“Idiot,” screamed a harsh voice. Whirling around, the startled company saw a bent and dreadful old man standing just inside the long window. “Idiot!” he shrieked again, pointing a long trembling finger at Peer Haps. “You have married your daughter to a monster!” “It’s Abrog,” gasped Percy Vere, clutching Dorothy’s hand. “Monster,” roared Grampa, and hopping over to the Prophet, he seized him by the beard. “How dare you call Tatters a monster? I’ll fight you!” puffed the old soldier furiously. Jerking away, Abrog leaned down, picked up Fumbo’s head and set it upon Tatters’ shoulders. “See,” he screamed wildly, “you have married your daughter to a monster with two heads.” And as Peer Haps, who knew nothing of Tatters’ story, fell back aghast, Fumbo stuck his head out of the bag and began scolding everyone in the room. In the uproar that followed and while Percy, Dorothy, and Grampa were trying all at once to explain things to the old Peer, the Prophet himself began to move stealthily toward the Princess. Only Tatters saw this. Placing his father’s head carefully on the table, he reached out and, just as Abrog reached her, the Prince seized him roughly by the collar. But he was not quick enough. Abrog had already snatched away the cloak and there—trembling and sorrowful—stood the Princess of Perhaps City, herself. Tatters loosed his hold upon the Prophet. “Urtha,” cried the overwrought young bridegroom and took the frightened little fairy in his arms. CHAPTER 20 The Prophet Confesses You can well imagine the surprise of Grampa and his little army to discover that the flower maiden whom they had been loving all this while was really the lost Princess. How the story ever would have been straightened out had it not been for Dorothy, I have no idea. “Why didn’t you tell us it was Urtha?” shouted Grampa, shaking his finger indignantly at Peer Haps. “And who is Urtha?” gasped the astonished old monarch, fanning himself with his crown, for he was in such a state by this time that he hardly knew what he was doing. “My daughter’s name is Pretty Good—isn’t it, my dear?” The little flower fairy shook her head solemnly. “My name is Urtha,” she insisted softly. “Isn’t it, Tatters?” “She’s bewitched,” groaned the King. “She’s bewitching,” corrected Grampa. “Stop! Stop!” said Dorothy. “We’ll never get things straightened out this way. Everybody sit down and—quick—quick—catch that Prophet!” Abrog had been slyly edging toward the door, but the Forgetful Poet, with a quick bound, brought him back. “Now then,” said Dorothy, when they were all seated, “I believe Abrog is at the bottom of the whole business. Let’s make him tell. Did you bewitch this Princess?” she demanded sternly. Abrog only mumbled and scowled and refused to speak a word. “Better answer this young lady,” puffed Peer Haps warningly. “She is a Princess of Oz, and can have you well punished.”