“Isn’t this gold?” demanded Bill, holding up the key. “Oh, Grampa, maybe it’s the key to the bandit’s treasure chest,” interrupted Tatters excitedly. “Let’s go back and hunt for it.” “And how are you going?” inquired the old soldier sarcastically. “Falling down trees is easy enough, but you can’t fall up trees like you can fall up steps. However,” he added quickly, seeing Tatters’ downcast face, “there must be some way out. Let’s look again.” “I’m going to keep this key,” mused Tatters in a more cheerful voice, “for I believe it will help us.” He gave Bill a little pat on the head as he took the chain off his neck, and somewhat comforted, but still mightily puzzled, the iron weather cock hopped after Grampa. This time they circled the hedge more slowly, the old soldier taking one side and Tatters and Bill the other. It was Bill who made the discovery—for shining through the leaves on the left side the weather cock caught the gleam of gold! “The fortune!” he crowed loudly. “The fortune!” It was not a fortune, but a golden gate, and pushing aside the leaves and twigs Grampa and Tatters stared through the bars into the loveliest garden they had ever seen. The gate was unlocked, and when Grampa pressed upon it with his shoulder it swung noiselessly inward. Fairly holding his breath, Tatters stepped in after the old soldier, and Bill had just time to hop through before the gate swung shut again. Grampa gave a low whistle and Tatters an involuntary cry of admiration. Flowering vines and bushes filled the air with a delicate fragrance; paths of silvery sand wound in and out among the trees and arbors; crystal fountains splashed between the flower beds; and bordering each path and grass grown lane were trees glowing with magic lanterns, lanterns that bloomed as gaily as the blossoms themselves and lighted up the garden with a hundred rainbow sheens. It was all so strange and beautiful that Tatters and Grampa scarcely dared breath but Bill, having been alive only two days, seemed to think magic gardens quite usual affairs. “Come on,” he called excitedly, “let’s find the fortune!” But a golden sign on the nearest magic tree had caught Tatters’ eye and, paying no attention to Bill, he tip-toed over to it. “This is the Garden of Gorba,” announced the sign. “Mystery and magic in all its branches.” Grampa had come up behind Tatters. “Gorba,” muttered the old soldier softly. “Now where?” He pulled the bottle of patent medicine from his pocket and squinted first at the sign and then at the bottle. “The same!” puffed Grampa, for written in gold letters at the end of the list of ailments was the name Gorba. “This must be the garden of the wizard that rascally bandit was telling us about,” muttered Grampa uneasily. “He must have been on his way here when they held him up. Maybe he’s here now! Hush! Be careful! Watch out now! I wouldn’t trust a wizard as far as I could swing a chimney by the smoke!” CHAPTER 6 The Wizard’s Garden