“I never knew fun was such hard work,” panted Tatters to Bill, who was circling immediately above his head. The poor Prince was black and blue all over from sliding down the slides, but every time he objected the Play Fellows would pull him to the top and scream with merriment as he came sliding down again. There were too many heads to fall on, and Bill—powerless to help—screamed his rage and indignation at the mannerless crowd. There was much to be seen and marvelled at in the play grounds, but as the company agreed later, playing when you want to play and being forced to play are two quite different things, so that the balloon vines, top trees and checker bushes went almost unnoticed. Indeed all that any of them could think of was getting away. Urtha was the first to make her escape. The little flower fairy had been treated so gently and considerately by Grampa and Tatters, since her coming to life in the enchanted garden, that she did not know what to make of the rude manners of the Play Fellows. When they began snatching flowers from her hair and pulling her roughly from place to place, her violet eyes widened with terror and dismay. Watching her opportunity, she sprang away from them and sped like the wind itself across the gardens. Now the runner does not exist who can outdistance a fairy, so it was not long before Urtha left her tormentors behind. And better still, the little flower fairy had run directly into a wicket gate leading out of the play grounds. Opening the gate she slipped through and then, because she was still frightened, she kept running and running till she was as lost as one raindrop in a thunder shower. There is no telling how long the others would have been forced to endure the teasing of the Play Fellows, if a gong had not sounded from a distant part of the grounds. Immediately the whole company trooped off: and, without waiting to find out the meaning of the bell, Grampa’s army rushed to the nearest exits. “I’m done for!” gasped Percy Vere, rolling under a tree. “Let me curl up like a pretzel and bake—I mean die!” Toto, who had followed close upon the heels of the harassed company, curled up beside him. “But where’s Urtha?” cried Tatters, staring around wildly. “Where’s Grampa?” “She ran away long ago,” crowed Bill, flying over the fence. “That way!” He pointed his claw toward the East. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear, where _is_ the old soldier?” wailed Dorothy, jumping up and down with impatience. “We ought to get away from here quick.” “I’ll find him,” volunteered Bill. “Wait here.” Back went the devoted weather cock and, after flying over the entire play grounds, he found Grampa asleep under a checker bush. “Wake up!” cried Bill, jumping up and down on his chest. “The coast is clear. Forward march, by the name of Grampa!” The old soldier stirred uneasily, rubbed his eyes and then sprang up but immediately tumbled down again, for while he slept, the wretched Play Fellows had run off with his game leg.