“Maybe he will tell me where to find my father’s head,” whispered Tatters excitedly. “Well,” admitted Grampa, starting cautiously down one of the silver paths, “that would be a good turn, but a wizard’s more likely to turn us to good gate posts or caterpillars.” “I refuse to be a caterpillar,” rasped the weather cock. He had flown down and was hopping close to Grampa’s heels. “I’ll give him a peck in the eye!” Rattling his iron wings, Bill looked around anxiously. “Well, don’t forget you’re under orders,” snapped Grampa severely. “No forward falling, crowing or pecking till I give the word, understand?” “I don’t believe he’s a bad wizard,” observed the Prince quietly, “his garden is too pretty.” “Pretty is as pretty does,” sniffed Grampa. “He’s practising magic, which is against the law, and you can’t get around that, besides—” Just here Grampa trod upon a small flagstone path that led across a broad stretch of lawn and never finished his sentence at all, for the stone rose a foot into the air and started bouncing across the green at such a rate the old soldier teetered backward and forward and did a regular toe dance to keep his balance. “Wait!” shouted Tatters in alarm, and running after Grampa, himself stepped upon one of the lively flag stones. Up rose the stone and the next thing the Prince of Ragbad was bouncing after the old soldier, waving his red umbrella and calling frantically for Bill. But Bill was already aboard the third stone, and before any of them had sense enough to jump, the stones bounced straight under a silver fountain, dumped off their three startled passengers and went skipping back to their places in the walk. “Variable winds and heavy showers,” crowed Bill dismally. “Scraps and scribbage!” sputtered the old soldier. “I told you that wizard was a villain. Company fall out!” he commanded gruffly. This the company lost no time in doing. “Oh, well,” laughed Tatters, rolling from under the drenching spray, “it saves us the trouble of washing our faces. But what made them do it Grampa?” Grampa gave himself an angry shake and marched stiffly over to the flagstone path. Carved neatly on the last stone were these words: Gorba’s Stepping Stones, Guaranteed for seven centuries. Stand on the right foot to go East, on the left to go West. Stand on both feet to go South. To go North stand on your head. “Well, North’s the way we want to go!” cried Tatters eagerly as Grampa finished reading. “Maybe they’ll carry us all the way to Emerald City.” “Not me!” snorted the old soldier, taking a pinch of snuff. “Stand on your head if you like, but I’m going to travel right side up or not at all. Do you want to break your neck?” he demanded indignantly.