“Never mind,” laughed Dorothy, seeing Grampa’s embarrassment. “I really don’t look like a Princess now. You see we’ve had such a hard journey, falling down a mountain and all, we’re kinda rumpled.” “We’ve been through a week of wash-days,” groaned Percy Vere, straightening his jacket and looking ruefully at his red hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were a Prince.” He turned contritely to Tatters. “Mistakes all around, you see.” “Well, we’ve had a hard time, too,” admitted the Prince of Ragbad, making another frantic attempt to smooth his hair. “Ask her if she has a fortune?” insisted Bill, settling heavily on the Prince’s shoulder. “Hush!” said Tatters, giving Bill a poke. “Oh, goody! goody! We’re all going to be friends.” Urtha spread out her flowery skirts and danced happily around the little group. “Oh, forget-me-nots and daisies! Oh, dahlias and pinks!” “And you’re the whole bouquet, Miss May!” cried Percy Vere, but he was immediately interrupted by Fumbo. “Stop!” cried the King’s head. “Let us keep these stories straight. You said you were looking for a Princess. What Princess?” “Company, sit down!” ordered the old soldier gruffly. He had commanded the expedition so far and was not going to be bossed around at this stage of the game. Tatters and Urtha promptly obeyed, the Prince carefully holding his father’s head in his lap. Dorothy and Percy Vere, after their long run, were glad enough to rest. So down they all sat in a big circle under the green tree, Bill and Toto in the center, staring at one another curiously. “Now, then, Mr er—Mr—” Grampa nodded condescendingly at the Forgetful Poet. “Vere,” put in Percy politely. “Now then, Mr Vere, let us have your story,” said the old soldier, taking a big pinch of snuff. So, with many interruptions from King Fumbo—who seemed to know all about Perhaps City—and many lapses into verse, the Forgetful Poet told of Abrog’s prophecy about the monster, of the strange disappearance of the little Princess and Abrog himself, of his tumble down Maybe Mountain and of his and Dorothy’s adventures since then on the Runaway and Monday Mountain. “Humph,” grunted the old soldier, when he had finished. “I wouldn’t trust a prophet as far as I could swing a chimney by the smoke. That prophet has run off with her. You can bet your last shoe button on that and, since we are searching for a Princess ourselves, we might as well look for the Princess of Perhaps City. What do you say, my boy?” Grandpa glanced questioningly at Tatters. “I’ll be glad to help Princess Dorothy and this—this poet, but—” Already Tatters had made up his mind to return with Urtha to Ragbad, regardless of fortunes and Princesses. “No buts about it,” roared the King’s head indignantly. “She’ll be a splendid match for you, my son, and Peer Haps, from all reports, is one of the merriest monarchs in Oz. Why, I dote on him already!”