“South by West,” crowed the weather cock promptly. The Prince would have liked to continue the conversation, but it took too much breath, so he began planning how he should land without breaking Grampa, for certainly Grampa was somewhere below. Rather sorrowfully he reflected that they were falling farther away from the Emerald City every minute. He wondered where his father’s head was, and what Mrs Sew-and-Sew would think if she could see them tumbling down this hollow tree. Would it never grow lighter? Would they never reach the bottom and what would happen when they did? Just as he came to this point in his wonderings, Tatters dropped into a clump of pink bushes so hard that for several seconds he could do nothing but gasp. “Well,” crowed Bill, beginning to flutter restlessly about in the bear-skin, “are we here?” “Yes, thanks to you. You’re discharged!” roared the old soldier, as Prince Tatters picked up himself and his red umbrella. Grampa had been less fortunate in his landing. He sat in the middle of a cinder path, blinking rapidly, and as Bill scrambled out of the bear-skin and hopped after Tatters, he raised his gun threateningly. “You’re discharged without pay,” repeated Grampa angrily. “What do you mean by crowing and betraying us to the enemy?” “I couldn’t help it,” answered Bill in an injured tone. “It is the nature of a cock to crow and I’ve helped the sun to rise.” “And us to fall,” scolded Grampa. “Well, you’re discharged!” Rolling over with a groan, he drew the bottle of patent medicine from his pocket. Fortunately it was not broken, but it had made a dreadful dent in Grampa. “But wherever in Oz are we?” exclaimed Prince Tatters, trying to change the subject, for he did not intend to have Bill sent off in this hasty fashion. The old soldier pretended not to hear and continued to stare resentfully at the bottle of medicine. On one side was pasted a green label and Tatters looking over his shoulder read, with some surprise: Sure cure for everything. Follow the directions on the bottle. Beneath in tiny printing was a long list of ailments. Grampa ran his finger hastily down the list until he came to breaks, sprains and bruises. “One spoon-full immediately after falling,” directed the bottle. Without a word, Grampa took a tin spoon from his knapsack, uncorked the bottle and swallowed the dose. “Why, it’s the wizard’s medicine!” cried Tatters, watching him anxiously, for no sooner was the stuff down than a broad grin overspread Grampa’s face. “Good thing I brought it along—works just like magic—never know I’d fallen,” puffed Grampa, completely restored to good humor. “Better have some, boys.” The old soldier smiled at his companions. Tatters, who was not hurt at all, shook his head and Bill, who had flown into the air to examine the bottle, shook his wings.