“Oh, couldn’t she?” begged Tatters eagerly. Grampa shifted his feet and looked uncertainly at the little flower maiden. She seemed too frail and delicate to set out on a journey of adventure. “But,” reflected the old soldier, “if she’s a fairy nothing can harm her and if she’s not, someone ought to look out for her. As we brought her to life we’re responsible.” “Come along with you,” cried Grampa recklessly. So away through the wizard’s garden marched this strange little army, the patched flag of Ragbad fluttering from the top of Tatters’ red umbrella and the little flower maiden falling out of line every few minutes to dance gaily round a tree or skip merrily through a fountain. She fairly seemed to float above the flowers that blossomed along the way, as her dainty feet slipped from daisy to daisy. Prince Tatters could hardly keep his eyes away from Urtha as she danced along the way. And Grampa smiled happily at the delight of the two happy young people. CHAPTER 7 The Winding Stairway It was twilight in the wizard’s garden. All the lanterns burned low and the birds twittered drowsily in the tree tops. Grampa and Tatters sat wearily upon a golden bench—for after a whole day’s march they were no nearer the Emerald City than before. Indeed, there seemed no way out of the enchanted garden. They had lunched satisfactorily on the fruit of a bread and butter bush, and Grampa’s knapsack was full of nicely spread slices, but for all that each one of them felt tired and downhearted. Urtha, on the contrary, was as fresh and merry as in the morning and, seated under a willow tree, was weaving a daisy chain for Bill. “She is certainly a fairy,” mused Grampa and absently pulling a blossom from a near-by bush he popped it into his mouth. “We’ll take her back to Ragbad, my boy, and won’t she liven up the old castle! I tell you, now—” Suddenly Grampa stopped speaking and clapped his hand to his belt. His eyes grew rounder and rounder and Tatters, turning to see why he did not finish his sentence, gave a little scream of fright. “Help!” called the Prince of Ragbad in an agonized voice. “Help! Help!” Urtha was beside him in an instant, while Bill circled wildly overhead. “He’s growing,” breathed the little flower maid softly. “Yes,” groaned Tatters distractedly, “he’s growing a chimney!” And Tatters was quite right. Not only was the old soldier growing a chimney, but a bay window as well. The chimney had knocked off his cap and grown brick by brick as the horrified Prince looked on. The bay window, of fancy wood-work and glass, jutted out at least three feet beyond Grampa’s waist line. (The old soldier had always been proud of his slim figure.)