“Give me my pipe,” panted Grampa in a choked voice. He had no idea what was happening, but felt too terribly dreadful for words. Tatters sank on one knee, snatched the pipe from its place in his game leg and lit it with trembling fingers. Then it was that he caught sight of the sign on the bush beside Grampa. “House plants,” said the sign distinctly. “Oh!” wailed the Prince, suddenly remembering that Grampa had eaten one of the blossoms, “you’ve eaten a house plant and there’s a chimney sticking out of your head.” “There _is_!” roared Grampa, puffing away at his pipe in great agitation. “Well, that’s what comes of this pesky magic. A chim-nee! Well, I’ll try to bear it like a soldier,” he finished grimly. A perfect cloud of smoke rose from the chimney at these valiant words. Too overcome for speech, Tatters covered his face. “Don’t you care!” cried Urtha, flinging her arms ’round Grampa’s neck. “It’s a sweet little chimney, and _so_ becoming!” “The wind is blowing North,” crowed Bill, disconsolately following the direction of the smoke as it curled up Grampa’s chimney. “If I see this wizard I’ll fall on his head. I’ll give him a peck in the eye, five pecks, but say!” Bill paused in his circling and swooped down upon the old soldier. “How about the medicine?” Grampa and Tatters had forgotten all about the wizard’s green bottle, but at Bill’s words the old soldier drew it quickly from his pocket. “I don’t believe there’s any cure for chimneys,” puffed Grampa, running his finger anxiously down the list. He was so nervous that his hands shook. To tell the truth he expected to grow a flight of steps or a veranda any minute. “Here, let me look,” begged Tatters, snatching the bottle from Grampa. But though there was everything on the green label from ear ache to lumbago, no mention was made of chimneys or bay windows at all. “But it says ‘cure for everything,’” insisted Bill, perching stubbornly on Grampa’s shoulder. “This is worse than a battle!” moaned Grampa, rolling up his eyes. “I’m poisoned, that’s what I am.” “Poisoned!” cried Bill triumphantly. “Then find the cure for poison.” Hurriedly Tatters consulted the label. “For poison of any nature, two drops on the head,” directed the bottle. So while Urtha and Bill watched nervously, Tatters uncorked the bottle and let two drops of the magic liquid fall down Grampa’s chimney. There was a slight sizzle. Tatters rubbed his eyes and Bill gave a crow of delight. The chimney had melted and the bay window was gone and the gallant old soldier quite himself again. Urtha was so happy that she danced all the way round the golden bench and Grampa jumped up and ran to look at himself in a little pond.