“Now all we have to find is the Princess and the fortune, and a couple of new pipes,” sighed Grampa. “Ah, let’s go home without them,” begged Tatters eagerly. “I want to show Urtha the castle and the pigeons. We don’t need a fortune to be happy, Grampa.” “Now don’t give up yet,” advised Grampa, turning to wag his finger at the Prince. “There’s always a fortune at the end of the rainbow. Look! I believe we’re coming down in the Winkie country, and when we do,” Grampa pulled his whiskers determinedly, “I’m going to get myself an anchor. I’m tired of this flying and falling about.” “Use me,” crowed Bill, but as he spoke the bow grew suddenly so very slant that instead of running they began to slide—faster and faster and faster. “Good-bye,” called Polychrome mischievously. “I’d come with you, but it’s my Daddy’s birthday and we’re having a party in the sky.” Just as Polly came to “party,” Grampa and his army came to the end of the rainbow and tumbled off in fine style. None of them was hurt in the tumble, and all scrambled to their feet as quickly as they could. “Good-bye, Polychrome,” called Urtha. She was the only one who had breath enough to speak. “Good gracious,” puffed the old soldier, “I hope we’ve not broken your father’s head.” “Well, if it’s not broken it’s badly cracked,” raged the King stuffily, from the inside of the bag. “If you’re going to fling me about like this I’ll not stick with you, do you hear?” The adventurers smiled and silently put their fingers to their lips, and King Fumbo decided that further protest was useless. CHAPTER 16 Princess Dorothy Escapes The two days that Grampa and his little army had been adventuring in the wizard’s garden, on Fire Island and Isa Poso, Dorothy, Toto and the Forgetful Poet had spent as prisoners on Monday Mountain. Only the friendship of Princess Pearl Borax had saved them from actual harm, for the Queen of the Tubbies had nearly carried out her threat of wringing their necks. But the Queen finally had sentenced them to the wash tubs, and from morning till night Dorothy and Percy Vere had been forced to bend over the wash boards with the rest of the wild wash women tribe. Several times during the first day Percy Vere had almost agreed to marry the dreadful daughter of the old wash woman, for he could not bear to see dear little Dorothy working like a slave. The Forgetful Poet himself had never done any hard work, and in an hour he had rubbed all the skin from his knuckles and all the buttons from the clothes. But Dorothy would not hear of his marrying Pearl Borax, so, hiding his own discomfort, Percy did the best he could to keep her cheerful, reciting his ridiculous rhymes and waving the shirts, stockings and pantaloons around his head whenever the Queen’s back was turned. Even so, keeping cheerful was hard work and often both grew downhearted. “And Ozma thinks I’m having a fine visit with the Tin Woodman,” sighed Dorothy wearily, toward the end of the second day.