“Stop!” shouted Percy Vere, imperiously hammering upon the fence with a rock. Oh, joy! It did stop and, as the gate was now exactly in front of them, Percy Vere opened it boldly and pulled Dorothy and Toto though. No sooner were they out than the fence began to spin around as fast as ever, so that before the wild wash women, who saw them escape, could follow the gate was half way around the mountain. With howls of rage and fright—for the Tubbies knew that the Queen would be furious—the dreadful creatures overturned their wash tubs, and a perfect torrent of hot soapy water came cascading down the mountain side, upsetting Dorothy and the Forgetful Poet and making the path so slippery that they never stopped sliding till they reached the bottom. Breathless, drenched and shaken, but otherwise unhurt, they picked themselves up and, without pausing to rest, all three began running as fast as ever they could away from Monday Mountain. “How—did—you—ever—think—of—telling the fence to stop?” puffed Dorothy, stopping under a broad tulip tree. “Had to!” gasped Percy, dropping heavily to the ground and leaning over to pat Toto, who sat, with closed eyes and tongue out, trying to catch up with his breath. Then Percy delivered this gem: “Far from the Tubbies, little Princess, And wouldn’t they starch and blue and rinse us—” “Did you say Princess?” interrupted a voice. Dorothy and Percy both jumped and Toto gave a frightened bark—for sitting on a lower branch of the tulip tree was our old friend Bill. “Did you say Princess?” crowed the weather cock. Percy was too surprised to do anything but nod and the iron bird rattled into the air screaming: “The Princess! The Princess!” and flew over the tree tops. CHAPTER 17 The Adventurers Meet “I don’t see any Princess,” sniffed the old soldier, coming to an abrupt halt and eying the two travellers critically. Grampa and his army had barely recovered from their tumble off the rainbow before Bill’s cries, announcing the Princess, brought them hurrying to the tulip tree, where Dorothy and Percy Vere were resting. “Am I dreaming?” gulped the Forgetful Poet, clutching Dorothy’s hand. “Am I dreaming or what?” His eye roved from Grampa’s game leg to Tatters’ many-hued suit and finally came to a rest on the lovely little flower fairy. “There is the Princess,” insisted Bill, pointing his claw at Dorothy. “Snuff and nonsense!” snapped the old soldier scornfully. “You’re a regular false alarm, Bill, always going off at the wrong time. Why, that’s only a dusty little country girl and no proper match for the Prince at all!” Grampa’s lofty speech brought Percy quickly out of his dream. “Don’t you be so migh and highty,” muttered the Forgetful Poet, drawing himself up proudly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you—” “No offense! No offense!” observed Grampa coolly. “It’s not the child’s fault that she’s not a Princess. I dare say she’s a very nice little girl, but we’re looking for a Princess!”