“Why, it’s the wizard’s medicine!” cried Tatters, watching him anxiously, for no sooner was the stuff down than a broad grin overspread Grampa’s face. “Good thing I brought it along—works just like magic—never know I’d fallen,” puffed Grampa, completely restored to good humor. “Better have some, boys.” The old soldier smiled at his companions.
Tatters, who was not hurt at all, shook his head and Bill, who had flown into the air to examine the bottle, shook his wings.
“Well—good-bye!” wheezed the weather cock hoarsely. “You don’t need me to direct you now—you can follow the directions on the bottle. Here I go,” he finished sulkily, “here I go by the name of Bill!”
“Don’t go,” begged Tatters, looking pleadingly at the old soldier. Now Grampa, remembering the splendid way Bill had fallen upon the bandits, had already relented, but he never apologized.
“Company fall in!” he commanded gruffly, putting the wizard’s medicine in his pocket. Tatters winked at Bill and Bill, muttering something about having fallen in already, began to march down the cinder path. They had dropped into a small park surrounded by a hedge that grew up as high as they could see. A soft glow shone through the hedge and by its rosy light the three adventurers began to examine their surroundings with great interest. The park itself was pretty enough, but after marching entirely around it and finding no break in the hedge, Grampa looked rather worried.
“It’s a good enough place for a picnic,” puffed the old soldier, dusting his game leg, “but then we’re not on a picnic!”
“No,” sighed Tatters, sinking down on a bench, “we’re not on a picnic, for there’s nothing to eat.”
“If you were made of iron like I am you would never be hungry,” crowed the weather cock, proudly. “I am glad I am cast in iron, but what shall we do now, Mr Grampa?”