As well as she could, for bumps and bounces, she whispered her plan to Percy Vere. He nodded enthusiastically and transferred Toto to his blouse, so that Dorothy would have both hands free. Then, when a huge tree loomed up ahead, they both began to count, and as its branches stretched over the runaway, they hurled themselves upward and held on for dear life. Beneath slithered the road and not until the last yellow length of it had flashed by did Dorothy and Percy Vere let go. Percy dropped to the ground first, gently lifted Dorothy down, and took the frightened, wiggling little Toto out of his blouse. “Whew!” breathed Dorothy, leaning dizzily against Percy, “that’s the worst ride I’ve had for a long time. Wonder where we are?” “Do—we—do—this—often?” panted the Forgetful Poet, looking at Dorothy with round eyes. “I’m perfectly pulverized!” “Well, I never met a runaway before,” confessed Dorothy, “but you never can tell what’s going to happen in Oz, so first thing we’d better do is to find out where we are!” “We’re in a forest dark and deep, I hope the bears are all—are all—” “Asleep! So do I!” sighed Dorothy, and began tip-toeing along under the great lonesome trees, Toto keeping close at her side and Percy Vere treading softly behind her. CHAPTER 10 Prince Forge John of Fire Island Before Grampa and his little company had recovered from the shock of winding down instead of up, the strange stairway gathered itself together, and, with a sudden jerk, shook them all off. “Break ranks!” roared the old soldier, kicking out wildly with his game leg. “I don’t want to break my ranks,” said Bill crossly. Tatters and Urtha were too startled to say anything and for a few seconds they simply fell in surprised silence. The hollow down which they were tumbling was wide and dimly lighted with a soft, spooky glow. The air was thick and heavy and they were falling much slower than Grampa and Tatters had fallen down the hollow tree. First fell Urtha, her flowery skirts fluttering gracefully around her; then fell Tatters, clinging to Bill with one arm and his red umbrella with the other; then the old soldier, his gun, drum, sword and knapsack rattling like a box full of marbles. “I feel exactly like a butterfly. Are we flying, dear Mr Soldier?” laughed the flower maiden presently. “No, my poor child,” puffed Grampa, staring down at her anxiously. “We’re falling!” “Falling asleep?” asked Urtha contentedly. “Depends on how we land,” groaned the old soldier, and suddenly remembering his last landing he snatched the wizard’s medicine bottle from his pocket. “Is there anything on the label about falling?” panted Tatters, who was close enough to notice the old soldier’s action. Grampa held the bottle close to his eyes, and though reading while falling is one of the hardest things I know of to do, after a deal of squinting the old soldier read out the following: “For falling hairs, one drop in full glass of water!”