“Is there enough?” whispered Dorothy. Grampa, shaking his head doubtfully, tip-toed over to Urtha and, while Percy Vere, Peer Haps and Dorothy watched with breathless interest, he shook the bottle over her head. One drop! Two drops! And—after a violent shake—three fell upon the soft fern hair of the little fairy. As the third drop fell the little flower girl melted away before their eyes into a rainbow mist of lovely colors. Out of the mist stepped a no less lovely Princess—a Princess so like Urtha that Grampa blinked and Tatters could hardly believe his senses. Though no longer a little lady of flowers, Urtha still carried the flowers’ lovely colors and the flowers’ lovely fragrance in her exquisite little person. Violets were no bluer than Urtha’s eyes; roses never pinker than Urtha’s cheeks; apple blossoms no fairer than Urtha’s skin. Trembling with relief and happiness, Peer Haps clasped her in his arms and, with the little Princess on his knee, insisted on hearing every word of the long, strange story. And about time it was that he did, for all this while he had been trying to explain to himself the presence of Fumbo’s head. But when Grampa had told their adventures from beginning to end, Peer Haps welcomed the King of Ragbad as heartily as if his whole body were present, and they all sat down to talk things over. Just as Grampa was telling again exactly how they had discovered Urtha, there was a loud screech in the corridor, and in flew the brave weather cock, whom no one had missed in the terrible commotion. “Here I come by the name of Bill,” crowed the excited bird and, flying over to Grampa, he proudly dropped Grampa’s lost leg into his lap. For while the others had hurried up the mountain Bill had flown back to the playground and snatched Grampa’s leg away from King Capers and two of the mischievous Pierrettes who were deeply engrossed in the game of scrum. It had taken Bill some time but here at last he was and, joyfully buckling on his leg, Grampa danced a jig on the spot. For now his happiness was complete—Peer Haps having already given him a pipe. Everyone made such a fuss over Bill that he felt fully repaid for his trouble. Indeed, it was hard to tell who, of all that merry company, was the merriest—the Forgetful Poet at finding himself safely home, Peer Haps at finding his daughter, Grampa at the recovery of his leg, Urtha and Tatters or Dorothy and Toto at the splendid way the adventure had turned out. Chuckling with delight, Peer Haps ran off to fetch his yellow hen, for he was determined that Tatters should have the fortune—a reward of a thousand gold bricks. “Is that the fortune?” asked Bill indignantly, as he placed the yellow hen in Tatters’ arms. “Why, it’s nothing but a bunch of feathers!” “Don’t you crow over me,” screeched the yellow hen and, flying up, she laid a gold brick upon the table, much to the astonishment of Bill and the delight of the others.