“Well, we’re looking for a head, a Princess and a fortune,” rasped Bill impatiently. “What do you shepherd?” asked the old soldier, pushing Bill hurriedly aside. “I didn’t know there were any sheep in the sky.” “Not sheep,” cried the little maiden, throwing back her head and laughing heartily, “not sheep, but stars! I tend all the baby stars and keep them from falling out of the Milky Way,” she finished, smiling shyly at Tatters. “You do,” marvelled the Prince of Ragbad, “well, where are they now and what do you call yourself?” “I never call myself, but the stars call me Maribella,” answered the little shepherdess, with a demure bow. “They’re asleep now. Are you _really_ looking for a Princess?” Tatters nodded and Urtha, slipping her arms around Maribella’s waist, kissed her on both cheeks. “I wish you were the Princess,” sighed Urtha, stepping back to look wistfully at the little sky maiden. “Why?” asked Maribella curiously. “Because you’re the only one we’ve seen who is lovely enough to marry the Prince,” said Urtha. Tatters looked mightily embarrassed at Urtha’s speech and Grampa, drawing Maribella aside told her the whole story of their adventures. “Well,” mused the little sky maiden as he finished, “there aren’t any Princesses or fortunes in the sky, but there are lots of heads here in the clouds.” “There are!” roared Grampa in astonishment. Maribella nodded. “Didn’t you know many earth people have their heads in the clouds?” she asked seriously. “Why there’s a whole company of them on the other side of this very hill.” “Forward, march!” cried the old soldier excitedly. “Urtha, Tatters, Bill, fall in with you!” So fall in they did, and Maribella was right, for on the other side of the cloud hill were nearly a hundred heads, resting lightly on the pink clouds. Some were smoking, some stared straight ahead and others were carrying on a lively conversation between themselves. “Father!” screamed the Prince of Ragbad, for King Fumbo’s head was almost the first they spied. Fumbo was talking quietly to the head of an inventor of market baskets with legs and he turned in some surprise at Tatters’ call. “The head! The head! We have found the head!” crowed Bill exultantly, and burst into such a hurrah of cock-a-doodle-doos that several of the smokers dropped their pipes and King Fumbo looked positively frightened. “Your Majesty,” said Grampa reproachfully, as Bill finally subsided, “how could you leave us like this? We’ve been through earth, air, fire and water to find you.” “Well, I guess the jig’s up,” sighed Fumbo sorrowfully, “but it’s been a great treat, Grampa, getting off like this. How’s everybody?” “Everybody was well enough when I left,” said Grampa a bit stiffly, for he couldn’t help feeling that Fumbo could have got home if he had wanted to. “Everybody’s well enough, except your own body and that looks mighty silly with the doughnut they have given it.”