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.
While they still were laughing there was a blinding flash, and the yellow hen, Bill, Toto, Peer Haps and every other single person in the throne room disappeared. Yes, sir, they were gone—as gone as a box of last year’s Christmas candy.
