“Bill, you’re a real explorer!” cried Grampa and, taking off one of his medals, he hung it ’round the weather cock’s neck. Stacked against the walls of the cave were great piles of frozen meat, for Enorma—in spite of her false teeth—had been a mighty huntress. In a trice Grampa had a bear steak sputtering on the fire on pointed sticks and nothing could have been cozier than their breakfast. “I told you our troubles were over,” beamed the old soldier, handing Tatters a portion of the steak on a tin army plate. “All we have to do now is to claim the reward, find the King’s head and journey back to Ragbad.” Grampa grinned with satisfaction. “But how can we do that?” asked Tatters dubiously. “There’s the ocean and the sandy desert between.” “Don’t worry,” advised Grampa, settling comfortably before the fire. “This old Chin Chilly will be so delighted to have the dragon out of the way that he’ll probably send us home in a golden ship with our pockets full of diamonds. How will you like that, Loveliness?” Urtha was playing hide and seek with Bill but at Grampa’s words she came over to the fire. “I’ll like it if Tatters does,” said the little flower fairy, smiling shyly at the Prince of Ragbad. “Well, I’ll like it,” admitted Tatters, “especially with _you_ along, for we can dance on the deck and play scrum. Why, I’ve never had time to teach you yet. Grampa, won’t you lend us your leg?” “Not now,” objected the old soldier. “Duty before pleasure, my children. Remember that we have not found this Chin Chilly, nor claimed the reward. As we’re warmed up and fed we’d better start hunting again.” “Here I go by the name of Bill,” crowed the weather cock, flinging out of the cavern. Grampa stowed some of the dried bear meat in his knapsack and then, forming his little company in line, gave the order to march away. “First we’ll have another look at the dragon,” said the old soldier, “and then we’ll try to find the palace of Isa Poso.” So down the snowy hill they marched and slid and they had just come to the banks of the stream when harsh voices from the other side of a clump of trees made them stop short. “Flowers!” screamed the first voice. “Pull them up, tread them down! Who dares to plant flowers on Isa Poso?” “Foot-prints, too, Chilly dear,” grunted a deeper voice. “Here is an animal with unmatched feet.” Dropping on his knees, the old soldier peered around the frozen tree trunks and saw two of the islanders bending over the tracks they had made when they chased Enorma. They were towering men of snow, with faces of roughly cut ice and so cruel and forbidding in appearance that just to think of them makes me shudder. Fortunately Grampa was not so easily frightened as I am.