To the rest of the sentence Peer Haps paid no attention, for he had already flung down the steps and pulled Tatters through the gates. Grabbing him by the arm, he hurried him up the steps and along the hall before the startled Prince could say “Jack Robinson.” The Lord High Humpus, straightening his wig, had dashed after them, and, while Peer Haps unlocked the door of the throne room, he held Tatters tightly by the hand. “What’s the matter?” demanded the astonished youth. He was exhausted and out of breath from his scramble up the mountain. “What’s the matter? I am looking for a lost fairy. Have you seen anything of her?” But instead of answering, the Chief Justice put his fingers to his lips and drew the young man into the throne room itself. There was a confused mumble of words, to which Tatters, who still was too weary and breathless to argue, paid small attention. He nodded absently to some question of the white-wigged dignitary and the next minute was being crushed in the embrace of the singularly fat old gentleman who had dragged him up the steps. “You have saved us!” cried Peer Haps, tears of joy zig-zagging down his cheek. “My son! My son! How can I ever repay you!” “Son?” The Prince of Ragbad sprang back aghast. “Congratulations!” chuckled the Chief Justice, clapping Tatters on the back. “On what?” gasped the bewildered young Prince, whirling ’round. “On your marriage.” The Chief Justice made a deep bow toward the cloaked figure, whom Tatters had not seen until now. “My marriage?” The distracted youth clapped one hand to his head and the other to his heart and fell backwards upon a page who had just run in to announce visitors. But before the page could announce them, Grampa, Percy Vere, Dorothy and Toto burst into the throne room. It had not been long before they, too, had picked up the flower trail of Urtha and later the footprints of Tatters himself. You can imagine the delight of the Forgetful Poet to find himself once more on familiar ground. It was a hard pull up, for the old soldier had but one leg to climb with, but they had finally reached the top of the mountain, and, waving aside courtiers and servants, they had hurried immediately to the throne room. “Have you seen anything of a little fairy?” puffed all three together, and then seeing Tatters, apparently having a fit in the arms of a page, they stopped short. “Why, Tatters, whatever’s the matter?” Dorothy dropped the red umbrella and ran over to the Prince of Ragbad. “Matter?” choked the poor Prince, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Matter! I’m married to I don’t know whom—that’s what’s the matter!” And before Dorothy could make head or tail of his story the Forgetful Poet and Peer Haps had rushed at each other with such an outpouring of affectionate greetings, such hugs and claps upon the back, that nothing else could be heard at all. “This is worse than a battle,” groaned the old soldier, bracing himself against the table.