“You are so odd and you look so interesting!” Tatters looked terribly embarrassed, for he was fearful that the maiden would scorch his nose. “I—I must find my father’s head first,” stuttered the Prince, backing away uneasily, “and if your Majesty could tell us of a way back to Oz—” Tatters bowed again and looked appealingly at Grampa. “Well, you might go up in smoke,” suggested Prince Forge John slowly. “I think, myself, that this wizard’s medicine will wear off presently and then you’ll all burn up.” “Oh,” groaned the old soldier, snatching out his handkerchief, “why do you think such terrible thoughts?” “Would it hurt?” breathed Urtha, who hated to see anyone unhappy. “Is there no fire escape?” choked Tatters, with bulging eyes. Prince Forge John shook his head. “I’d like to help you,” he murmured gravely, “but you are so strangely made I don’t see how I can. Better just stay on here. Burning’s not so bad and I think you’d burn a long time.” Several of the Fire Islanders nodded as the Prince said this, but Grampa and Tatters could find no consolation in such a prospect. “And marching North seemed _so_ easy!” wailed poor Tatters, leaning heavily on his red umbrella. “Never mind,” sighed the old soldier, “I’ll think of something else. Let’s jump back in the water,” he proposed brightly. “But if the medicine wears off boiling would be just as bad as burning,” objected Tatters, with a little shudder. “That’s so,” admitted Grampa. “It seems, my boy, that every cup of soup has at least one fly!” “There’s a fly on your nose,” screeched Bill, hopping up and down. And so there was—a saucy little fire fly. There were fire flies everywhere—darting here and there among the fire flowers and over the fields of waving fire weeds. “Better stay,” repeated Prince Forge John hospitably. “Anyway let us show you a bit of the island.” Grampa nodded, for he did not know what else to do, and so he and the others followed sadly after the Prince and his cortege. There were no houses on Fire Island, but each flame family had its own open fire place. Between stretched meadows of clear blue flame and many beautiful gardens, where, from flowing beds of red hot coals, lovely fire flowers arose. The stems were of green flame, the tops of yellow, blue and red. The Prince picked a bouquet of these strange posies for Urtha and, to Grampa’s surprise, the fire flowers neither burned the little flower girl nor went out in her hands.