Do you agree to join this company, obey all commands and go by the name of Bill?” “I’ll go by the name of Bill, but what name shall I come by?” asked the weather cock, putting its head on one side. “The same, you iron idiot!” shouted Grampa, who was a bit short tempered. “Do you agree?” “Yes,” crowed the weather cock, putting up his claw, solemnly.